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Title: The Knights of the Cross

Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz

Release Date: December, 2005  [EBook #9473]
[This file was first posted on October 3, 2003]

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THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS

or, KRZYZACY

Historical Romance

By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

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

Translated From The Original Polish By Samuel A. Binion

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







[Illustration: BUST OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ]





HON. WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D.

Commissioner of Education

My Dear Doctor:--

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

SAMUEL A. BINION,

New York City.




To the Reader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SAMUEL A. BINION.

NEW YORK, May 9, 1899.




KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS.



PART FIRST




CHAPTER I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The older knight added:

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

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

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

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

"Where is Bogdaniec?"

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

"With the youth?"

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

"Was he so strong?"

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

"You had plenty of fighting there!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is Ryngalla? Quick!"

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

"We have not heard a word."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here the noblemen began to shout:

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

"Eighteen," answered Zbyszko.

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

"We will see."

But Macko said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Some court is coming!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here he turned toward Zbyszko:

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

And Zbyszko answered:

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




CHAPTER II.

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

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

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

"Where is the host?"

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

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

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

But the princess detained them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what are you doing in Tyniec?"

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

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

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

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

Macko smiled.

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

"Are you not going?"

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

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

But the princess answered mirthfully:

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

But when the monk still insisted, she added:

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

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

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

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

"We will gladly repay," said the princess.

When the monk went out, she called:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is she?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And who is her knight?"

"She is only a child yet!"

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

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

"Then she is from your court?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Therefore she turned her joyful face toward the girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here the princess became serious.

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

And Zbyszko added:

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

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

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

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

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

Then to Danusia, she said:

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

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

"Give him your gloves," said the princess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To this he answered:

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

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

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

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

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

"Oj! Very!" answered the girl.

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

"And will he be mine to-morrow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To matins! To matins!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure of a feast."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Zbyszko began to twist his head.

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

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

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

"How was it with Ryngalla?"

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

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

"I don't want absolution!"

Macko stopped and asked with evident anger:

"Then how will it be?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But Prince Witold will reward you."

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

"Then tell me, where will you go?"

"To Jurand of Spychow."

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

"May you become a blind man!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure; all depends on his favor!"

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

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

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

Zbyszko's face brightened with a pleasant smile.

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

Now Macko smiled also and said:

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




CHAPTER III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When does it happen?"

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

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

"His appearance does not foretell any good fortune."

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

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

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

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

Brother Hidulf began thus:

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

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

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

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

Brother Hidulf answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The abbot listened attentively with approval and then said:

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

Having heard this, the princess began to complain again:

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

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

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

"How soon will it be?"

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

The princess spoke further:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell us, what are they?"

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

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

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

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

"May God help us!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

The abbot turned toward the princess and said:

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

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




CHAPTER IV.

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

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

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

To this the cautious Mikolaj of Dlugolas answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should prefer him to you."

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"Some giant of the forest is coming!"

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

But Zbyszko arose in his stirrups and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because we stopped," answered Macko.

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

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

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

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

Macko who had sharp sight, said:

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

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

"It is not Walgierz," thought the boy.

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

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"For ages and ages."

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

"Yes, it is!"

"Then you come from Tyniec?"

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

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

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

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

"Grady! Grady!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come here!"

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

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

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

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

Macko becoming cooler, said with deep respect:

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

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

"Why?" asked Macko.

Powala turned toward Zbyszko.

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

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

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

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

"According to the king's command."

Silence followed these words.

"He is a nobleman," said Macko finally.

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

"I swear!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

"Very well. What do they call you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Powala of Taczew looked at him severely and said:

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

Zbyszko felt ashamed; but having glanced around, answered:

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

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

Here he turned to Powala:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

Here Powala looked sharply at Zbyszko, and added:

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

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

"What then?" asked Powala.

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

Powala became grave and turning toward Macko, asked:

"And what do you say?"

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

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

"Zbyszku! Zbyszku!"[31]

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

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

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

But Zbyszko said:

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

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

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

Powala turned toward Macko:

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

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

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

"That is true! That is true!"

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

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

"He can wait!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

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

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

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

"Because the boy in fun attacked the German."

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

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

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

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

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

"If God will permit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How old was he?" asked Zbyszko.

"He was young!"

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

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

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

"The king loves you also, gracious lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Powala asked Macko:

"Where will you stay?"

"In an inn."

"There is no room in any inn now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zbyszku?"

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A difficult business!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here he is!" exclaimed the astonished Macko.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this Zbyszko looked at him with rancor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"With what?"

"With powder."

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

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

"We shall see."

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

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

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

"Let him take you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can it be possible?"

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

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

"Yes, it is so!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

At that moment a young voice resounded behind the Krzyzak:

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

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

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

Then he cried to the young Lithuanian prince standing near.

"Hold him, Jamont!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you say?"

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

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

The _kniaz_ shrugged his shoulders:

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

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

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

"What is the matter with thee?"

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

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

"Forgive Zbyszko, king, forgive Zbyszko!"

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

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

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

"Forgive Zbyszko, king, forgive Zbyszko!"

Now the voices of some knights were heard to exclaim:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is, he is!"

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

"Honor to him!" shouted Powala of Taczew.

"Honor!" repeated the others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To this Macko replied:

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

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

"I have asked him."

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

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

"And why didn't you do it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the old castellan added:

"And especially of God."

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, after a while the castellan said:

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

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

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

Then he turned to Macko and looked expressively at Lichtenstein, as if to
recommend him to Macko's memory; his uncle nodded in return that he
understood and would remember. Lichtenstein also understood the look and
the nod, and although he was as courageous as implacable, a cold shiver
ran through him--so dreadful and ill-omened was the face of the old
warrior. The Krzyzak knew that between him and that knight it would be a
question of life or death. That even if he wanted to avoid the combat, he
could not do it; that when his mission was ended, they must meet, even at
Malborg.[56]

Meanwhile the castellan went to the adjoining room to dictate the
sentence to a secretary. Some of the knights during the interruption came
near the Krzyzak, saying:

"May they give you a more merciful sentence in the great day of
judgment!"

But Lichtenstein cared only for the opinion of Zawisza, because he was
noted all over the world for his knightly deeds, his knowledge of the
laws of chivalry and his great exactness in keeping them. In the most
entangled affairs in which there was any question about knightly honor,
they used to go to him even from distant lands. Nobody contradicted his
decisions, not only because there was no chance of victory in a contest
with him, but because they considered him "the mirror of honor." One word
of blame or praise from his mouth was quickly known by the knighthood of
Poland, Hungary, Bohemia (Czech) and Germany; and he could decide between
the good and evil actions of a knight.

Therefore Lichtenstein approached him as if he would like to justify his
deadly grudge, and said:

"The grand master himself, with the chapter, could show him clemency; but
I cannot."

"Your grand master has nothing to do with our laws; our king can show
clemency to our people, not he," answered Zawisza.

"I as the envoy was obliged to insist upon punishment."

"Lichtenstein, you were first a knight, afterward an envoy!"

"Do you think that I acted against honor?"

"You know our books of chivalry, and you know that they order us to
imitate two animals, the lamb and the lion. Which of the two have you,
imitated in this case?"

"You are not my judge!"

"You asked me if you had committed an offence, and I answered as I
thought."

"You give me a hard answer, which I cannot swallow."

"You will be choked by your own malice, not by mine."

"But Christ will put to my account, the fact that I cared more about the
dignity of the Order, than about your praise."

"He will judge all of us."

Further conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of the castellan
and the secretary. They knew that the sentence would be a severe one, and
everyone waited silently. The castellan sat at the table, and, having
taken a crucifix in his hand, ordered Zbyszko to kneel.

The secretary began to read the sentence in Latin. It was a sentence of
death. When the reading was over, Zbyszko struck himself several times on
the chest, repeating; "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On the leveled ground?"

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

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

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

Zbyszko breathed with relief and said:

"I will perish with some consolation."

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

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

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

"God will reward you!"

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

"How is it outside?"

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

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

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

"People perish on horseback!" answered Macko.

"Bah! But how many they kill before!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly he looked sharply at his uncle and said:

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

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

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

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

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

But the princess looked at him sadly and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VII.

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

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

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

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

"Zbyszku!"

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

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

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

"That came near being true," answered Macko.

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

"What was the matter with you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Who rescued you?"

"Jurand of Spychow," answered Macko.

There was a moment of silence.

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

"Then you have not been in Malborg?"

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

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

"Do you see?"

After a while he added:

"It must be God's will."

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

"Then you spit blood continually?"

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

"He; I why did you hasten?"

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

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

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

"How did they attack you? From ambush?"

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

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

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

"What became of him?"

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

There was a moment of silence.

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

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

"Have you seen anybody here?"

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

"Then Lichtenstein went away?"

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

"And where is the king?"

"After the funeral he went to Rus'."

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

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

"Then Princess Anna is still here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Macko began to rub his forehead.

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

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

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

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

"That is true," answered Macko.

But after awhile he added:

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

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

"Ha! I will go to-day."

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

"Well, with God then!"

"With God!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?"

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

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

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

To this Macko said:

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

"Why are you angry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Granted?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And what then?"

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

There was a long moment of silence.

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

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

"Perhaps for Danusia!"

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

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

"Zbyszku! Zbyszku!"

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

"What?"

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

Having said this, he approached and began to whisper:

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?" asked Macko, astonished.

"Because I will not!"

Macko became pale with anger.

"I wish you had never been born!"

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

"How do you know that?"

"The _Pan_ of Taczew told me."

"What of it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zbyszku!"




CHAPTER VIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is mine! He is mine!"

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

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

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

The crowd moved suddenly, like the waves of the sea. The executioner and
his assistants rushed down from the scaffold. Everybody understood that
if Jasko of Tenczyn resisted the custom, there would be a riot in the
city. In fact the people now rushed to the scaffold. In the twinkling of
an eye, they pulled off the cloth and tore it into pieces; then the beams
and planks, pulled by strong arms, or cut with axes, began to crack, then
a crash, and a few moments later there was not a trace left of the
scaffold.

Zbyszko, holding Danusia in his arms, was going to the castle, but this
time like a true victor,--triumphant. With him were marching joyfully the
most noted knights in the kingdom; thousands of men, women and children
were shouting and singing, stretching their arms toward Danusia and
praising the beauty and courage of both. At the windows the townswomen
were clasping their hands, and everywhere one could see faces covered
with tears of joy. A shower of roses, lilies, ribbons and even gold rings
were thrown to the lucky youth; he, beaming like the sun, with his heart
full of gratitude, embraced his sweet lady from time to time and
sometimes kissed her hands. This sight made the townswomen feel so
tender, that some of them threw themselves into the arms of their lovers,
telling them that if they encountered death, they also would be freed.
Zbyszko and Danusia became the beloved children of the knights, burghers
and common people. Macko, whom Floryan of Korytnica and Marcin of
Wrocimowice were assisting to walk, was almost beside himself with joy.
He wondered why he had not even thought about this means of assistance.
Amidst the general bustle, Powala of Taczew told the knights that this
remedy had been discovered by Wojciech Jastrzembiec and Stanislaw of
Skarbimierz, both experts in the written laws and customs. The knights
were all amazed at its simplicity, saying among themselves, that nobody
else would have thought about that custom, because the city was inhabited
by Germans, and it had not been used for a long time.

Everything, however, still depended on the castellan. The knights and the
people went to the castle, which was occupied by _Pan_ Krakowski during
the king's absence. The clerk of the court, the _ksiondz_ Stanislaw of
Skarbimierz, Zawisza, Farurej, Zyndram of Maszkow and Powala of Taczew
explained to him the power of the custom and reminded him of what he had
said himself, that if he found "law or pretext," then he would release
the prisoner immediately. And could there be any better law, than the old
custom which had never been abolished?

The _Pan_ of Tenczyn answered that this custom applied more to the common
people and to robbers, than to the nobles; but he knew the law very well,
and could not deny its validity. Meanwhile he covered his silvery beard
with his hand and smiled, because he was very much pleased. Finally he
went to the low portico, accompanied by Princess Anna Danuta, a few
priests and the knights.

Zbyszko having perceived him, lifted Danusia again; the old castellan
placed his hand on her golden hair, and gravely and benevolently inclined
his hoary head. The assembled people understood this sign and shouted so
that the walls of the castle were shaken: "May God preserve you! Long
life, just lord! Live and judge us!"

Then the people cheered Zbyszko and Danusia when a moment later, they
both went to the portico, fell at the feet of the good Princess Anna
Danuta, who had saved Zbyszko's life, because she, together with the
scholars, had found the remedy and had taught Danusia how to act.

"Long life to the young couple!" shouted Powala of Taczew.

"Long life!" repeated the others. The castellan, hoary with age, turned
toward the princess and said:

"Gracious princess, the betrothal must be performed immediately, because
the custom requires it!"

"The betrothal will take place immediately," answered the good lady,
whose face was irradiated with joy; "but for the wedding, they must have
the consent of Jurand of Spychow."


END OF PART FIRST.




PART SECOND.




CHAPTER I.

In merchant Amylej's house, Macko and Zbyszko were deliberating what to
do. The old knight expected to die soon, and Father Cybek, a Franciscan
friar who had experience in treating wounds, predicted the same;
therefore he wanted to return to Bogdaniec to die and be buried beside
his forefathers in the cemetery in Ostrow.

But not all of his forefathers were buried there. In days of yore it had
been a numerous family of _wlodykas_. During the war their cry was:
"Grady!" On their shields, because they claimed to be better _wlodykas_
than the others who had no right to a coat of arms, they had emblazoned a
Tempa Podkowa. In 1331, in the battle of Plowce, seventy warriors from
Bogdaniec were killed in the marshes by German archers. Only one
Wojciech, called Tur, escaped. After this defeat by the Germans, the
king, Wladyslaw Lokietek, granted him a coat of arms and the estate of
Bogdaniec as a special privilege. Wojciech returned home, only to
discover the complete annihilation of his family.

While the men of Bogdaniec were perishing from German arrows, the
_Raubritters_ of Szlonsk fell upon their homes, burned their buildings,
and slaughtered or took into slavery the peasants. Wojciech remained
alone, the heir of a large but devastated tract of land, which formerly
belonged to the whole family of _wlodykas_. Five years afterward he
married and he begot two sons, Jasko and Macko. Afterward he was killed
in a forest by an urus.[58]

The sons grew up under the mother's care. Her maiden name was Kachna of
Spalenica. She was so brave that she conducted two successful expeditions
against the Germans of Szlonsk to avenge former wrongs; but in the third
expedition she was killed. Before that, however, she built with the help
of the slaves, a _grodek_[59] in Bogdaniec; on account of that, Jasko and
Macko, although from their former estates of _wlodykas_ were called
_wlodykas_, now became men of importance. When Jasko became of age, he
married Jagienka of Mocarzew, and begot Zbyszko; Macko remained
unmarried. He took care of his nephew's property as far as his war
expeditions permitted.

But when during the civil war between Grzymalits and Nalenczs, Bogdaniec
was again burned and the peasants scattered, Macko could not restore it,
although he toiled for several years. Finally he pledged the land to his
relative, the abbot, and with Zbyszko who was small, he went to Lithuania
to fight against the Germans.

But he had never forgotten about Bogdaniec. He went to Litwa hoping to
become rich from booty so as to return to Bogdaniec, redeem the land from
his pledge, colonize it with slaves, rebuild the _grodek_ and settle
Zbyszko on it. Therefore now, after Zbyszko's lucky deliverance, they
were discussing this matter at the house of the merchant, Amylej.

They had money enough to redeem the land they possessed quite a fortune
gathered from the booty, from the ransoms paid by the knights captured by
them, and from Witold's presents. They had received great benefit from
that fight with the two Fryzjan knights. The suits of armor alone, were
worth what was considered in those times quite a fortune; beside the
armor, they had captured wagons, people, clothes, money and rich
implements of war. The merchant Amylej had just purchased many of these
things, and among them two pieces of beautiful Flemish broadcloth. Macko
sold the splendid armor, because he thought that he would have no use for
it. The merchant sold it the next day to Marcin of Wrocimowice, whose
coat of arms was Polkoza. He sold it for a large sum, because in those
times the suits of armor made in Milan were considered the best in the
world and were expensive. Zbyszko regretted very much that they sold it.

"If God give you back your health," said he, to his uncle, "where will
you find another like it?"

"There, where I found this one; on some German," answered Macko. "But I
shall not escape death. The head of the spear will not come out from my
body. When I tried to pull it out with my hands, I pushed it in further.
And now there is no help."

"You must drink two or three pots of bear's grease."

"Bah! Father Cybek also said that would be a good thing. But where can I
get it here? In Bogdaniec one could very easily kill a bear!"

"Then we must go to Bogdaniec! Only you must not die on the road."

Old Macko looked at his nephew with tenderness.

"I know where you would like to go; to the Prince Janusz's court, or to
Jurand of Spychow, and fight the Germans of Chelminsko."

"I will not deny it. I would be glad to go to Warszawa with the princess'
court, or to go to Ciechanow; and I would remain as long as possible with
Danusia, because now she is not only my lady, but my love also. I tremble
when I think of her! I shall follow her even to the end of the world; but
now you are first. You did not desert me, therefore I will never abandon
you. We must go to Bogdaniec."

"You are a good man," said Macko.

"God would punish me, if I were not mindful of you. Look, they are
getting ready! I ordered one wagon to be filled with hay. Amylejowna has
made us a present of a feather bed, but I am afraid it will be too warm
for you. We will travel slowly, in company with the princess' court, so
that you may have good care. When they turn toward Mazowsze, we will turn
toward home; may God help us!"

"If I can only live long enough to rebuild the _grodek_!" exclaimed
Macko. "I know that after my death, you will not think anything more
about Bogdaniec."

"Why will I not?"

"Because your head will be filled with thoughts of battles and of love."

"Did you not think yourself about war? I have planned what I must do; in
the first place, I will rebuild the _grodek_."

"Do you mean to do that?" asked Macko, "Well, and when the _grodek_ is
finished?"

"When the _grodek_ is rebuilt, then I will go to Warszawa to the prince's
court, or to Ciechanow."

"After my death?"

"If you die soon, then after your death; but before I go, I will bury you
properly; if the Lord Jesus restore your health, then you will remain in
Bogdaniec. The princess promised me that I should receive my knightly
girdle from the prince. Otherwise Lichtenstein will not fight with me."

"Then afterward you will go to Marienburg?"

"To Marienburg, or even to the end of the world to reach Lichtenstein."

"I do not blame you for it! Either he or you must die!"

"I will bring his girdle and his gloves to Bogdaniec; do not be
frightened!"

"You must look out for treachery. There is plenty among them."

"I will bow to Prince Janusz and ask him to send to the grand master for
a safe conduct. There is peace now. I will go to Marienburg, where there
are always many knights. Then you know? In the first place, Lichtenstein;
then I will look for those who wear peacock's tufts, and I will challenge
them in turn. If the Lord Jesus grant me victory, then I will fulfill my
vow."

Speaking thus, Zbyszko smiled at his own thoughts; his face was like that
of a lad who tells what knightly deeds he will perform when he is a man.

"Hej!" said Macko; "if you defeat three knights belonging to great
families, then you will not only fulfill your vow, but you will bring
some booty!"

"Three!" exclaimed Zbyszko. "In the prison I promised myself, that I
would not be selfish with Danusia. As many knights as I have fingers on
both hands!"

Macko shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you surprised?" said Zbyszko. "From Marienburg I shall go to Jurand
of Spychow. Why should I not bow to him, he is Danusia's father? With him
I shall attack the Germans of Chelminsko. You told me yourself that in
the whole of Mazowsze there was no greater ware-wolf against the
Germans."

"And if he will not give you Danusia?"

"Why not? He is seeking his vengeance. I am searching for mine. Can he
find a better man? And then, the princess has given her consent for the
betrothal; he will not refuse."

"I see one thing," said Macko, "you will take all the people from
Bogdaniec in order to have a retinue, as is proper for a knight, and the
land will remain without hands to till it. As long as I live, I will not
let you do it; but after my death, I see, you will take them."

"The Lord God will help me to get a retinue; Janko of Tulcza is a
relation of ours and he will help me also."

At that moment the door opened, and as though to prove that the Lord God
would help Zbyszko get a retinue, two men entered. They were
dark-complexioned, short, dressed in Jewish-like yellow caftans, red caps
and very wide trousers. They stopped in the doorway and touched their
fingers to their foreheads, to their mouths, and then to their chests;
then they bowed to the ground.

"Who are these devils?" asked Macko. "Who are you?"

"Your slaves," answered the newcomers in broken Polish.

"For what reason? Where from? Who sent you here?"

"_Pan_ Zawisza sent us here as a present to the young knight, to be his
slaves."

"O for God's sake! two men more!" exclaimed Macko, joyfully.

"Of what nationality are you?"

"We are Turks!"

"Turks?" repeated Zbyszko. "I shall have two Turks in my retinue. Have
you ever seen Turks?"

And having jumped toward them, he began to turn them around and to look
at them curiously. Macko said:

"I have never seen them; but I have heard, that the _Pan_ of Garbow has
Turks in his service whom he captured while fighting on the Danube with
the Roman emperor, Zygmunt. How is it? Are you heathens, your
dog-brothers?"

"The lord ordered us to be baptized," said one of the slaves.

"Did you have no money for ransom?"

"We are from far lands, from Asiatic shores, from Brussa."

Zbyszko, who always listened gladly to war stories, and especially when
there was anything told about the deeds of the famous Zawisza of Garbow,
began to inquire how they were captured. But there was nothing
extraordinary in their narration; Zawisza attacked them in a ravine, part
of them perished and part were captured; and he sent the prisoners as
presents to his different friends. Zbyszko and Macko's hearts were
throbing at the sight of such a noble gift, especially as it was
difficult to get men in those days and the possession of them constituted
true wealth.

In the meanwhile, Zawisza himself accompanied by Powala and Paszko
Zlodzie; of Biskupice arrived. As they had all worked hard to free
Zbyszko, they were pleased when they succeeded; therefore everyone of
them gave him some present as a souvenir. The liberal _Pan_ of Taczew
gave him a beautiful large caparison embroidered with gold; Paszko, a
Hungarian sword and ten _grzywiens_.[60] Then came Lis of Targowisko,
Farurej and Krzon of Kozieglowy, with Marcin of Wrocimowice and finally
Zyndram of Maszkow; everyone brought rich presents.

Zbyszko welcomed them with a joyful heart, feeling very happy on account
of the presents and because the most famous knights in the kingdom were
showing him their friendship. They asked him about his departure and
Macko's health, recommending to the latter, different remedies which
would miraculously heal wounds.

But Macko recommended Zbyszko to their care, being ready himself for the
other world. He said that it was impossible to live with an iron spear
head between the ribs. He complained also that he spit blood and could
not eat. A quart of shelled nuts, a sausage two spans long and a dish of
boiled eggs were all he could eat at once. Father Cybek had bled him
several times, hoping in that way to draw out the fever from around his
heart, and restore his appetite; but it had not helped him any.

But he was so pleased with the presents given to his nephew, that at that
moment he was feeling better, and when the merchant, Amylej, ordered a
barrel of wine brought in honor of such famous guests, Macko drank with
them. They began to talk about Zbyszko's deliverance and about his
betrothal with Danusia. The knights did not doubt that Jurand of Spychow
would give his consent, especially if Zbyszko avenged the death of
Danusia's mother and captured the peacock tufts.

"But as for Lichtenstein," said Zawisza, "I do not think he will accept
your challenge, because he is a friar, and also one of the officers in
the Order. Bah! The people of his retinue told me that perhaps he would
be elected grand master!"

"If he refuse to fight, he will lose his honor," said Lis of Targowisko.

"No," answered Zawisza, "because he is not a lay knight; and a friar is
not permitted to fight in single combat."

"But it often happens that they do fight."

"Because the Order has become corrupt. The knights make different vows;
but they often break them, thus setting a bad example to the whole
Christian world. But a Krzyzak, especially a _comthur_, is not obliged to
accept a challenge."

"Ha! Then only in war can you reach him."

"But they say, that there will be no war," said Zbyszko, "because the
Knights of the Cross are afraid of our nation."

To this Zyndram of Maszkow said:

"This peace will not last long. There cannot be a good understanding with
the wolf, because he must live on the goods of others."

"In the meantime, perhaps we will be obliged to fight with Tymur the
Lame," said Powala. "Prince Witold was defeated by Edyga; that is
certain."

"Certain. _Wojewoda_ Spytko will not return," said Paszko Zlodziej of
Biskupice.

"The late queen prophesied it would be so," said the _Pan_ of Taczew.

"Ha! Then perhaps we will be obliged to go against Tymur."

Here the conversation was tunned to the Lithuanian expedition against the
Tartars. There was no doubt that Prince Witold, that able commander being
rather impetuous, had been badly defeated at Worskla, where a great
number of the Lithuanian _bojars_ and also a few Polish knights were
killed. The knights now gathered in Amylej's house, pitied especially
Spytek of Melsztyn, the greatest lord in the kingdom, who went with the
expedition as a volunteer; and after the battle he was lost--nobody knew
where. They praised his chivalrous deed, and told how he, having received
from the commander of the enemy a protective _kolpak_,[61] would not wear
it during the battle, preferring honorable death to life granted him by
the ruler of a heathen nation. But it was not certain yet, whether he had
perished, or was in captivity. If he were a prisoner, he could pay his
ransom himself, because his riches were enormous, and he also held in
fief the whole Podole from King Wladyslaw.

But the defeat of Witold's army might prove ruinous to the whole of
Jagiello's empire. Nobody knew when the Tartars, encouraged by the
victory over Witold, might now invade the lands and cities belonging to
the grand dukedom. In that case the kingdom of Poland would be involved
in a war. Therefore many knights, who like Zawisza, Farurej, Dobko and
even Powala, were accustomed to seek adventures and fights in foreign
countries, remained in Krakow not knowing what might soon happen. In case
Tamerlan, who was the ruler of twenty-seven states, moved the whole
Mongolian world, then the peril to the kingdom would be great.

"If it be necessary, then we will measure our swords with the Lame. With
us it will not be such an easy matter as it was with those other nations,
which he conquered and exterminated. Then the other Christian princes
will help us."

To this Zyndram of Maszkow, who especially hated the Order, said
bitterly:

"I do not know about the princes; but the Knights of the Cross are ready
to become friends even with the Tartars and attack us from the other
side."

"Then we shall have a war!" exclaimed Zbyszko. "I am against the
Krzyzaks!"

But the other knights began to contradict Zyndram. "The Knights of the
Cross have no fear of God, and they seek only their own advantage; but
they will not help the pagans against Christian people. And then Tymur is
at war somewhere in Asia, and the commander of the Tartars, Edyga, lost
so heavily in the battle, that he is afraid even of victory. Prince
Witold is a man full of expedients, and you may be sure he took
precautions; and even if this time the Lithuanians were not successful,
at any rate it is not a new thing for them to overcome the Tartars."

"We have to fight for life and death; not with the Tartars but with the
Germans," said Zyndram of Maszkow, "and if we do not crush them, our
peril will come from them."

Then he turned toward Zbyszko:

"And in the first place Mazowsze will perish. You will always find plenty
to do there; be not afraid!"

"Hej! if my uncle were well, I would go there immediately."

"God help you!" said Powala, raising a glass.

"Yours and Danusia's health!"

"To the destruction of the Germans!" added Zyndram of Maszkow.

Then they began to say farewell. At that moment one of the princess'
courtiers entered with a falcon on his arm; and having bowed to the
knights who were present, he turned with a peculiar smile to Zbyszko:

"The lady princess wished me to tell you," said he, "that she will stay
in Krakow over night, and will start on the journey to-morrow."

"That is well," said Zbyszko; "but why? Is anybody sick?"

"No. But the princess has a visitor from Mazowsze."

"The prince himself?"

"Not the prince, but Jurand of Spychow," answered the courtier.

Having heard this, Zbyszko became very much confused, and his heart began
to throb as it did when they read the sentence of death to him.




CHAPTER II.

Princess Anna was not much surprised at the arrival of Jurand of Spychow.
It used to happen, that during the continual attacks and fights with
neighboring German knights, a sudden longing for Danusia seized him. Then
he would appear unexpectedly in Warszawa, in Ciechanow, or wherever
Prince Janusz's court was situated for the time being.

Every time he saw the child, his grief burst forth anew because Danusia
looked like her mother. The people thought that his iron heart filled
with feelings of vengeance, would become softer through such grief. The
princess often tried to persuade him to abandon his bloody Spychow, and
remain at the court near Danusia. The prince himself, appreciating his
bravery and importance, and at the same time wishing to spare him the
fatigue inevitable in the quarrels on the frontier, offered him the
office of sword bearer. It was always in vain. The sight of Danusia
opened the old wounds in his heart. After a few days he always lost his
appetite, could not sleep, and became silent. Evidently his heart began
to bleed, and finally he would disappear from the court and returned to
the marshes of Spychow, in order to drown in blood his grief and anger.
Then the people used to say: "Woe to the Germans! It is true they are not
sheep; but they are sheep to Jurand, because he is a wolf to them." In
fact, after a time, the news would spread about the volunteers who, going
to join the Knights of the Cross, were captured on their journey; about
burned towns, and captured peasants; or about deadly fights from which
the terrible Jurand always emerged victorious. On account of the
rapacious disposition of the Mazurs and of the German knights who were
holding the land and the strongholds from the Order, even during the
greatest peace between the prince of Mazowsze and the Order, continual
fighting was going on near the frontier. Even when cutting wood in the
forests or harvesting in the fields, the inhabitants used to carry their
arms. The people living there felt no certainty for the morrow; were in
continual readiness for war, and were hard-hearted. Nobody was satisfied
with defence only; but for pillage repaid with pillage; for
conflagration, with conflagration; for invasion, with invasion. It often
happened that while the Germans were stealing through the forest, to
attack some stronghold and to seize the peasants or the cattle, at the
same time, the Mazurs were doing the same. Sometimes they met, then they
fought; but often only the leaders challenged each other for a deadly
fight, after which the conqueror took the retinue of his defeated
adversary. Therefore, when complaints were received at the Warsavian
court about Jurand, the prince used to reply with complaints about the
attacks made by the Germans. Thus both sides asked for justice, but
neither was willing to grant it; all robberies, conflagrations and
invasions went unpunished.

But Jurand dwelling in Spychow, surrounded by marshes overgrown with
rushes, and being filled with an unquenchable desire for vengeance, was
so dreaded by his German neighbors, that finally their fear became
greater than their courage. The lands bordering upon Spychow, were lying
fallow; the forests were overgrown with wild hops and the meadows with
reeds. Several German knights tried to settle in the neighborhood of
Spychow; but everyone of them after a time, preferred to abandon his
estate held in fief, his herds and his peasants, rather than live near
this implacable man. Very often the knights planned a common expedition
against Spychow; but everyone ended in defeat. They tried different
means. One time they brought from the province of Mein, a knight noted
for his strength and cruelty, and who had always been victorious in all
fights. He challenged Jurand. But as soon as they entered the lists, the
German was so frightened at the sight of the dreadful Mazur, that he
wheeled his horse intending to flee; Jurand pierced his defenceless back
with a spear, and in that way dishonored him forever. After that still
greater fear filled the neighbors, and if a German perceived even from
afar Spychowian smoke, he immediately crossed himself and began to pray
to his patron in heaven. It was generally believed that Jurand had sold
his soul to the evil one for the sake of vengeance.

The people told dreadful tales about Spychow: they said that the path
leading to it through the quaggy marshes which were overgrown with duck
weed and had bottomless depths, was so narrow that two men on horseback
could not ride abreast; that on each side there were many Germans' bones,
and that during the night, the heads of drowned men were seen walking on
spiders' legs, howling and drawing travelers on horses into the depths.
They also said that the gate in the _grodek_ was ornamented with
skeletons. These stories were not true. But in the barred pits dug under
the house in Spychow, there were always many groaning prisoners; and
Jurand's name was more dreadful than those tales about the skeletons and
drowned people.

Zbyszko having learned of Jurand's arrival, hastened to him, but with a
certain uneasiness in his heart because he was Danusia's father. Nobody
could forbid him choose Danusia for the lady of his thoughts; but
afterward the princess had betrothed them. What will Jurand say to that?
Will he consent? What will happen if he refuse his consent? These
questions filled his heart with fear, because he now cared for Danusia
more than for anything else in the world. He was only encouraged by the
thought that perhaps Jurand would praise him for having attacked
Lichtenstein, because he had done it to avenge Danusia's mother; and in
consequence had nearly lost his own head.

In the meantime he began to question the courtier, who had come to
Amylej's for him:

"Where are you conducting me?" asked he; "to the castle?"

"Yes, to the castle. Jurand is with the princess' court."

"Tell me, what kind of a man he is, so that I may know how to talk with
him!"

"What can I tell you! He is a man entirely different from other men. They
say that he was mirthful before his blood became seared in his heart!"

"Is he clever?"

"He is cunning; he robs others but he does not let others rob him. Hej!
He has only one eye, because the other was destroyed by the thrust of a
German crossbow; but with that one, he can look a man through and
through. He loves no one except the princess, our lady; and he loves her
because his wife was a lady from her court, and now his daughter is with
her."

Zbyszko breathed.

"Then you think that he will not oppose the princess' will?"

"I know what you would like to learn, and therefore I will tell you what
I heard. The princess spoke to him about your betrothment, because it
would not be proper to conceal it from him; but it is not known what he
said in reply."

While thus speaking, they arrived at the gate. The captain of the
archers, the same who had conducted Zbyszko to the scaffold, now saluted
them. After having passed the guards, they entered the court-yard and
turned to the left toward the part of the castle occupied by the
princess.

The courtier meeting a servant in the doorway, asked:

"Where is Jurand of Spychow?"

"In the '_krzywy_[62] room' with his daughter."

"It is there," said the courtier, pointing at the door.

Zbyszko crossed himself, raised the curtain in the doorway, and entered
with throbbing heart. But he did not perceive Jurand and Danusia at once,
because the room was not only "crooked" but dark also. But after a while
he saw the fair head of the girl, who was sitting on her father's lap.
They did not hear him when he entered; therefore e stopped near the door,
and finally he said:

"May He be blessed!"

"For ages and ages," answered Jurand, rising.

At that moment Danusia sprang toward the young knight and having seized
him with both hands, began to scream:

"Zbyszku! _Tatus_[63] is here!"

Zbyszko kissed her hands; then he approached Jurand, and said:

"I came to bow to you; you know who I am."

And he bent slightly, making a movement with his hands as if he wished to
seize Jurand by his knees. But Jurand grasped his hand, turned him toward
the light and began to look at him.

Zbyszko had already regained his self-possession; therefore he looked
with curiosity at Jurand. He beheld before him a gigantic man with fallow
hair and moustache, with a face pitted with smallpox and one eye of
iron-like color. It seemed to him as if this eye would pierce him, and he
again became confused. Finally, not knowing what to say, but wishing to
say something to break the embarrassing silence, he asked:

"Then you are Jurand of Spychow, Danusia's father?"

But the other only pointed to an oaken bench, standing beside the chair
on which he sat himself and continued to look at Zbyszko, who finally
became impatient, and said:

"It is not pleasant for me to sit as though I were in a court."

Then Jurand said:

"You wanted to fight with Lichtenstein?"

"Yes!" answered Zbyszko.

In the eye of the Lord of Spychow shone a strange light and his stern
face began to brighten. After awhile he looked at Danusia and asked;

"And was it for her?"

"For no other! My uncle told you that I made a vow to her to tear the
peacock tufts from German heads. But now there shall be not only three of
them, but at least as many as I have fingers on both hands. In that way I
will help you to avenge the death of Danusia's mother."

"Woe to them!" answered Jurand.

Then there was silence again. But Zbyszko, having noticed that by showing
his hatred of the Germans, he would capture Jurand's heart, said:

"I will not forgive them! They nearly caused my death."

Here he turned to Danusia and added:

"She saved me."

"I know," said Jurand.

"Are you angry?"

"Since you made a vow to her, you must serve her, because such is the
knightly custom."

Zbyszko hesitated; but after awhile, he began to say with evident
uneasiness:

"Do you know that she covered my head with her veil? All the knights and
also the Franciscan who was with me holding the cross, heard her say: 'He
is mine!' Therefore I will be loyal to her until death, so help me God!"

Having said this, he kneeled, and wishing to show that he was familiar
with the customs of chivalry, he kissed both of Danusia's shoes with
great reverence. Then he arose and having turned to Jurand, asked him:

"Have you ever seen another as fair as she?"

Jurand suddenly put his hands behind his head, and having closed his
eyes, he said loudly:

"I have seen one other; but the Germans killed her."

"Then listen," said Zbyszko, enthusiastically; "we have the same wrong
and the same vengeance. Those dog-brothers also killed my people from
Bogdaniec. You cannot find a better man for your work. It is no new thing
for me! Ask my uncle. I can fight either with spear or axe, short sword
or long sword! Did my uncle tell you about those Fryzjans? I will
slaughter the Germans for you like sheep; and as for the girl, I vow to
you on my knees that I will fight for her even with the _starosta_ of
hell himself, and that I will give her up neither for lands nor for
herds, nor for any other thing! Even if some one offered me a castle with
glass windows in it but without her, I would refuse the castle and follow
her to the end of the world."

Jurand sat for awhile with his head between his hands; but finally he
awakened as from a dream, and said with sadness and grief:

"I like you, young man, but I cannot give her to you; she is not destined
for you, my poor boy."

Zbyszko hearing this, grew dumb and began to look at Jurand with
wondering eyes.

But Danusia came to his help. Zbyszko was dear to her, and she was
pleased to be considered not "a bush" but "a grown-up girl." She also
liked the betrothal and the dainties which the knight used to bring her
every day; therefore when she understood that she was likely to lose all
this, she slipped down from the arm chair and having put her head on her
father's lap, she began to cry:

"_Tatulu, Tatulu!_"[64] He evidently loved her better than anything else,
for he put his hand softly on her head, while from his face disappeared
all trace of deadly grudge and anger; only sadness remained.

In the meantime Zbyszko recovered his composure, and now said:

"How is it? Do you wish to oppose God's will?"

To this Jurand replied:

"If it be God's will, then you will get her; but I cannot give you my
consent. Bah! I would be glad to do it, but I cannot."

Having said this, he arose, took Danusia in his arms, and went toward the
door. When Zbyszko tried to detain him, he stopped for a moment and said:

"I will not be angry with you if you render her knightly services; but do
not ask me any questions, because I cannot tell you anything."

And he went out.




CHAPTER III.

The next day Jurand did not avoid Zbyszko at all; and he did not prevent
him from performing for Danusia, during the journey, those different
services which, being her knight, he was obliged to render her. On the
contrary, Zbyszko noticed that the gloomy _Pan_ of Spychow looked at him
kindly, as if he were regretting that he had been obliged to refuse his
request. The young _wlodyka_ tried several times to have some
conversation with him. After they started from Krakow, there were plenty
of opportunities during the journey, because both accompanied the
princess on horseback; but as soon as Zbyszko endeavored to learn
something about the secret difficulties separating him from Danusia, the
conversation was suddenly ended.

Jurand's face became gloomy, and he looked at Zbyszko uneasily as if he
were afraid he would betray himself.

Zbyszko thought that perhaps the princess knew what the obstacle was; so
having an opportunity to speak to her privately, he inquired; but she
could not tell him anything.

"Certainly there is some secret," she said. "Jurand himself told me that;
but he begged me not to question him further, because he not only did not
wish to tell what it was, but he could not. Surely he must be bound by
some oath, as so often happens among the knights. But God will help us
and everything will turn out well."

"Without Danusia I will be as unhappy as a chained dog or a bear in a
ditch," answered Zbyszko. "There will be neither joy nor pleasure,
nothing but sorrow and sighing; I will go against the Tartars with Prince
Witold and may they kill me there. But first I must accompany uncle to
Bogdaniec, and then tear from German heads the peacock's tufts as I
promised. Perhaps the Germans will kill me; and I prefer such a death
rather than to live and see some one else take Danusia."

The princess looked at him with her kind blue eyes, and asked him, with a
certain degree of astonishment:

"Then you would permit it?"

"I? As long I have breath in my nostrils, it will not happen, unless my
hand be paralyzed, and I be unable to hold my axe!"

"Then you see!"

"Bah! But how can I take her against her father's will?"

To this the princess said, as to herself:

"Does it not happen that way sometimes?"

Then to Zbyszko:

"God's will is stronger than a father's will. What did Jurand say to you?
He said to me 'If it be God's will, then he will get her.'"

"He said the same to me!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

"Do you not see?"

"It is my only consolation, gracious lady."

"I will help you, and you can be sure of Danusia's constancy. Only
yesterday I said to her: 'Danusia, will you always love Zbyszko?' And she
answered: 'I will be Zbyszko's and no one else's.' She is still a green
berry, but when she promises anything, she keeps her word, because she is
the daughter of a knight. Her mother was like her."

"Thank God!" said Zbyszko.

"Only remember to be faithful to her also; man is inconstant; he promises
to love one faithfully, and afterward he promises another."

"May Lord Jesus punish me if I prove such!" exclaimed Zbyszko
energetically.

"Well, remember then. And after you have conveyed your uncle to
Bogdaniec, come to our court; there will be some opportunity then for you
to win your spurs; then we will see what can be done. In the meanwhile
Danusia will mature, and she will feel God's will; although she loves you
very much even now, it is not the same love a woman feels. Perhaps Jurand
will give his consent, because I see he likes you. You can go to Spychow
and from there can go with Jurand against the Germans; it may happen that
you will render him some great service and thus gain his affection."

"Gracious princess, I have thought the same; but with your sanction it
will be easier."

This conversation cheered Zbyszko. Meanwhile at the first baiting place,
old Macko became worse, and it was necessary to remain until he became
better. The good princess, Anna Danuta, left him all the medicine she had
with her; but she was obliged to continue her journey; therefore both
_wlodykas_ of Bogdaniec bid those belonging to the Mazovian court
farewell. Zbyszko prostrated himself at the princess' feet, then at
Danusia's; he promised her once more to be faithful and to meet her soon
at Ciechanow or at Warszawa; finally he seized her in his strong arms,
and having lifted her, he repeated with a voice full of emotion:

"Remember me, my sweetest flower! Remember me, my little golden fish!"

Danusia embraced him as though he were a beloved brother, put her little
cheek to his face and wept copiously.

"I do not want to go to Ciechanow without Zbyszko; I do not want to go to
Ciechanow!"

Jurand saw her grief, but he was not angry. On the contrary, he bid the
young man good-bye kindly; and after he had mounted, he turned toward him
once more, and said:

"God be with you; do not bear ill will toward me."

"How can I feel ill will toward you; you are Danusia's father!" answered
Zbyszko cordially; then he bent to his stirrup, and the old man shook
hands with him, and said:

"May God help you in everything! Understand?"

Then he rode away. But Zbyszko understood that in his last words, he
wished him success; and when he went back to the wagon on which Macko was
lying, he said:

"Do you know I believe he is willing; but something hinders him from
giving his consent. You were in Spychow and you have good common sense,
try to guess what it is."

But Macko was too ill. The fever increased so much toward evening, that
he became delirious. Therefore instead of answering Zbyszko, he looked at
him as if he were astonished; then he asked:

"Why do they ring the bells?"

Zbyszko was frightened. He feared that if the sick man heard the sound of
bells, it was a sign that death would soon come. He feared also that the
old man might die without a priest and without confession, and therefore
go, if not to hell, then at least for long centuries to purgatory;
therefore he determined to resume their journey, in order to reach, as
soon as possible, some parish in which Macko could receive the last
sacraments.

Consequently they started and traveled during the night. Zbyszko sat in
the wagon on the hay, beside the sick man and watched him till day-break.
From time to time he gave him wine to drink. Macko drank it eagerly,
because it relieved him greatly. After the second quart he recovered from
his delirium; and after the third, he fell asleep; he slept so well that
Zbyszko bent toward him from time to time, to ascertain if he was still
alive.

Until the time of his imprisonment in Krakow, he did not realize how
dearly he loved this uncle who replaced, for him, father and mother. But
now he realized it very well; and he felt that after his uncle's death,
life would be very lonesome for him, alone, without relatives, except the
abbot who held Bogdaniec in pledge, without friends and without anyone to
help him. The thought came to him that if Macko died, it would be one
more reason for vengeance on the Germans, by whose means he had nearly
lost his head, by whom all his forefathers had been killed, also
Danusia's mother and many other innocent people, whom he knew or about
whom he had heard from his acquaintances--and he began to say to himself:

"In this whole kingdom, there is no man who has not suffered some wrong
from them, and who would not like to avenge those wrongs." Here he
remembered the Germans with whom he fought at Wilno, and be knew that
even the Tartars were less cruel.

The coming dawn interrupted his thoughts. The day was bright but cold.
Evidently Macko felt better, because he was breathing more regularly and
more quietly. He did not awaken until the sun was quite warm; then he
opened his eyes and said:

"I am better. Where are we?"

"We are approaching Olkusk. You know, where they dig silver."

"If one could get that which is in the earth, then one could rebuild
Bogdaniec!"

"I see you are better," answered Zbyszko laughing. "Hej! it would be
enough even for a stone castle! We will go to the _fara_,[65] because
there the priests will offer us hospitality and you will be able to make
your confession. Everything is in God's hands; but it is better to have
one's conscience clear."

"I am a sinner and will willingly repent," answered Macko. "I dreamed
last night that the devils were taking my skin off. They were talking
German. Thanks be to God that I am better. Have you slept any?"

"How could I sleep, when I was watching you?"

"Then lie down for a while. When we arrive, I will awaken you."

"I cannot sleep!"

"What prevents you?"

Zbyszko looked at his uncle and said:

"What else can it be, if not love? I have pain in my heart; but I will
ride on horseback for a while, that will help me."

He got down from the wagon, and mounted the horse, which his servant
brought for him; meanwhile, Macko touched his sore side; but he was
evidently thinking about something else and not about his illness,
because he tossed his head, smacked his lips and finally said:

"I wonder and wonder, and I cannot wonder enough, why you are so eager
for love, because your father was not that way, and neither am I."

But Zbyszko, instead of answering, stretched himself on the saddle, put
his hands on his hips, gave his head a toss and sang:

  "I cried the whole night, cried in the morning,
  Where have you been, my sweet girl, my darling!
  It will not help me, if I mourn for thee,
  Because I am quite sure, you will not see me."

"Hej!"

This "hej" resounded in the forest, reverberated against the trunks of
the trees, finally reëchoed in the far distance and then was lost in the
thickets.

Again Macko felt his side, in which the German spearhead had lodged and
said, moaning a little:

"Formerly the people were wiser!"

Then he became thoughtful, as if recollecting the old times; and he
added:

"Although even then some of them were stupid also."

But, in the meantime, they emerged from the forest, behind which they
perceived the miners' sheds, and further walls, built by King Kazimierz,
and the tower of the _fara_ erected by Wladyslaw Lokietek.

The canon of the _fara_ beard Macko's confession and offered them
hospitality; they remained there over night, and started the next
morning. Beyond Olkusk, they turned toward Szlonsk,[66] and on its
boundaries, they proposed to ride toward Wielkopolska. The road was laid
out through a large forest, in which there was heard toward sunset, the
roaring of the urus and of the bison, and during the night the eyes of
wolves were seen shining behind the thick hazelnut trees. But the
greatest danger which threatened the traveler on this road, was from the
German and Germanized knights of Szlonsk, whose castles were erected here
and there near the boundaries. It is true, that because of the war with
the Opolczyk, Naderspraw, whom the Silesians were helping against King
Wladyslaw, the majority of these castles had been destroyed by Polish
hands; it was necessary, however, to be watchful, and especially after
sunset, and to have one's weapons ready.

They were riding so quietly, however, that Zbyszko found the journey
tedious; when they were about one day's journey from Bogdaniec, they
heard the snorting and trampling of horses behind them.

"Some people are following us," said Zbyszko.

Macko, who was awake, looked at the stars and answered like an
experienced traveler:

"Day-break is near. Robbers do not attack toward the end of the night."

Zbyszko stopped the wagon; however, placed the men across the road,
facing the advancing horses, and waited.

In fact, after a certain time he perceived in the dusk, several horsemen.
One of them was riding ahead, and it was evident that he did not wish to
hide, because he was singing. Zbyszko could not hear the words of the
song; but the gay "hoc! hoc!" with which the stranger ended each refrain,
reached his ears.

"Our people!" he said to himself.

After a while he shouted, however:

"Stop!"

"And you sit down!" answered a joyous voice.

"Who are you?"

"And you?"

"Why do you follow us?"

"And why do you obstruct the road?"

"Answer, our crossbows are bent."

"And ours,--thrust out,--aimed!"

"Answer like a man, otherwise woe to you!"

To this a merry song was given, as an answer to Zbyszko.

  "One misery with another
  They are dancing on the crossway.
      Hoc! Hoc! Hoc!
  What use have they of dancing?
  It's a good thing, anyhow.
      Hoc! Hoc! Hoc!"

Zbyszko was amazed at hearing such an answer; meantime, the song stopped
and the same voice asked:

"And how is the old man Macko? Does he still breathe?"

Macko rose in the wagon and said:

"For God's sake, they are some of our people!"

Zbyszko rushed forward.

"Who asks about Macko?"

"A neighbor. Zych of Zgorzelice. I have looked for you for a week and
inquired about you from all on the road."

"_Rety!_[67] Uncle! Zych of Zgorzelice is here!" shouted Zbyszko.

They began to greet each other joyfully because Zych was really their
neighbor, and also a good man of whom everybody was very fond on account
of his mirth.

"Well, how are you?" asked he, shaking hands with Macko. "Still _hoc_, or
no more _hoc_!"[68]

"Hej, no more _hoc_!" answered Macko. "But I see you gladly. Gracious
God, it is as if I were already in Bogdaniec."

"What is the matter with you; I heard that the Germans had wounded you?"

"They did, dog-brothers! I A head of a spear stuck between my ribs."

"You see!" said Zbyszko, "everybody advises the grease of a bear. As soon
as we reach Bogdaniec, I will go with an axe to the _barcie_."[69]

"Perhaps Jagienka has some."

"What Jagienka? Your wife's name was Malgochna," said Macko.

"O! Malgochna is no more! It will be three years on St. Michael's day
since Malgochna was buried in the priests' field. She was a sturdy woman;
may the Lord make his face shine upon her soul! Jagienka is exactly like
her, only younger."

  "Behind a ravine, there is a mount,
  As was mother, such is daughter.
      Hoc! Hoc!"

"I told Malgochna not to climb the pine tree because she was no longer
young. But she would climb it. The branch broke; she fell and was badly
hurt; within three days, she died."

"Lord, make your face shine upon her soul!" said Macko. "I remember, I
remember! When she was angry, the farm boys used to hide in the hay. But
she was clever. So she fell from a pine tree!"

"She fell down like a cone. Do you know, after the funeral I was so
stupefied with grief, that for three days they could not arouse me. They
thought I was dead. Afterward, I wept for a long time. But Jagienka is
also clever. She takes care of everything."

"I can scarcely remember her. She was not as large as the helve of an axe
when I went away. She could pass under a horse without touching its body.
Bah! that is a long time ago, and she must have grown."

"She was fifteen the day of St. Agnes; but I have not seen her for more
than a year."

"Why have you not seen her? Where have you been?"

"To the war. I do not need to stay home; Jagienka takes care of
everything."

Macko, although ill, began to listen attentively when the war was
mentioned, and asked:

"Perhaps you were with _Kniaz_ Witold at Worskla?"

"Yes, I was there," answered Zych of Zgorzelice gaily. "Well, the Lord
God did not send him good luck; we were dreadfully defeated by Edyga.
First they killed our horses. A Tartar will not attack you openly like a
Christian knight, but throws his arrows from afar. You attack him and he
flees, and then again throws his arrows. What can you do with such a man?
In our army the knights boasted and said: 'We do not need to lower our
spears, nor draw our swords; we will crush the vermin under our horses'
feet.' So they boasted; but when the arrows began to twange, it grew dark
they were so numerous, and the battle was soon over. Hardly one out of
ten survived. Will you believe it? More than half of the army were slain;
seventy Lithuanian and Russian princes lay dead on the battlefield; and
one could not count in two weeks' time, the _bojars_ and other courtiers,
whom they call _otroks_, that were killed."

"I heard about it," interrupted Macko. "Many of our knights perished
also."

"Bah! even ten Knights of the Cross were killed, because they were
obliged to serve in Witold's army. Many of our people perished, because
they, you know, never run away. _Kniaz_ Witold had the greatest
confidence in our knights and he wanted a guard of them round him during
the battle, exclusively Poles. Hi! Hi! Great havoc was made among them;
but he was not touched! _Pan_ Spytko of Mielsztyn was killed, also the
sword bearer, Bernat, Judge Mikolaj, Prokop, Przeclaw, Dobrogost, Jasko
of Lazewice, Pilik Mazur, Warsz of Michow, _Wojewoda_ Socha, Jasko of
Dombrowa, Pietrko of Miloslaw, Szczepiecki, Oderski and Tomko Lagoda. Who
can enumerate all of them! Some of them had been hit with so many arrows,
that after death they looked like porcupines; it was awful to look at
them!"

Here he laughed as if he were telling a most amusing story, and at once
he began to sing:

  "You have learned what is a Tartar,
  When he beat you and flew afar!"

"Well, and what then?" asked Zbyszko.

"Then the grand duke escaped; but he was as courageous as he usually is.
The more you press him, the farther he jumps, like a hazelnut stick. We
rushed to the Tavanian ford to defend those crossing over. There were
with us a few knights from Poland. The second day, Edyga came with a
swarm of Tartars; but he could not do a thing. Hej! When he wanted to
pass the ford, we fought him so hard he could not do it. We killed and
caught many of them. I myself caught five Tartars, and I sent them to
Zgorzelice. You will see what dogheads they have."

"In Krakow, they say that the war may reach Poland also."

"Do they think Edyga is a fool! He knows well what kind of knights we
have; and he also knows that the greatest knights remained home, because
the queen was not pleased when Witold began the war on his own authority.
Ej, he is cunning, that old Edyga! He understood at Tavania that the
prince's army had increased and had gone far beyond the tenth-land!"

"But you returned?"

"Yes, I returned. There is nothing to do there. In Krakow I heard about
you, and that you had started a little ahead of me."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"Hej! my lord, the last time I saw you, you were a small boy; and now,
although there is no light, I suppose you are large like an urus. And you
had your crossbows ready! One can see you have been in the war."

"War has nurtured me since childhood. Let my uncle tell you if I am
lacking in experience."

"It is not necessary for your uncle to tell me anything; in Krakow, I saw
the _Pan_ of Taczew who told me about you. But I understand that the
Mazur does not want to give you his daughter. I have nothing against you;
but I like you. You will forget about that one when you see my Jagienka.
She is a wonder!"

"I shall not forget, even if I see ten such as your Jagna."

"She will get the estate of Moczydoly for her dowry. Many will ask me for
Jagna, do not fear?"

Zbyszko wanted to answer: "But not I!" But Zych of Zgorzelice began to
sing:

  "I will bend to your knees
  And you for that, will give me the girl,
    Give me the girl!"

"You are always happy and singing," said Macko.

"Well, and what do the blessed do in heaven."

"They sing."

"Well, then! And the damned cry. I prefer to go to those who sing rather
than to those who cry; and St. Peter will say thus: 'We must let him into
paradise; otherwise he will sing in hell, and that will not be right.'
Look, the day breaks!"

In fact, daylight was coming. After awhile they arrived at a large glade.
By the lake covering the greater part of the glade, some people were
fishing; but seeing the armed men, they left their nets and immediately
seized their picks and staffs and stood ready for battle.

"They thought we were robbers," said Zych, laughing. "Hej, fishermen! To
whom do you belong?"

They stood for a while silently, looking distrustfully; but finally one
of them having recognized that they were knights, answered:

"To the _ksiondz_, the abbot of Tulcza."

"Our relative," said Macko, "the same who holds Bogdaniec in pledge.
These must be his forests; but he must have purchased them a short time
ago."

"He did not buy them," answered Zych. "He was fighting about them with
Wilk of Brzozowa and it seems that the abbot defeated Wilk. A year ago
they were going to fight on horseback with spears and long swords for
this part of the forest; but I do not know how it ended because I went
away."

"Well, we are relatives," said Macko, "he will not quarrel with us."

"Perhaps; he is a chivalrous abbot who knows how to wear a helmet; but he
is pious and he sings the mass beautifully. Don't you remember? When he
shouts at mass, the swallows nested under the ceiling, fall from their
nests. In that way God's glory increases."

"Certainly I remember! At ten steps he could blow the candles at the
altar out. Has he been in Bogdaniec?"

"Yes, he was there. He settled five peasants on the land. He has also
been at my house at Zgorzelice, because, as you know, he baptized
Jagienka, of whom he is very fond and calls her little daughter."

"God will bless him if he be willing to leave me the peasants," said
Macko.

"_Owa!_ what will five peasants amount to! Then Jagienka will ask him and
he will not refuse her."

Here the conversation stopped for a while, because over the dark forest
and from the pink down, the bright sun had risen and lighted the
environs. The knights greeted it with the customary: "May it be blessed!"
and then having made the sign of the cross, they began their morning
prayers.

Zych finished first and said to his companions:

"I hope to see you well soon. Hej! you have both changed. You, Macko,
must regain your health. Jagienka will take care of you, because there is
no woman in your house. One can see that you have a piece of iron between
your ribs."

Here he turned toward Zbyszko:

"Show yourself also. Well, mighty God! I remember you when you were small
and used to climb on the colts by the help of their tails; and now, what
a knight! The face looks like that of a little lord; but the body like
that of a sturdy man. Such can wrestle even with a bear."

"A bear is nothing for him!" said Macko. "He was younger than he is
to-day, when that Fryzjan called him a beardless youth; and he resenting
it, immediately pulled out the Fryzjan's mustaches."

"I know," interrupted Zych, "and you fought afterward, and captured their
retinue. _Pan_ of Taczew told me all about it:"

  "There came a German very proud,
  He was buried with sore snout;
      Hoc! Hoc!"

Zbyszko wondered at Zych's long thin figure, at his thin face with its
enormous nose and at his laughing round eyes.

"O!" said he, "with such a neighbor there will be no sadness, if God only
restore my uncle's health."

"It is good to have a joyful neighbor, because with a jolly fellow there
will be no quarrel," answered Zych. "Now listen to what I tell you. You
have been away from home a long time, and you will not find much comfort
in Bogdaniec. I do not say in the farming, because the abbot has taken
care of that; he dug up a large piece of the forest and settled new
peasants. But as he went there very often, you will find the larder
empty; even in the house, there is hardly a bench or a bunch of straw to
sleep on; and a sick man needs some comforts. You had better come with me
to Zgorzelice. I will be glad to have you stay a month or two. During
that time, Jagienka will take care of Bogdaniec. Rely on her and do not
bother yourselves with anything. Zbyszko can go there, from time to time,
to inspect the farming; I will bring the abbot to Zgorzelice, and you can
settle your account with him. The girl will take good care of you, as of
a father, and during illness, a woman's care is the best. Well, my dear
friends, will you do as I ask you?"

"We know that you are a good man and you always were," answered Macko
with emotion; "but don't you see, if I must die on account of this wound,
I prefer to die in my own home. Then when one is home, although he is
old, he can inquire about different things, can inspect and do many other
things. If God order me to go to the other world, well, then I cannot
help it! I cannot escape it even with better care. As for inconvenience,
we are accustomed to that at the war. Even a bunch of straw is pleasant
to that one who, during several years, has slept on the bare ground. But
I thank you for your kind heart and if I be not able to show you my
gratitude, God will permit Zbyszko to do it."

Zych of Zgorzelice, who was noted for his kind heart and readiness to
oblige, began to insist: but Macko was firm: "If I must die, it will be
better to die in my own courtyard!"

He had longed to see Bogdaniec for several years, therefore now, when he
was so near it, he must go there, even if it were his last night. God was
merciful, having permitted him who was so ill, to reach here.

He brushed away the tears gathered under his eyelids, with his hand,
looked around and said:

"If these are the woods of Wilk of Bizozowa we will be home this
afternoon."

"They do not belong to Wilk of Bizozowa any longer; but to the abbot,"
said Zych.

Macko smiled and said after awhile:

"If they belong to the abbot, then sometime, they may belong to us."

"Bah! awhile ago you were talking about death," said Zych joyfully, "and
now you wish to outlive the abbot."

"No, I will not outlive him; but Zbyszko may."

Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of horns in the forest.
Zych stopped his horse and began to listen.

"Somebody is hunting," said he. "Wait."

"Perhaps it is the abbot. It would be pleasant to meet him here."

"Keep quiet!"

Here be turned to his retinue.

"Stop!"

They halted. The horns resounded nearer, and soon afterward the baying of
dogs was heard.

"Stop!" repeated Zych. "They are coming toward us."

Zbyszko jumped from his horse and began to shout:

"Give me the crossbow! The beast may attack us! Hasten! Hasten!"

Having seized the crossbow from the servant's hands, he rested it against
the ground, pressed it against his abdomen, bent, stretched his back like
a bow, and having seized the string with the fingers of both hands, he
pulled it on to the iron hook; then placed an arrow and sprang into the
woods.

"He stretched it without a crank!" whispered Zych, astonished at such
great strength.

"Ho, he is a strong boy!" answered Macko, proudly.

Meanwhile, the sound of horns and the barking of dogs stole nearer; all
at once, at the right side of the forest, a heavy trampling resounded,
accompanied by the crackling of broken branches and bushes--then out of
the thicket rushed an old bearded urus, with his gigantic head lowered,
with bloody eyes and panting tongue, breathless and terrible. Coming to a
small ravine, he leaped it, but fell on his forelegs; but immediately he
arose, and a few seconds later he would have disappeared in the thicket
on the other side of the road, when the string of the crossbow twanged,
the whistling of the arrow resounded, the beast reared, turned, roared
dreadfully and fell on the ground as if he were struck by a thunderbolt.

Zbyszko leaped from behind a tree, again stretched the crossbow, and
approached the bull who was pawing the ground with his hind feet.

But having glanced at it, he turned quietly toward the retinue, and began
to shout from afar:

"I hit him so hard that he is severely wounded!"

"You are a strong boy!" said Zych, riding toward him, "with one arrow
only!"

"Bah, it was near, and the speed was great. Come and see; not only the
iron, but even the shaft has disappeared under the left shoulder bone."

"The huntsmen must be near; they will claim the beast."

"I will not give it to them!" answered Zbyszko. "It was killed on the
road, and the road is not private property."

"But if it belong to the abbot?"

"Well, then he may have it."

Meanwhile, several dogs came out of the forest. Having perceived the
animal, they rushed on him.

"Soon the huntsmen will appear," said Zych. "Look! There they are, but
they do not see the beast yet. Stop! Stop! Here, here! Killed! Killed!"

Then he became silent, and sheltered his eyes with one hand; after a
while, he said:

"For God's sake! what has happened? Have I become blind, or does it only
seem so to me?"

"There is some one on a piebald horse in the front," said Zbyszko.

Then Zych exclaimed at once:

"Dear Jesus! It must be Jagienka!"

And he began to shout:

"Jagna! Jagna!"

Then he rushed forward; but before he could make his horse gallop,
Zbyszko perceived a most wonderful spectacle; he beheld a girl sitting
like a man, on a swift piebald horse, rushing toward them; she had a
crossbow in one hand and a boar-spear on her shoulders. Her floating hair
was full of hop strobiles; her face was bright like the dawn. Her shirt
was opened on the bosom, and she wore a _serdak_.[70] Having reached
them, she reined in her horse; for a while, her face expressed surprise,
hesitation, joy; finally, being scarcely able to believe her own eyes,
she began to cry in a childish voice:

"_Tatulo_,[71] _tatus_[71] dearest!"

In the twinkling of an eye, she jumped from her horse, and Zych
dismounted also to welcome her; she threw her arms around his neck. Fora
long time, Zbyszko heard only the sounds of kisses and these two words:
"_Tatulo!_ Jagula! _Tatulo!_ Jagula!" repeated in a joyful outburst.

Both retinues now approached, and Macko arrived also; they continued to
repeat: "_Tatulo!_ Jagula!" and still kissed each other. Finally Jagienka
asked:

"Then you decided to return from the war? Are you well?"

"From the war. Why should I not be well? And you? And the boys? Are they
well also? Yes, otherwise you would not run in the forest. But, my girl,
what are you doing here?"

"Don't you see that I am hunting?" answered Jagienka, laughing.

"In somebody else's woods?"

"The abbot gave me permission. He even sent me experienced huntsmen and a
pack of hounds."

Here she turned to the servants:

"Chase the dogs away, they will tear the skin!"

Then to Zych:

"Oj, how glad I am to see you!" And they again kissed each other. When
they were through, Jagna said:

"We are far from home; we followed the beast. I am sure it must be more
than ten miles; the horses are exhausted. What a large urus! Did you
notice? He must have at least three of my arrows in him; the last one
killed him."

"He was killed by the last, but it was not yours; this knight killed
him."

Jagienka threw her hair back and looked at Zbyszko sharply, but not very
friendly.

"Do you know who he is?" asked Zych.

"I do not know."

"No wonder you do not recognize him, because he has grown. Perhaps you
will recognize old Macko of Bogdaniec?"

"For God's sake! is that Macko of Bogdaniec?" exclaimed Jagienka.

Having approached the wagon, she kissed Macko's hand.

"It is you?"

"Yes, it is I; but I am obliged to ride in the wagon, because the Germans
wounded me."

"What Germans? The war was with the Tartars?"

"There was a war with the Tartars, but we were not in that war; we fought
in the war in Lithuania, Zbyszko and I."

"Where is Zbyszko?"

"Then you did not recognize Zbyszko?" said Macko smiling.

"Is that man Zbyszko?" exclaimed the girl, looking again at the young
knight.

"Yes, it is he."

"You must give him a kiss, because he is an old acquaintance of yours,"
said Zych, mirthfully.

Jagienka turned gaily toward Zbyszko; but suddenly she retreated, and
having covered her eyes with her hand, she said:

"I am bashful."

"But we have known each other since we were children," said Zbyszko.

"Aha! we know each other well. I remember when you made us a visit with
Macko about eight years ago, and my _matula_[72] gave us some nuts with
honey; you being the elder, struck me with your fist and then ate all the
nuts yourself."

"He will not act like that now!" said Macko. "He has been with _Kniaz_
Witold, and with the court in Krakow, and he has learned courtly
manners."

But Jagienka was now thinking about something else; turning toward
Zbyszko, she asked:

"Then you killed the urus?"

"Yes."

"We must see where the arrow is."

"You cannot see it; it disappeared under the shoulder bone."

"Be quiet; do not dispute," said Zych. "We all saw him shoot the urus,
and we saw something still better; he bent the bow without a crank."

Jagienka looked at Zbyszko for the third time, but now with astonishment.

"You bent the crossbow without a crank?"

Zbyszko, detecting some doubt in her voice, rested the crossbow on the
ground, and bent it in the twinkling of an eye; then wishing to show that
he was familiar with knightly manners, he kneeled on one knee and handed
the bow to Jagienka. But the girl, instead of taking it from him,
suddenly blushed--she did not know why herself, and began to fasten the
shirt, which, during the swift riding, had become opened on her bosom.




CHAPTER IV.

The next day after their arrival at Bogdaniec, Macko and Zbyszko began to
look around their old home; they soon realized that Zych of Zgorzelice
was right when he told them that at first they would be uncomfortable.

With the farming they could get along quite well. There were several
fields cultivated by the peasants whom the abbot had settled there.
Formerly there had been much cultivated land in Bogdaniec; but after the
battle at Plowce[73] where the family Grady perished, there was a
scarcity of working hands; and after the invasion of the Germans from
Szlonsk and after the war of Nalenczs with Grzymalits, the formerly rich
fields became overgrown with trees. Macko could not help it. In vain he
tried for several years to bring farmers from Krzesnia and rent the land
to them; they refused to come, preferring to remain on their own strips
of land rather than to cultivate some one else's. His offer however
attracted some shelterless men; in the different wars, he captured
several slaves whom he married and settled in the houses; and in that way
he populated the village. But it was hard work for him; therefore as soon
as he had an opportunity, Macko pledged the whole of Bogdaniec, thinking
that it would be easier for the powerful abbot to settle the land with
peasants, and that the war would bring to him and to Zbyszko some people
and money. In fact, the abbot was energetic. He had increased the working
force of Bogdaniec with five peasant families; he increased the stock of
cattle and horses; then he built a barn, a stable and a cow house. But as
he did not live in Bogdaniec, he did not repair the house. Macko, who had
hoped to find the _grodek_ surrounded with a ditch and hedge when he
returned, found everything just as he had left it, with this difference
only, that the walls were more crooked and seemed to be lower, because
they had settled deeper in the earth.

The house contained an enormous hall, two large rooms with alcoves, and a
kitchen. In the rooms there were windows made of bladders; and in the
centre of each room, there was a fireplace made of lime, and the smoke
escaped through a hole in the ceiling. From the ceilings now blackened
from smoke, during former times used to hang the hams of boars, bears and
deer, rumps of roes, sides of beef and rolls of sausages. But now the
hooks were empty as well as the shelves fastened to the walls, on which
they used to put the tin and earthen dishes. The walls beneath the
shelves were no longer empty, however, because Zbyszko had ordered his
servants to hang helmets, cuirasses, long swords and short swords on
them; and further along boar-spears and forks, caparisons and saddles.
The smoke blackened the weapons, and it was necessary to clean them very
often. But Macko, who was careful, ordered the servants to put the costly
clothes in the alcove in which his bed stood.

In the front rooms there stood near the windows, pine tables and benches
of the same, on which the lords used to sit during the meals, with all
their servants. People accustomed to war were easily satisfied; but in
Bogdaniec there was neither bread nor flour and no dishes. The peasants
brought what they could; Macko expected that the neighbors, as was then
customary, would help him; and he was not mistaken, at least as far as
Zych of Zgorzelice was concerned.

The second day, when the old _wlodyka_ was sitting on a log in front of
the house, delighted with the bright autumn day, Jagienka came, riding a
black horse; she dismounted and approached Macko, out of breath on
account of fast riding, and rosy as an apple; she said:

"May you be blessed! _Tatulo_ sent me to inquire about your health."

"I am no worse," answered Macko; "and at least I have slept in my own
house."

"But you cannot be comfortable at all, and a sick person needs some
care."

"We are hardened people. It is true that at first there was no comfort;
but we were not hungry. We ordered an ox and two sheep killed, so there
is plenty of meat. The women brought some flour and eggs; the worst is
that we have no dishes."

"Well, I ordered my servants to load two wagons. On one there are two
beds and dishes, and on the other different provisions. There are some
cakes and flour, some salt pork and dried mushrooms; there is a barrel of
beer and one of mead; in fact a little of everything we had in the
house."

Macko, who was grateful for this kindness, caressed Jagienka's head, and
said:

"May God reward your father and you. When our housekeeping improves, we
will return the provisions."

"How clever you are! We are not like the Germans, who take back what they
give."

"Well, so much more may God reward you. Your father told us what a good
housekeeper you are, and that you had taken care of Zgorzelice the whole
year?"

"Yes! If you need anything else, send somebody; but send some one who
will know what is needed, because a stupid servant never knows what he
has been sent for."

Here Jagienka began to look round, and Macko having noticed it, smiled
and asked:

"For whom are you looking?"

"I am looking for no one!"

"I will send Zbyszko to thank you and your father. Do you like Zbyszko?"

"I have not looked at him."

"Then look at him now, because he is just coming."

In fact Zbyszko was coming from the stable. He was dressed in a reindeer
jacket and round felt cap like those worn under the helmets; his hair was
without a net, cut evenly over his eyebrows and hung in golden curls on
his shoulders; he walked swiftly, having noticed the girl; he was tall
and graceful, looking like the shield-bearer of a rich nobleman.

Jagienka turned toward Macko as if to show that she came only to see him;
but Zbyszko welcomed her joyfully, and having taken hold of her hand,
raised it to his mouth, notwithstanding her resistance.

"Why do you kiss my hand?" asked she. "Am I a priest?"

"Such is the custom; you must not resist."

"Even if he had kissed both your hands," said Macko, "it would not be
enough for all that you have brought us."

"What have you brought?" asked Zbyszko, looking around the court-yard;
but he did not see anything except the black horse tied to the post.

"The wagons have not come yet; but they will soon be here," answered
Jagienka.

Macko began to enumerate what she had brought; but when he mentioned the
two beds, Zbyszko said:

"I am satisfied to sleep on the urus' skin; but I thank you because you
thought about me also."

"It was not I; it was _Tatulo_," answered the girl, blushing. "If you
prefer to sleep on the skin, you can do it."

"I prefer to sleep on what I can. Sometimes after a battle, I slept with
a dead Krzyzak instead of a pillow under my head."

"You do not mean to tell me that you have ever killed a Krzyzak? I am
sure you have not."

Zbyszko, instead of answering, began to laugh. But Macko exclaimed:

"For heaven's sake, girl, you do not know him yet! He has never done
anything else, but kill the Germans. He can fight with an axe, a spear or
with any weapon; and when he sees a German from afar, one must tie him
with a rope, or else he will rush against him. In Krakow he wanted to
kill the envoy, Lichtenstein, and for that he barely escaped execution.
Such a man! I will tell you also about the two Fryzes, from whom we took
their retinues and so much rich booty, that one could redeem Bogdaniec
with half of it."

Here Macko began to tell about his duel with the Fryzjans; also about
other adventures which had happened to them, and about the deeds they had
performed. How they had fought from behind the walls and in the open
fields, with the greatest knights living in foreign lands; how they had
fought Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Burgundians. He also told her
what they had seen! They had seen German castles of red brick, Lithuanian
wooden _grodzce_[74] and churches, more beautiful than one could see
around Bogdaniec; also large cities and the dreadful wilderness in which
during the nights Lithuanian gods cried, and many different, marvelous
things; and everywhere, in any fight, Zbyszko was victorious, so that
even the greatest knights were astonished at him.

Jagienka, who was sitting on the log beside Macko, listened with open
mouth to that narrative, tossing her head and looking at the young knight
with increasing admiration and amazement. Finally when Macko was through,
she sighed and said:

"I am sorry I was not born a boy!"

But Zbyszko, who during the narration had been looking at her
attentively, evidently was thinking about something else, because he
suddenly said:

"What a beautiful girl you are now!"

Jagienka answered, half in displeasure and half in sadness:

"You have seen many more beautiful than I am."

But Zbyszko could truly answer her that he had not seen many as pretty as
she, because Jagienka was beaming with health, youth and strength. The
old abbot used to say that she looked like a pine tree. Everything was
beautiful in her; a slender figure, a broad bosom that looked as if it
were cut out of marble, a red mouth, and intelligent blue eyes. She was
also dressed with more care than when in the forest with the hunting
party. Around her neck she had a necklace of red beads; she wore a fur
jacket opened in front and covered with green cloth, a homespun skirt and
new boots. Even old Macko noticed this beautiful attire, and having
looked at her for a moment, asked:

"Why are you dressed as if you were going to church?"

But instead of answering, she exclaimed:

"The wagons are coming!"

In fact the wagons now appeared and she sprang toward them, followed by
Zbyszko. The unloading lasted quite a long time to the great satisfaction
of Macko who looked at everything, and praised Jagienka all the time. It
was dusk when the girl started home. While she was getting ready to mount
her horse, Zbyszko suddenly caught her, and before she was able to say a
word, lifted her into the saddle. Then she blushed like the dawn and
turning her head toward him, said with emotion in her voice:

"What a strong boy you are!"

But he, not having noticed her confusion nor her blushes because it was
dark, laughed and said:

"Are you not afraid of wild beasts? It is night!"

"There is a boar-spear in the wagon. Give it to me."

Zbyszko went to the wagon, took the boar-spear and handed it to Jagienka;
then he said:

"Be in good health!"

"Be in good health!" she answered.

"May God reward you! To-morrow, or the day after, I will be in Zgorzelice
to thank Zych and you for your kindness."

"Come! You will be welcome!"

Having touched her horse, she disappeared among the bushes growing on the
sides of the road.

Zbyszko returned to his uncle.

"You must go inside."

But Macko answered, without moving from the log:

"Hej! I what a girl! I She made the court-yard brighter!"

"That is true!"

There was a moment of silence. Macko seemed to be thinking about
something while looking at the stars; then he said, as if he were
speaking to himself:

"She is pretty and a good housekeeper, although she is not more than
fifteen years old."

"Yes!" answered Zbyszko. "Therefore old Zych loves her dearly."

"And he said that the estate of Moczydoly will be her dowry; and there on
the pastures is a herd of mares with many colts."

"Are there not a great many marshes in the Moczydlowski estate?"

"Yes; but in those marshes there are plenty of beavers."

There was silence again. Macko looked intently at Zbyszko for a while,
and finally he asked, "About what are you thinking?"

"Seeing Jagienka reminded me of Danusia, and something pricked me in the
heart."

"Let us go into the house," answered the old _wlodyka_. "It is getting
late."

Having risen with difficulty, he leaned on Zbyszko, who conducted him to
the alcove.

The next day Zbyszko went to Zgorzelice, because Macko urged him. He also
insisted that he take two servants with him for ostentation, and that he
dress in his best clothes, to show respect and gratitude to Zych. Zbyszko
did as he was asked and went attired as if for a wedding, in his _jaka_
made of white satin, bordered with gold fringe and embroidered with gold
griffins. Zych received him with open arms, with joy and with singing; as
for Jagienka, when she entered, she stopped as if she were rooted to the
ground and almost dropped the bucket of wine which she was carrying; she
thought that a son of some king had arrived. She became timid and sat
silently, rubbing her eyes from time to time as if she would like to
awaken from a dream. The inexperienced Zbyszko thought that, for some
reason unknown to him, she did not wish to talk to him; therefore he
conversed only with Zych, praising his munificence and admiring the house
at Zgorzelice, which in fact was quite different from that in Bogdaniec.

Everywhere comfort and wealth were evident. In the rooms there were
windows with panes made of horn, cut in thin slices and polished so that
it was as transparent as glass. Instead of fireplaces in the centre,
there were large chimneys in the corners. The floors were made of larch
tree planks, while on the walls were hung suits of armor and many
polished dishes, also silver spoons. Here and there were costly rugs
brought from the wars. Under the tables there were enormous urus' skins.
Zych showed his riches willingly, saying that it was Jagienka's
household. He conducted Zbyszko to the alcove, fragrant with rosin and
peppermint, in which were hanging from the ceiling, large bunches of wolf
skins, fox skins, beaver skins and marten skins. He showed to him the
provisions of cheese, honey, wax, barrels of flour, pails of dried bread,
hemp and dried mushrooms. Then he went with him to the granaries, barns,
stables, cow houses, and to the sheds filled with plenty of hunting
implements and nets. Zbyszko was so dazzled by all this wealth that
during supper, he could not refrain from admiration.

"What a pleasure to live in Zgorzelice!" exclaimed he.

"In Moczydoly, there is almost the same wealth," answered Zych. "Do you
remember Moczydoly? It is not far from Bogdaniec. Formerly our
forefathers quarreled about the boundaries and challenged each other; but
I shall not quarrel."

Here he filled Zbyszko's goblet with mead and said:

"Perhaps you would like to sing?"

"No," answered Zbyszko; "but I shall listen to you with pleasure."

"Zgorzelice will belong to the young bears."

"What do you mean by 'young bears?'"

"Why, Jagienka's brothers."

"Hej! they will not have to suck their paws during the winter."

"No; but Jagienka will also have plenty in Moczydoly."

"That is true!"

"Why don't you eat and drink? Jagienka, pour for him and for me."

"I am drinking and eating as much as I can."

"Ungird your belt; then you will be able to eat and drink more. What a
beautiful girdle you have! Yon must have taken rich booty in Lithuania!"

"We cannot complain," answered Zbyszko, gladly seizing the opportunity to
explain that the heirs of Bogdaniec were no longer _wlodykas_. "A part of
our booty, we sold in Krakow and received forty silver _grzywiens_ for
it."

"You don't say so! Why, one can buy an estate for that."

"Yes. There was one Milanese armor which my uncle, expecting to die, sold
for a good price."

"I know! Well, it is worth while to go to Lithuania. I wanted to go there
also; but I was afraid."

"Of what? Of the Knights of the Cross?"

"Ej, who would be afraid of Germans? I was afraid of those heathenish
gods or devils. It seems there are plenty of them in the woods."

"They do not have any other place for shelter, because their temples have
been burned. Formerly they were well-to-do; but now they live on
mushrooms and ants."

"Did you see them?"

"No, I did not see any myself; but I heard of people who had seen them.
Sometimes one of them sticks out a hairy paw from behind a tree and
shakes it, begging for something."

"Macko told me the same," answered Jagienka.

"Yes! He told me about it on the road," said Zych. "Well, no wonder! In
our country also, although it has been a Christian country for a long
time, one can hear laughter in the marshes; and although the priests
scold about it in the churches, it is always good policy to put a dish
filled with something to eat, for the little devils; otherwise they will
scratch on the walls so much that one can hardly sleep. Jagienka, my
dearest! put a dish at the threshold."

Jagienka took an earthen porringer full of noodles and cheese, and placed
it at the threshold. Zych said:

"The priests scold! But the Lord Jesus will not be angry about a dish of
noodles; and a god, as soon as his hunger is satisfied, will protect one
from fire and from thieves."

Then he turned to Zbyszko:

"But will you not ungird yourself and sing a little?"

"You had better sing, or perhaps _Panna_[75] Jagienka will sing."

"We will sing by turns," exclaimed Zych. "We have a servant who will
accompany us on a wooden fife. Call the boy!"

They called the servant who sat down on the bench and put the fife to his
mouth, waiting to learn whom he was to accompany.

None of them wanted to be first. Finally Zych told Jagienka to begin;
therefore Jagienka, although bashful because Zbyszko was present, rose
from the bench and having put her hands under her apron, began:

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

Zbyszko opened his eyes wide; then he jumped up and shouted:

"Where did you learn that song?"

Jagienka looked at him astonished.

"Everybody sings that. What is the matter with you?"

Zych thinking that Zbyszko was a little intoxicated, turned his jovial
face toward him and said:

"Ungird! It will relieve you!"

But Zbyszko stood for a while with astonishment on his face; then, having
recovered from his emotion, said to Jagienka:

"Excuse me, I suddenly remembered something. Sing further."

"Perhaps it makes you sad?"

"Ej, not at all!" he answered, with a quivering voice. "I could listen to
it the whole night."

Then he sat down, covered his face with his hand, and listened.

Jagienka sang another couplet; but when she finished, she noticed a big
tear rolling down Zbyszko's fingers.

Then she sat down beside him, and began to touch him with her elbow.

"What is the matter with you? I do not want to make you cry. Tell me what
is the matter with you?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" answered Zbyszko, sighing. "I could tell you much.
But it is over. I feel merry now."

"Perhaps you would like to have some sweet wine?"

"Good girl!" exclaimed Zych. "Call him 'Zbyszko,' and you call her
'Jagienka.' You have known each other since you were children."

Then he turned toward his daughter:

"Do not mind because he struck you when you were children. He will not do
it now."

"I will not!" answered Zbyszko, mirthfully. "If she wishes, she may beat
me now for it."

Then Jagienka, wishing to cheer him up, began to play that she was
striking him with her little fist.

"Give us some wine!" shouted the merry _Pan_ of Zgorzelice.

Jagienka sprang to the closet and brought out a jug of wine, two
beautiful silver goblets, engraved by a silversmith of Wroclaw[76] and a
couple of cheese.

Zych, being a little intoxicated, began to hug the jug and said to it as
if he were talking to his daughter:

"Oj, my dear girl! What shall I do, poor man, when they take you from
Zgorzelice; what shall I do?"

"And you must give her up soon!" said Zbyszko.

Zych began to laugh.

"Chy! Chy! The girl is only fifteen; but she is already fond of boys!
When she sees one of them, she begins immediately to rub knee with knee!"

"_Tatusiu_[77] if you don't stop, I will leave you," said Jagienka.

"Don't go! It's better with you here." Then he continued to say to
Zbyszko:

"Two of them visit us. One of them is young Wilk, the son of old Wilk of
Bizozowa; the other is Cztan[78] of Rogow. If they meet you here, they
will gnash their teeth, as they do at each other."

"Owa!" said Zbyszko. Then he turned to Jagienka and asked:

"Which do you prefer?"

"Neither of them."

"Wilk is a great boy," said Zych.

"Let him go in another direction!"

"And Cztan?"

Jagienka began to laugh:

"Cztan," said she, turning toward Zbyszko, "he has hair on his face like
a goat; one can hardly see his eyes; and he has as much grease on him as
a bear."

Zbyszko now touched his head with his hand as if he had just remembered
something important, and said:

"I must ask you for one thing more; have you any bear's grease? I want to
use it for medicine for my uncle; and I could not find any in Bogdaniec."

"We used to have some," answered Jagienka; "but the boys have used some
to grease their bows, and the dogs have eaten the rest."

"Is there none left?"

"Not a bit!"

"Well, then, I must find some in the forest."

"Have a hunting party for bears; there are plenty of them; and if you
want some hunting implements, we will lend you some."

"I cannot wait. I will go some night to a _barcie_."

"Take a few men with you."

"No, I shall not do that, for they will frighten the beast."

"But you will take a crossbow!"

"What can I do with a crossbow during the night? There is no moon now! I
will take a fork and a strong axe, and I will go alone to-morrow."

Jagienka was silent for awhile; but great uneasiness was reflected on her
face.

"Last year," said she, "the huntsman, Bezduch, was killed by a bear. It
is dangerous, because as soon as the bear sees a man near the _barcie_,
he immediately stands up on his hind feet."

"If he ran away, I could not get him," answered Zbyszko.

At that moment Zych who had been dozing, suddenly awakened and began to
sing:

  "Thou Kuba, of toil
  I Maciek of pleasure,
  Go then in the morning with the yoke in the field,
  While I amuse myself with Kasia."

Then he said to Zbyszko:

"You know? There are two of them, Wilk of Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogow;
and you?"

But Jagienka being afraid that Zych would say too much, swiftly
approached Zbyszko, and began to inquire:

"When are you going? To-morrow?"

"To-morrow after sunset."

"And to which _barcie_?"

"To ours in Bogdaniec, not far from your boundaries, near the marshes of
Radzikow. They tell me it is very easy to get a bear there."




CHAPTER V.

Zbyszko went for the bear as be proposed, because Macko became worse. At
first when he reached Bogdaniec, he was sustained by joy and the first
cares about the house; but on the third day, the fever returned, and the
pain was so great that he was obliged to go to bed. Zbyszko went to the
_barcie_ during the day, and while there he perceived that there were the
footprints of a bear in the mud. He spoke to the beehive keeper, Wawrek,
who slept in a shed not far away, with his two faithful Podhalan[79]
dogs; but he intended to return to the village on account of the cold.

They destroyed the shed, and Wawrek took the dogs with him. But first
they smeared the trees here and there with honey, so that the smell of it
would attract the animal. Zbyszko returned home and began to prepare for
the expedition. He dressed himself in a warm reindeer jacket without
sleeves; on the top of his head, he put a bonnet made of iron wire;
finally he took a strong fork and a steel axe. Before sunset he had taken
his position; and having made the sign of the cross, he sat down and
waited.

The red beams of the setting sun were still shining between the branches
of the gigantic pines. In the tops of the trees, the crows were flying,
croaking and beating the air with their wings; here and there the hares
were leaping toward the water, making a noise on the dried leaves; some
times a swift marten passed by. In the thickets, the chirping of the
birds was at first heard--but gradually ceased.

After sunset the noises of the forest began. Immediately a pack of boars
passed near Zbyszko with a great bustle and snorting; then elks galloped
in a long row, each holding his head on the tail of the one in front of
him. The dried branches crackled under their feet and the forest
resounded; but on they rushed toward the marshes where during the night,
they were cool and safe. Finally the twilight was reflected on the sky,
and the tops of the pine trees illuminated by it seemed to burn, as if on
fire; then little by little everything began to be quieted. The forest
was still. Dusk was rising from earth toward the gleaming twilight, which
began finally to grow fainter, then gloomy, blacker and then was
quenched.

"Now, everything will be quiet, until the wolves begin to howl," thought
Zbyszko.

He regretted that he had not taken his crossbow, because he could easily
have killed a boar or an elk. In the meanwhile, from the marshes came
muffled sounds similar to heavy panting and whistling. Zbyszko looked
toward that marsh with some apprehension, because the peasant, Radzik,
who used to live here in an earth-hut, disappeared with his whole family,
as if devoured by the earth. Some people said they were seized by
robbers; but there were others who saw some strange footprints, neither
human nor of beasts, round the cabin. The people shook their heads very
much about that, and they even spoke about bringing a priest from
Krzesnia, to bless the hut. But they did not do it because nobody was
willing to live in that hut, which from that time, had an evil
reputation. It is true that the beehive keeper, Wawrek, did not pay any
attention to these reports.

Zbyszko being armed with the fork and axe, was not afraid of the wild
beasts; but he thought with some uneasiness about the evil forces, and he
was glad when that noise stopped.

The last reverberation ceased, and there was complete silence. The wind
stopped blowing and there was not even the usual whispering in the tops
of the pine trees. From time to time, a pine cone fell, making quite a
noise amidst the deep silence; but in general, everything was so quiet
that Zbyszko heard his own respirations.

Thus he sat quietly for a long time, thinking first about the bear, and
then about Danusia. He recollected how he seized her in his arms when
bidding the princess farewell, and how she cried; he remembered her fair
head and bright face, her wreaths of bachelor buttons, her singing, her
red shoes with long tips, and finally everything that happened from the
moment he first saw her. Such a longing to see her, filled his heart,
that he forgot that he was in the forest waiting for the bear; instead of
that he began to talk to himself:

"I will go to see you, because I cannot live without you."

He felt that he must go to Mazowsze; that if he remained in Bogdaniec, he
would become good for nothing. He recollected Jurand and his strange
opposition; then he thought that it was even more necessary he should go,
and learn what that obstacle was, and if a challenge to combat could not
remove it. Finally it seemed to him that Danusia stretched her bands
toward him and cried:

"Come, Zbyszku! Come!" How could he refuse?

He was not sleeping, but he saw her as distinctly as in a dream. There
she was, riding beside the princess, thrumming on her little lute,
humming and thinking of him. Thinking that she would soon see him, and
perhaps looking back.

Hero Zbyszko aroused himself and listened, because he heard a rustling
behind him. Then he grasped the fork in his hand more tightly, stretched
his neck and listened again.

The rustling approached and then it became very distinct. Under some
careful foot, the dried branches were crackling, the fallen leaves were
rustling. Something was coming.

From time to time the rustling ceased, as if the beast halted beneath the
trees; then there was such quietude that Zbyszko's ears began to ring;
then again slow, careful steps were heard. That approach was so cautious
that Zbyszko was surprised.

"I am sure 'the old'[80] must be afraid of the dogs which were here in
the shed," said he to himself; "but it may be a wolf that has scented
me."

Now the footsteps were no longer heard. Zbyszko, however, was sure that
something had stopped twenty or thirty feet behind him.

He turned around once or twice; but although he could see the trunks of
the trees quite well, he could not perceive anything else. He was obliged
to wait.

He waited so long, that he was surprised a second time.

"A bear would not come here to stop under the _barcie_; and a wolf would
not wait until morning."

Suddenly a shiver ran through his body as he thought:

"Suppose it is something dreadful that comes from the marshes and is
trying to surprise me from the rear! Suppose the slippery arms of a
drowned man seize me, or the green eyes of a ghost look into my face;
suppose a blue head on spider's legs comes out from behind the tree and
begins to laugh!"

He felt his hair begin to rise under his iron bonnet.

But after a while, a rustling sounded in front of him, more distinct this
time than formerly. Zbyszko breathed more freely; he thought that the
same "wonder" had gone around him, and now approached from the front; but
he preferred that. He seized his fork firmly, arose quietly and waited.

Now he noticed over his head the rustling of the pine trees, and he felt
the wind blow in his face, coming from the marsh, and he smelt the bear.

There was not the slightest doubt that a _mys_[81] was coming!

Zbyszko was afraid no longer, and having bent his head, he strained to
the utmost his hearing and his sight. Heavy, distinct steps were coming;
the smell grew stronger; soon the snore and groaning were heard.

"I hope there are not two of them!" thought Zbyszko.

But at that moment, he perceived in front of him the large, dark form of
the animal, which was walking in the same direction from which the wind
was blowing, and could not get the scent of him; its attention was also
attracted by the smell of the honey on the trees.

"Come, uncle!" exclaimed Zbyszko, coming out from beneath the pine tree.

The bear roared shortly as if frightened by an unexpected apparition; but
he was too near to seek safety in flight; therefore, in a moment he
reared and separated his forelegs as if for a hug. This was exactly what
Zbyszko was waiting for; he gathered himself together, jumped like
lightning and with all the strength of his powerful arms and of his
weight, he drove the fork into the animal's chest.

The whole forest resounded now with the fearful roaring. The bear seized
the fork with his paws, and tried to pull it out, but the incisions made
by the points were too deep; therefore, feeling the pain, he roared still
more fearfully. Wishing to reach Zbyszko, he leaned on the fork and thus
drove it into his body still further. Zbyszko, not knowing that the
points had entered so deeply, held on to the handle. The man and the
animal began to struggle. The forest again resounded with the roaring in
which wrath and despair were mingled.

Zbyszko could not use his axe until after he could drive the sharpened
end of the fork into the ground. The bear having seized the handle, was
shaking it as well as Zbyszko, and notwithstanding the pain caused by
every movement of the points imbedded in his breast, be would not let it
be "underpropped." In this way the terrible struggle continued, and
Zbyszko finally felt that his strength would soon be exhausted. If he
fell, then he would be lost; therefore, he gathered all his strength,
strained his arms to the utmost, set his feet firmly and bent his back
like a bow, so as not to be thrown backward; and in his enthusiasm he
repeated through set teeth:

"You or I will die!"

Such anger filled him that he really preferred at that moment to die,
rather than to let the beast go. Finally his foot caught in the root of a
tree; he tottered and would have fallen, if at that moment a dark figure
had not appeared before him, and another fork "underpropped" the beast;
and in the meanwhile, a voice shouted near his ear:

"Use your axe!"

Zbyszko, being excited by the fight, did not wonder even for a moment
from whence came the unexpected help; but he seized the axe and cut with
all his might. The fork cracked, broken by the weight and by the last
convulsion of the beast, as it fell. There was a long silence broken only
by Zbyszko's loud respirations. But after a while, he lifted his head,
looked at the form standing beside him and was afraid, thinking that it
might not be a man.

"Who are you?" asked he, with uneasiness.

"Jagienka!" answered a thin, womanly voice.

Zbyszko became dumb from astonishment; he could not believe his own eyes.
But his doubts did not last long, because Jagienka's voice again
resounded:

"I will build a fire."

Immediately the clatter of a fire steel against a flint sounded and the
sparks began to fall; by their glittering light, Zbyszko beheld the white
forehead, the dark eyebrows and the red lips of the girl who was blowing
on the tinder which began to burn. Not until then did he realize that she
had come to the forest to help him, and that without her aid, he would
have perished. He felt such gratitude toward her, that he impulsively
seized her around the waist and kissed her on both cheeks.

The tinder and the steel fell to the ground.

"Let me be!" she began to repeat in a muffled voice; but she allowed him
to kiss her and even, as if by accident, touched Zbyszko's lips with her
mouth. He released her and said:

"May God reward you. I do not know what would have happened without your
help."

Then Jagienka, while searching for the tinder and fire steel, began to
excuse herself:

"I was worried about you, because Bezduch also went with a fork and an
axe, but the bear tore him to pieces. If you met with such a misfortune,
Macko would be very desolate, and he hardly breathes now. So I took a
fork and came."

"Then it was you whom I heard there behind the pines?"

"Yes."

"And I thought it was an evil spirit."

"I was very much frightened, because it is dangerous to be without fire
here around the Radzikowski marshes."

"Then why did you not speak to me?"

"Because I was afraid you would send me away."

Having said this, she again began to strike sparks from the steel, and
put on the tinder a bundle of hemp which began to burn.

"I have two resinous pieces of wood," said she; "you bring some dried
branches quickly, and we will soon have a fire."

In fact, after a while a bright fire was burning, and lighted the
enormous, brown body of the bear which was lying in a pool of blood.

"Hej, a dreadful beast!" said Zbyszko, boastfully.

"You split his head entirely open! O, Jesus!"

Then she leaned over and felt of the bear's body, to ascertain whether
the beast was fat; then she arose with a bright face, and said:

"There will be plenty of grease for two years."

"But the fork is broken, look!"

"That is too bad; what shall I tell them at home?"

"About what?"

"_Tatus_ would not let me come into the forest, therefore I was obliged
to wait until everybody had retired."

After a moment she added:

"You must not tell that I was here, because they will laugh at me."

"But I will go with you to your house, because I am afraid the wolves
will attack you, and you have no fork."

"Very well!"

Thus they sat talking for a while beside the bright fire, looking like
two young forest creatures.

Zbyszko looked at the girl's pretty face, lighted by the flames, and said
with involuntary admiration:

"There is not another girl in this world as brave as you are. You ought
to go to the war!"

She looked into his face and then she answered, almost sadly:

"I know; but you must not laugh at me."




CHAPTER VI.

Jagienka herself melted a large pot of bear's grease. Macko drank the
first quart willingly, because it was fresh, and smelt good. Jagienka put
the rest of it in a pot. Macko's hope increased; he was sure he would be
cured.

"That is what I needed," said he. "When all parts inside of me become
greasy, then that dog's splinter will slip out."

But the next quarts did not taste as well as the first; but he continued
to drink it and Jagienka encouraged him, saying:

"You will get well. Zbilud of Ostrog had the links of a coat of mail
driven into his neck; but they slipped out because he drank grease. But
when your wound opens, you must put some grease of a beaver on it."

"Have you some?"

"Yes, we have. But if it be necessary to have it fresh, we will go with
Zbyszko and get a beaver. Meanwhile it would not do any harm, if you
promised something to some saint, who is the patron for wounds."

"I was thinking about that, but I do not know to whom I should make the
promise. Saint George is the patron of knights; he protects the warrior
from any accident and always gives him victory, and it is said that
sometimes he fights personally for the one who is right. But a saint who
fights willingly, does not heal willingly; and for that, there must be
another saint with whom he would not want to interfere. It is known that
every saint has his specialty. But they will not interfere with one
another; because that would cause quarrels, and it is not proper to fight
in heaven. There are Kosma and Damian to whom all doctors pray, that
illness may exist; otherwise the doctors would not have anything to eat.
There is Saint Apolonia for the teeth and Saint Liborius for stone; but
they will not do for me. The abbot, when he comes, will tell me whom I
must ask. Every _clericus_ does not know all celestial secrets and
everyone of them is not familiar with such things, but the abbot is."

"Suppose you make a vow to the Lord Jesus himself?"

"Of course he is over all of them. But suppose your father had injured my
servant, and I went to Krakow to complain to the king; what would the
king tell me? He would say thus: 'I am monarch over all the country, and
you complain to me about one of your peasants! Do you not have my
officials in your part of the country; why did you not go to the
castellan?' So the Lord Jesus is the ruler over the whole universe; but
for smaller affairs, he employs the saints."

"Then I will tell you what to do," said Zbyszko, who entered just now;
"make a vow to our late queen, that if she intercede for you, you will
make a pilgrimage to Krakow. Why should you search after strange saints,
when we have our own lady, who is better than they?"

"Bah! if I only knew that she would intercede for wounds!"

"No matter! There is no saint who would dare to show her an angry face;
or if he dared, Lord God would punish him for it, because she was not an
ordinary woman, but a Polish queen."

"Who converted the last heathen country to the Christian faith! That is
right," said Macko. "She must have a high place in God's council and
surely none would dare to oppose her. Therefore I will do as you say."

This advice pleased Jagienka, who admired Zbyszko's common sense very
much. That same evening, Macko made a vow and drank with still greater
hope, the bear's grease. But after a week, he began to lose hope. He said
that the grease was fermenting in his stomach, and that a lump was
growing on his side near the last rib. At the end of ten days Macko was
worse, and the lump grew larger and became inflamed. The sick man again
had fever and began to make preparations for death.

But one night he awakened Zbyszko, and said:

"Light a piece of resinous wood; there is something the matter with me,
but I do not know what."

Zbyszko jumped up and lighted a piece of pine wood.

"What is it?"

"What is it! Something has pierced the lump on my side. It must be the
head of the spear! I had hold of it, but I cannot pull it out."

"It must be the spearhead! Nothing else. Grasp it well and pull."

Macko began to turn and to twist with pain; but he pushed his fingers
deeper and deeper, until he seized a hard substance which finally he
pulled out.

"O, Jesus!"

"Have you pulled it out?" asked Zbyszko.

"Yes. I am in a cold perspiration all over; but I have it; look!"

Having said this, he showed to Zbyszko a long splinter, which had
separated from the spear and remained in his body for several months.

"Glory be to God and to Queen Jadwiga! Now you will get well."

"Perhaps; I am better, but it pains me greatly," said Macko, pressing the
wound from which blood and pus began to flow. "Jagienka said that now I
ought to dress the wound with the grease of a beaver."

"We will go to-morrow and get a beaver."

Macko felt considerably better the next day. He slept till morning, and
when he awoke, immediately asked for something to eat. He would not even
look at the bear's grease; but they cooked twenty eggs for him. He ate
them voraciously, also a big loaf of bread, and drank about four quarts
of beer; then he demanded that they call Zych, because he felt jovial.

Zbyszko sent one of the Turks, given to him by Zawisza, after Zych who
mounted a horse and came in the afternoon when the young people were
ready to go to the Odstajny lake to catch a beaver. At first there was
plenty of laughter and singing, while they drank mead; but afterward the
old _wlodykas_ began to talk about the children, each praising his own.

"What a man Zbyszko is!" said Macko; "there is no other like him in the
world. He is brave and as agile as a wild-cat. Do you know that when they
conducted him to the scaffold in Krakow, all the girls standing at the
windows were crying, and such girls;--daughters of knights and of
castellans, and also the beautiful townswomen."

"They may be beautiful and the daughters of castellans, but they are not
better than my Jagienka!" answered Zych of Zgorzelice.

"Did I say they were better? It will be difficult to find a better girl
than Jagienka."

"I do not say anything against Zbyszko either; he can stretch a crossbow
without a crank."

"He can underprop a bear also. Did you see how he cut the bear? He cut
the head and one paw off."

"He cut the head off, but he did not underprop it alone. Jagienka helped
him."

"Did she? He did not tell me about that."

"Because he promised her not to tell anyone. The girl was ashamed because
she went into the forest alone at night. She told me all about it; she
never hides the truth. Frankly speaking, I was not pleased because who
knows what might have happened. I wanted to scold her, but she said, 'If
I be not able to preserve my wreath myself, how can you preserve it, you
_tatulu_; but do not fear, Zbyszko knows what knightly honor is.'"

"That is true. They have gone alone to-day also."

"They will be back in the evening. But during the night, the devil is
worse and the girl does not feel ashamed because of the darkness."

Macko thought for a while; then he said as if to himself:

"But they are fond of each other."

"Bah! it is a pity he made a vow to another!"

"That is, as you know, a knightly custom. They consider the one who has
no lady, a churl. He also made a vow to capture some peacocks' tufts, and
those be must get because he swore by his knightly honor; he must also
challenge Lichtenstein; but from the other vows, the abbot can release
him."

"The abbot is coming soon."

"Do you expect him?" asked Macko; then he said again: "And what does such
a vow amount to; Jurand told him positively that he could not give the
girl to him! I do not know whether he had promised her to some one else,
or whether he had destined her for God."

"Have I told you that the abbot loves Jagienka as much as if she were his
own? The last time I saw him he said: 'I have no relations except those
from my mother's side; and they will receive nothing from me.'"

Here Macko looked at Zych suspiciously and after awhile he answered:

"Would you wrong us?"

"Jagienka will get Moczydoly," said Zych evasively.

"Immediately?"

"Immediately. I would not give it to another; but I will do it for her."

"Half of Bogdaniec belongs to Zbyszko, and if God restore my health, I
will improve the estate. Do you love Zbyszko?"

Zych began to wink and said:

"When anybody mentions Zbyszko's name in the presence of Jagienka, she
immediately turns away."

"And when you mention another?"

"When I mention another, she only laughs and says: 'What then?'"

"Well, do you not see. God will help us and Zbyszko will forget about the
other girl. I am old and I will forget also. Will you have some more
mead?"

"Yes, I will."

"Well, the abbot is a wise man! You know that some of the abbots are
laymen; but this abbot, although he does not sit among the friars, is a
priest just the same; and a priest can always give better advice than an
ordinary man, because he knows how to read, and he communes with the Holy
Ghost. I am glad that Jagienka is going to have the estate of Moczydoly.
As for me, as soon as the Lord Jesus restores my health, I will try to
induce some of the peasants living on the estate of Wilk of Brzozowa, to
settle on my land. I will offer them more land, I have plenty of it in
Bogdaniec. They can come if they wish to, for they are free. In time, I
will build a _grodek_ in Bogdaniec, a worthy castle of oaks with a ditch
around it. Let Zbyszko and Jagienka hunt together. I think we shall soon
have snow. They will become accustomed to each other, and the boy will
forget that other girl. Let them be together. Speak frankly; would you
give Jagienka to him or not?"

"I would. Did we not decide a long time ago that they should marry, and
that Moczydoly and Bogdaniec would be our grandchildren's?"

"_Grady!_" exclaimed Macko, joyfully. "God will bless us and their
children will be as numerous as hail. The abbot shall baptize them."

"If he will only be quick enough!" exclaimed Zych. "I have not seen you
so jolly as you are to-day for a long time."

"Because I am glad in my heart. Do not fear about Zbyszko. Yesterday when
Jagienka mounted her horse, the wind blew. I asked Zbyszko then: 'Did you
see?' and his eyes shone. I have also noticed that although at first they
did not speak much to each other, now when they go together, they are
continually turning their heads toward each other, and they talk--talk!
Have some more mead?"

"Yes, I will."

"To Zbyszko and Jagienka's health!"




CHAPTER VII.

The old _wlodyka_ was not mistaken when he said that Zbyszko and Jagienka
were fond of each other, and even that they longed for each other.
Jagienka pretending that she wanted to visit the sick Macko, went very
often to Bogdaniec, either alone or with her father. Zbyszko also went
often to Zgorzelice. In that way, after a few days a familiarity and
friendship originated between them. They grew fond of each other and
talked about everything that interested them. There was much mutual
admiration in that friendship also. The young and handsome Zbyszko, who
had already distinguished himself in the war, had participated in
tournaments and had been in the presence of kings, was considered by the
girl, when she compared him with Cztan of Rogow or Wilk of Brzozowa, a
true courtly knight and almost a prince; as for him, he was astonished at
the great beauty of the girl. He was loyal to Danusia; but very often
when he looked suddenly at Jagienka, either in the forest or at home, he
said involuntarily to himself: "Hej! what a girl!" When, helping her to
mount her horse, he felt her elastic flesh under his hands, disquietude
filled him and he shivered, and a torpor began to steal over him.

Jagienka, although naturally proud, inclined to raillery, and even
aggressive, grew more and more gentle with him, often looking in his eyes
to discover how she could please him; he understood her affection; he was
grateful for it and he liked to be with her more and more. Finally,
especially after Macko began to drink the bear's grease, they saw each
other almost every day; when the splinter came out of the wound, they
went together to get some fresh beaver's grease, necessary for the
healing of the wound.

They took their crossbows, mounted their horses and went first to
Moczydoly, destined for Jagienka's dowry, then to the edge of the forest,
where they entrusted the horses to a servant and went on foot, because it
was impossible to pass through the thicket on horseback. While walking,
Jagienka pointed to the large meadow covered with reeds and to the blue
ribbon of forest and said:

"Those woods belong to Cztan of Rogow."

"The same man who would like to take you?"

She began to laugh:

"He would if he could!"

"You can defend yourself very easily, having for your defence the
Wilk[82] who, as I understand, gnashes his teeth at Cztan. I wonder that
they have not challenged each other to fight until death."

"They have not because _tatulo_ before he went to the war said to them:
'If you fight about Jagienka I do not want to see you any more.' How
could they fight then? When they are in Zgorzelice they scowl at each
other; but afterward they drink together in an inn in Krzesnia until they
are drunk."

"Stupid boys!"

"Why?"

"Because while Zych was away one of them should have taken you by force.
What could Zych do, if when he returned he had found you with a baby on
your lap?"

At this Jagienka's blue eyes flashed immediately.

"Do you think I would let them take me? Have we not people in Zgorzelice,
and do I not know how to manage a crossbow or a boar-spear? Let them try!
I would chase them back home and even attack them in Rogow or Brzozowa.
Father knew very well that he could go to the war and leave me home
alone."

Speaking thus, she frowned, and shook the crossbow threateningly, so that
Zbyszko began to laugh, and said:

"You ought to have been a knight and not a girl."

She becoming calmer, answered:

"Cztan guarded me from Wilk and Wilk from Cztan. Then I was also under
the abbot's tutelage, and it is well for everyone to let the abbot
alone."

"Owa!" answered Zbyszko. "They are all afraid of the abbot! But I, may
Saint George help me to speak the truth to you, I would neither be afraid
of the abbot, nor of your peasants, nor of yourself; I would take you!"

At this Jagienka stopped on the spot, and fixing her eyes on Zbyszko,
asked in a strange, soft, low voice:

"You would take me?"

Then her lips parted and blushing like the dawn, she waited for his
answer.

But he evidently was only thinking what he would do, were he in Cztan or
Wilk's position; because after a while, he shook his golden hair and said
further:

"A girl must marry and not fight with the boys. Unless you have a third
one, you must choose one of these two."

"You must not tell me that," answered the girl, sadly.

"Why not? I have been away from home for a long time, therefore I do not
know whether there is somebody around Zgorzelice, of whom you are fond or
not."

"Hej!" answered Jagienka. "Let it be!"

They walked along silently, trying to make their way through the thicket
which was now much denser because the bushes and the trees were covered
with wild hop vines. Zbyszko walked first, tearing down the green vines,
and breaking the branches here and there; Jagienka followed him with a
crossbow on her shoulder, looking like a hunting goddess.

"Beyond that thicket," said she, "there is a deep brook; but I know where
the ford is."

"I have long boots on, reaching above my knees; we can cross it,"
answered Zbyszko.

Shortly afterward, they reached the brook. Jagienka being familiar with
the Moczydlowski forests, very easily found the ford; but the water was
deeper than usual, the little brook being swollen by the rains. Then
Zbyszko without asking her permission, seized the girl in his arms.

"I can cross by myself," said Jagienka.

"Put your arms around my neck!" answered Zbyszko.

He walked slowly through the water, while the girl nestled to him.
Finally when they were near the other shore, she said:

"Zbyszku!"

"What?"

"I care neither for Cztan, nor for Wilk."

As he placed her on the shore, he answered excitedly:

"May God give you the best I He will not be wronged."

The Odstajny lake was not far away now. Jagienka walking in front, turned
from time to time, and putting a finger on her lips, ordered Zbyszko to
be silent. They were walking amidst the osiers and gray willows, on low,
damp ground. From the left side, were heard the voices of birds, and
Zbyszko was surprised at that, because it was time for the birds to
migrate.

"We are near a morass which is never frozen," whispered Jagienka; "the
ducks pass the winter there; even in the lake the water freezes only near
the shores. See how it is steaming."

Zbyszko looked through the willows and noticed in front of him, something
like a bank of fog; it was the Odstajny lake.

Jagienka again put a finger to her lips, and after a while they reached
the lake. The girl climbed on an old willow and bent over the water.
Zbyszko followed her example; and for a long time they remained quiet,
seeing nothing in front of them, on account of the fog; hearing nothing
but the mournful puling of lapwings. Finally the wind blew, rustled the
osiers and the yellow leaves of the willows, and disclosed the waters of
the lake which were slightly ruffled by the wind.

"Do you see anything?" whispered Zbyszko.

"No. Keep quiet!"

After a while, the wind ceased and complete silence followed. Then on the
surface of the lake appeared one head, then another; finally near them a
big beaver entered the water from the shore, carrying in his mouth a
newly cut branch, and began to swim amidst the duck-weed and marigold
holding his mouth out of the water and pushing the branch before him.
Zbyszko lying on the trunk beneath Jagienka, noticed that her elbow moved
quietly and that her head was bent forward; evidently she had aimed at
the animal which, not suspecting any danger, was swimming close by,
toward the clear water.

Finally the string of the crossbow twanged and at the same moment
Jagienka cried:

"I hit him! I hit him!"

Zbyszko instantly climbed higher and looked through the thicket toward
the water; the beaver plunged into the water, then reappeared on the
surface, turning somersets.

"I hit him hard! He will soon be quiet!" said Jagienka.

The movements of the animal grew slower, and then before one had time
sufficient to recite one "_Ave Maria_," he was floating on his back on
the surface of the water.

"I will go and get him," said Zbyszko.

"No, do not go. Here, near the shore, there is, deep slime. Anyone who
does not know how to manage, will surely drown."

"Then how will we get him?"

"He will be in Bogdaniec this evening, do not worry about that; now we
must go home."

"You hit him hard!"

"Bah! It is not the first one!"

"Other girls are afraid to even look at a crossbow; but with you, one can
go to the forest all his life."

Jagienka smiled at such praise, but she did not answer; they returned the
same way they came. Zbyszko asked her about the beavers and she told him
how many of them there were in Moczydoly, and how many in Zgorzelice.

Suddenly she struck her hip with her hand and exclaimed:

"Well, I left my arrows on the willow. Wait!"

Before he could say that he would return for them, she jumped back like a
roe and disappeared. Zbyszko waited and waited; at last he began to
wonder what detained her so long.

"She must have lost the arrows and is searching for them," he said to
himself; "but I will go and see whether anything has happened to her."

He had hardly started to return before the girl appeared with her bow in
her hand, her face smiling and blushing, and with the beaver on her
shoulders.

"For God's sake!" cried Zbyszko, "how did you get him?"

"How? I went into the water, that is all! It is nothing new for me; but I
did not want you to go, because the mud drags anyone down who does not
know how to swim in it."

"And I waited here like a fool! You are a sly girl."

"Well, could I undress before you?"

"Bah! If I had followed you, then I would have seen a wonder!"

"Be silent!"

"I was just starting, so help me God!"

"Be silent!"

After a while, wishing to turn the conversation, she said:

"Wring my tress; it makes my back wet."

Zbyszko caught the tress in one hand and began to wring with the other,
saying:

"The best way will be to unbraid it, then the wind will soon dry it."

But she did not wish to do that on account of the thicket through which
they were obliged to make their way. Zbyszko now put the beaver on his
shoulders. Jagienka walking in front of him, said:

"Now Macko will soon be well, because there is no better medicine for a
wound than the grease of a bear inside, and the grease of a beaver
outside. In about two weeks, he will be able to ride a horse."

"May God grant that!" answered Zbyszko. "I am waiting for it as for
salvation, because I cannot leave the sick man, and it is hard for me to
stay here."

"Why is it hard for you to stay here?" she asked him.

"Has Zych told you nothing about Danusia?"

"He did tell me something. I know that she covered you with her veil. I
know that! He told me also that every knight makes some vow, to serve his
lady. But he said that such a vow did not amount to anything; that some
of the knights were married, but they served their ladies just the same.
But Danusia, Zbyszko; tell me about her!"

Having come very close to him, she began to look at his face with great
anxiety; he did not pay any attention to her frightened voice and looks,
but said:

"She is my lady, and at the same time she is my sweetest love. I have not
spoken about her to anybody; but I am going to tell you, because we have
been acquainted since we were children. I will follow her beyond the
tenth river and beyond the tenth sea, to the Germans and to the Tartars,
because there is no other girl like her. Let my uncle remain in
Bogdaniec, and I will go to her. What do I care about Bogdaniec, the
household, the herds, or the abbot's wealth, without her! I will mount my
horse and I will go, so help me God; I will fulfill that which I promised
her, or I will die."

"I did not know," answered Jagienka, in a hollow voice.

Zbyszko began to tell her about all that had happened; how he had met
Danusia in Tyniec; how he had made a vow to her; about everything that
happened afterward; about his imprisonment, and how Danusia rescued him;
about Jurand's refusal, their farewell and his loneliness; finally about
his joy, because as soon as Macko became well, he would go to his beloved
girl. His story was interrupted at last by the sight of the servant with
the horses, waiting on the edge of the forest.

Jagienka immediately mounted her horse and began to bid Zbyszko good-bye.

"Let the servant follow you with the beaver; I am going to Zgorzelice."

"Then you will not go to Bogdaniec? Zych is there."

"No. _Tatulo_ said he would return and told me to go home."

"Well, may God reward you for the beaver."

"With God."

Then Jagienka was alone. Going home through the heaths, she looked back
for a while after Zbyszko; when he disappeared beyond the trees, she
covered her eyes with her hands as if sheltering them from the sunlight.
But soon large tears began to flow down her cheeks and drop one after
another on the horse's mane.




CHAPTER VIII.

After the conversation with Zbyszko, Jagienka did not appear in Bogdaniec
for three days; but on the third day she hurried in with the news that
the abbot had arrived at Zgorzelice. Macko received the news with
emotion. It is true he had money enough to pay the amount for which the
estate was pledged, and he calculated that he would have enough to induce
settlers to come, to buy herds and to make other improvements; but in the
whole transaction, much depended on the disposition of the rich relation,
who, for instance, could take or leave the peasants settled by him on the
land, and in that way increase or diminish the value of the estate.

Therefore Macko asked Jagienka about the abbot; how he was; if he was in
a good humor or gloomy; what he had said about them; when he was coming
to Bogdaniec? She gave him sensible answers, trying to encourage and
tranquillize him in every respect.

She said that the abbot was in good health and gay; that he was
accompanied by a considerable retinue in which, besides the armed
servants, there were several seminarists and _rybalts_; that he sang with
Zych and that he listened gladly not only to the spiritual but to the
worldly songs also. She had noticed also that he asked carefully about
Macko, and that he listened eagerly to Zych's narration of Zbyszko's
adventure in Krakow.

"You know best what you ought to do," finally the clever girl said; "but
I think that Zbyszko ought to go immediately and greet his elder
relative, and not wait until the abbot comes to Bogdaniec."

Macko liked the advice; therefore he called Zbyszko and said to him:

"Dress yourself beautifully; then go and bow to the abbot, and pay him
respect; perhaps he will take a fancy to you."

Then he turned to Jagienka:

"I would not be surprised if you were stupid, because you are a woman;
but I am astonished to find that you have such good sense. Tell me then,
the best way to receive the abbot when he comes here."

"As for food, he will tell you himself what he wishes to have; he likes
to feast well, but if there be a great deal of saffron in the food, he
will eat anything."

Macko hearing this, said:

"How can I get saffron for him!"

"I brought some," said Jagienka.

"Give us more such girls!" exclaimed the overjoyed Macko. "She is pretty,
a good housekeeper, intelligent and good-hearted! Hej! if I were only
younger I would take her immediately!"

Here Jagienka glanced at Zbyszko, and having sighed slightly, she said
further:

"I brought also the dice, the goblet and the cloth, because after his
meal, the abbot likes to play dice."

"He had the same habit formerly, and he used to get very angry."

"He gets angry sometimes now; then he throws the goblet on the ground and
rushes from the room into the fields. Then he comes back smiling, and
laughs at his anger. You know him! If one does not contradict him, you
cannot find a better man in the world."

"And who would contradict him; is he not wiser and mightier than others?"

Thus they talked while Zbyszko was dressing in the alcove. Finally he
came out, looking so beautiful that he dazzled Jagienka, as much as he
did the first time he went to Zgorzelice in his white _jaka_. She
regretted that this handsome knight was not hers, and that he was in love
with another girl.

Macko was pleased because he thought that the abbot could not help liking
Zbyszko and would be more lenient during their business transaction. He
was so much pleased with this idea, that he determined to go also.

"Order the servants to prepare a wagon," said he to Zbyszko. "If I could
travel from Krakow to Bogdaniec with an iron in my side, surely I can go
now to Zgorzelice."

"If you only will not faint," said Jagienka.

"Ej! I will be all right, because I feel stronger already. And even if I
faint, the abbot will see that I hastened to meet him, and will be more
generous."

"I prefer your health to his generosity!" said Zbyszko.

But Macko was persistent and started for Zgorzelice. On the road he
moaned a little, but he continued to give Zbyszko advice; he told him how
to act in Zgorzelice, and especially recommended him to be obedient and
humble in the presence of their mighty relative, who never would suffer
the slightest opposition.

When they came to Zgorzelice, they found Zych and the abbot sitting in
front of the house, looking at the beautiful country, and drinking wine.
Behind them, near the wall, sat six men of the abbot's retinue; two of
them were _rybalts_; one was a pilgrim, who could easily be distinguished
by his curved stick and dark mantle; the others looked like seminarists
because their heads were shaved, but they wore lay clothing, girdles of
ox leather, and swords.

When Zych perceived Macko coming in the wagon, he rushed toward him; but
the abbot, evidently remembering his spiritual dignity, remained seated,
and began to say something to his seminarists. Zbyszko and Zych conducted
the sick Macko toward the house.

"I am not well yet," said Macko, kissing the abbot's hand, "but I came to
bow to you, my benefactor; to thank you for your care of Bogdaniec, and
to beg you for a benediction, which is most necessary for a sinful man."

"I heard you were better," said the abbot, placing his hand on Macko's
head; "and that you had promised to go to the grave of our late queen."

"Not knowing which saint's protection to ask for, I made a vow to her."

"You did well!" said the abbot, enthusiastically; "she is better than all
the others, if one only dare beseech her!"

In a moment his face became flushed with anger, his cheeks filled with
blood, his eyes began to sparkle.

They were so used to his impetuosity, that Zych began to laugh and
exclaimed:

"Strike, who believes in God!"

As for the abbot, he puffed loudly, and looked at those present; then
laughed suddenly, and having looked at Zbyszko, he asked:

"Is that your nephew and my relation?"

Zbyszko bent and kissed his hand.

"I saw him when he was a small boy; I did not recognize him," said the
abbot. "Show yourself!" And he began to look at him from head to foot,
and finally said:

"He is too handsome! It is a girl, not a knight!"

"To this Macko replied:

"That girl used to go to dancing parties with the Germans; but those who
took her, fell down and did not rise again."

"And he can stretch a crossbow without a crank!" exclaimed Jagienka.

The abbot turned toward her:

"Ah! Are you here?"

She blushed so much that her neck and ears became red, and answered:

"I saw him do it."

"Look out then, that he does not shoot you, because you will be obliged
to nurse yourself for a long time."

At this the _rybalts_, the pilgrim and the seminarists broke out with
great laughter, which confused Jagienka still more; the abbot took pity
on her, and having raised his arm, he showed her his enormous sleeve, and
said:

"Hide here, my dear girl!"

Meanwhile Zych assisted Macko to the bench and ordered some wine for him.
Jagienka went to get it. The abbot turned to Zbyszko and began to talk
thus:

"Enough of joking! I compared you to a girl, not to humiliate you, but to
praise your beauty, of which many girls would be proud. But I know that
you are a man! I have heard about your deeds at Wilno, about the Fryzes,
and about Krakow. Zych has told me all about it, understand!"

Here he began to look intently into Zbyszko's eyes, and after a while he
said:

"If you have promised three peacocks' tufts, then search for them! It is
praiseworthy and pleasing to God to persecute the foes of our nation.
But, if you have promised something else, I will release you from the
vow."

"Hej!" said Zbyszko; "when a man promises something in his soul to the
Lord Jesus, who has the power to release him?"

Macko looked with fear at the abbot; but evidently he was in an excellent
humor, because instead of becoming angry, he threatened Zbyszko with his
finger and said:

"How clever you are! But you must be careful that you do not meet the
same fate that the German, Beyhard, did."

"What happened to him?" asked Zych.

"They burned him on a pile."

"What for?"

"Because he used to say that a layman could understand God's secrets as
well as the clergy."

"They punished him severely!"

"But righteously!" shouted the abbot, "because he had blasphemed against
the Holy Ghost. What do you think? Is a layman able to interpret any of
God's secrets?"

"He cannot by any means!" exclaimed the wandering seminarists, together.

"Keep quiet, you _shpilmen_!" said the abbot; "you are not ecclesiastics,
although your heads are shaved."

"We are not '_shpilmen_,' but courtiers of Your Grace," answered one of
them, looking toward a large bucket from which the smell of hops and malt
was filling the air.

"Look! He is talking from a barrel!" exclaimed the abbot. "Hej, you
shaggy one! Why do you look at the bucket? You will not find any Latin at
the bottom of that."

"I am not looking for Latin, but for beer; but I cannot find any."

The abbot turned toward Zbyszko, who was looking with astonishment at
such courtiers as these, and said:

"They are _clerici scholares_;[83] but every one of them prefers to throw
his books aside, and taking his lute, wander through the world. I shelter
and nourish them; what else can I do? They are good for nothing, but they
know how to sing and they are familiar with God's service; therefore I
have some benefit out of them in my church, and in case of need, they
will defend me, because some of them are fierce fellows! This pilgrim
says that he was in the Holy Land; but I have asked him in vain about
some of the seas and countries; he does not know even the name of the
Greek emperor nor in what city he lives."

"I did know," said the pilgrim, in a hoarse voice; "but the fever I
caught at the Danube, shook everything out of me."

"What surprises me most is, that they wear swords, being wandering
seminarists," said Zbyszko.

"They are allowed to wear them," said the abbot, "because they have not
received orders yet; and there is no occasion for anyone to wonder
because I wear a sword even though I am an abbot. A year ago I challenged
Wilk of Brzozowa to fight for the forests which you passed; but he did
not appear."

"How could he fight with one of the clergy?" interrupted Zych.

At this the abbot became angry, struck the table with his fist, and
exclaimed:

"When I wear armor, then I am not a priest, but a nobleman! He did not
come because he preferred to have his servants attack me in Tulcza. That
is why I wear a sword: _Omnes leges, omniaque iura vim vi repellere
cunctisque sese defensare permittunt!_ That is why I gave them their
swords."

Hearing the Latin, Zych, Macko and Zbyszko became silent and bent their
heads before the abbot's wisdom, because they did not understand a word
of it; as for the abbot, he looked very angry for a while, and then he
said:

"Who knows but what he will attack me even here?"

"Owa! Let him come!" exclaimed the wandering seminarists, seizing the
hilts of their swords.

"I would like to have him attack me! I am longing for a fight."

"He will not do that," said Zych. "It is more likely that he will come to
bow to you. He gave up the forests, and now he is anxious about his son.
You know! But he can wait a long time!"

Meanwhile the abbot became quieted and said:

"I saw young Wilk drinking with Cztan of Rogow in an inn in Krzesnia.
They did not recognize us at once, because it was dark; they were talking
about Jagienka."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"And about you, too."

"What do they want from me?"

"They do not want anything from you; but they do not like it that there
is a third young man near Zgorzelice. Cztan said to Wilk: 'After I tan
his skin, he will not be so smooth.' And Wilk said: 'Perhaps he will be
afraid of us; if not, I will break his bones!' Then they assured each
other that you would be afraid of them."

Hearing this Macko looked at Zych, and Zych looked at him; their faces
expressed great cunning and joy. Neither of them was sure whether the
abbot had really heard such a conversation, or whether he was only saying
this to excite Zbyszko; but they both knew, and Macko especially, that
there was no better way to incite Zbyszko to try to win Jagienka.

The abbot added deliberately:

"It is true, they are fierce fellows!"

Zbyszko did not show any excitement; but he asked in a strange tone that
did not sound like his voice:

"To-morrow is Sunday?"

"Yes, Sunday."

"You will go to church?"

"Yes!"

"Where? to Krzesnia?"

"That is the nearest!"

"Well, all right then!"




CHAPTER IX.

Zybszko, having joined Zych and Jagienka, who were accompanying the abbot
and his retinue to Krzesnia, rode with them, because he wanted to show
the abbot that he was afraid neither of Wilk of Brzozowa, nor of Cztan of
Rogow. He was again surprised at Jagienka's beauty. He had often seen her
in Zgorzelice and Bogdaniec, dressed beautifully; but never had she
looked as she did now when going to church. Her cloak was made of red
broadcloth, lined with ermine; she wore red gloves, and on her head was a
little hood embroidered with gold, from beneath which two braids fell
down on her shoulders. She was not sitting on the horse astride, but on a
high saddle which had an arm and a little bench for her feet, which
scarcely showed from beneath her long skirt. Zych permitted the girl to
dress in a sheepskin overcoat and high-legged boots when at home, but
required that for church she should be dressed not like the daughter of a
poor _wlodyczka_,[84] but like the _panna_ of a mighty nobleman. Two
boys, dressed like pages, conducted her horse. Four servants were riding
behind with the abbot's seminarists, who were armed with swords and
carried their lutes. Zbyszko admired all the retinue, but especially
Jagienka, who looked like a picture. The abbot, who was dressed in a red
cloak, having enormous sleeves, resembled a traveling prince. The most
modest dress was worn by Zych, who requiring magnificent display for the
others, for himself cared only for singing and joy.

Zych, Zbyszko, Jagienka and the abbot rode together. At first the abbot
ordered his _shpilmen_ to sing some church songs; afterward, when he was
tired of their songs, he began to talk with Zbyszko, who smiled at his
enormous sword, which was as large as a two-handed German sword.

"I see," said he gravely, "that you wonder at my sword; the synod permits
a clergyman to wear a sword during a journey, and I am traveling. When
the holy father forbade the ecclesiastics to wear swords and red dresses,
most assuredly he meant the men of low birth, because God intended that
noblemen should wear arms; and he who would dare to take this right from
a nobleman, would oppose His eternal will."

"I saw the Mazovian Prince Henryk, when he fought in the lists," said
Zbyszko.

"We do not censure him, because he fought," answered the abbot, raising
his finger, "but because he married and married unhappily; _fornicarium_
and _bibulam_ had taken _mulierem_, whom _Bachum_ since she was young
_adorabat_, and besides that she was _adultera_, from whom no one could
expect any good." He stopped his horse and began to expound with still
greater gravity:

"Whoever wishes to marry, or to choose _uxorem_ must ascertain if she is
pious, moral, a good housekeeper and cleanly. This is recommended not
only by the fathers of the church, but also by a certain pagan sage,
called Seneca. And how can you know whether you have chosen well, if you
do not know the nest from which you take your life companion? Because
another sage has said: _Pomus nam cadit absque arbore._ As is the ox, so
is the skin; as is the mother, so is the girl. Prom which you, a sinner,
must draw this moral,--that you must look for your wife not far away, but
near; because if you get a bad one, you will cry as did the philosopher,
when his quarrelsome wife poured _aquam sordidam_ on his head."

"_In saecula saeculorum_, amen!" exclaimed in unison the wandering
seminarists, who when responding to the abbot, did not always answer
properly.

They were all listening very attentively to the abbot's words, admiring
his eloquence and his knowledge of the Scriptures; he apparently did not
speak directly to Zbyszko; but on the contrary, he turned more toward
Zych and Jagienka, as if he wished to edify them. But evidently Jagienka
understood what he was trying to do, because from beneath her long
eyelashes, she looked at Zbyszko, who frowned and dropped his head as if
he were seriously thinking about what the abbot had said.

After this the retinue moved on silently; but when they came near
Krzesnia, the abbot touched his girdle and then turned it so that he
could seize the hilt of his sword more easily, and said:

"I am sure that old Wilk of Brzozowa will come with a good retinue."

"Perhaps," replied Zych, "but I heard that he was not well."

"One of my seminarists heard that he intends to attack us in front of the
inn after the service is over."

"He will not do that without a challenge, and especially after holy
mass."

"May God, bring him to reason. I do not seek a quarrel with anybody and I
bear my wrongs patiently."

Here he looked at the _shpilmen_, and said:

"Do not draw your swords, and remember that you are spiritual servants;
but if they attack us first, then strike them!"

Zbyszko, while riding beside Jagienka, said to her:

"I am sure that in Krzesnia we will meet young Wilk and Cztan. Show me
them from afar, so that I may know them."

"Very well, Zbyszku," answered Jagienka.

"Do they not meet you before the service and after the service? What do
they do then?"

"They serve me."

"They will not serve you now, understand?" And she answered again, almost
with humility:

"Very well, Zbyszku."

Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of the wooden knockers,
there being no bells in Krzesnia. After a few moments they arrived at the
church. From the crowd in front, waiting for mass, young Wilk and Cztan
of Rogow came forward immediately; but Zbyszko jumped from his horse, and
before they could reach her, seized Jagienka and lifted her down from her
horse; then he took her by the hand, and looking at them threateningly,
conducted her to the church.

In the vestibule of the church, they were again disappointed. Both rushed
to the font of holy water, plunged their hands in, and then stretched
them toward the girl. But Zbyszko did the same, and she touched his
fingers; then having made the sign of the cross, she entered the church
with him. Then not only young Wilk, but Cztan of Rogow also,
notwithstanding his stupidity, understood that this had been done
purposely, and both were very angry. Wilk rushed out of the vestibule and
ran like a madman, not knowing where he was going. Cztan rushed after
him, although not knowing why.

They stopped at the corner of the inclosure where there were some large
stones ready for the foundation of the tower which was to be built in
Krzesnia. Then, Wilk wishing to assuage the wrath which raged in his
breast, seized one of these stones, and began to shake it; Cztan seeing
him do this, seized it also, and both began to roll it toward the church
gate.

The people looked at them with amazement, thinking that they had made
some vow, and that in this way they wished to contribute to the building
of the tower. This effort gave them relief and they came to their senses;
then they stood, pale from their exertion, puffing and looking at each
other.

Cztan of Rogow was the first to break the silence.

"What now?" asked he.

"What?" answered Wilk.

"Shall we attack him immediately?"

"How can we do that in the church?"

"Not in the church, but after mass."

"He is with Zych and the abbot. And have you forgotten that Zych said
that if there were a fight, he would refuse to let either of us visit at
Zgorzelice. But for that, I would have broken your ribs long ago."

"Or I, yours!" answered Cztan, clinching his powerful fists.

And their eyes began to sparkle threateningly; but soon they both
realized that now, more than ever, they needed to have a good
understanding. They often fought together; but after each fight, they
always became reconciled, because although they were divided by their
love for Jagienka, they could not live without each other. Now they had a
common foe and they understood that the enemy was a dangerous one.

After a while Cztan asked:

"What shall we do? Shall we send him a challenge?"

Wilk, although he was wiser, did not know what to do. Fortunately the
knockers resounded to notify the people that mass would begin. When he
heard them he said:

"What shall we do? Go to church now and after that, we will do whatever
pleases God."

Cztan of Rogow was pleased with this answer.

"Perhaps the Lord Jesus will send us an inspiration," said he.

"And will bless us," added Wilk.

"According to justice."

They went to church, and having listened devoutly to the mass, they grew
more hopeful. They did not lose their temper after mass, when Jagienka
again accepted holy water from Zbyszko. In the church-yard they bowed to
Zych, to Jagienka and even to the abbot, although he was an enemy of Wilk
of Brzozowa. They scowled at Zbyszko, but did not attempt to touch him,
although their hearts were throbbing with grief, anger and jealousy;
never before had Jagienka seemed to them to be as beautiful as she was
then. When the brilliant retinue moved on and when from afar they heard
the merry song of the ambulant seminarists, Cztan began to wipe the
perspiration from his hairy cheeks and to snort like a horse; as for
Wilk, he said, gnashing his teeth:

"To the inn! To the inn! Woe to me!" Afterward remembering what had
relieved them before, they again seized the stone and rolled it back to
its former place.

Zbyszko rode beside Jagienka, listening to the abbot's _shpilmen_ singing
merry songs; but when they had traveled five or six furlongs, he suddenly
reined in his horse, and said:

"Oh! I intended to pay for a mass to be said for uncle's health and I
forgot it; I must return."

"Do not go back!" exclaimed Jagienka; "we will send from Zgorzelice."

"No, I will return, and you must not wait for me. With God!"

"With God," said the abbot. "Go!" And his face brightened; when Zbyszko
disappeared, he touched Zych with his elbow and said:

"Do you understand?"

"What?"

"He will surely fight in Krzesnia with Wilk and Cztan; but I wished for
it and I am glad."

"They are dreadful boys! If they wound him, then what of it?"

"What of it? If he fight for Jagienka, then how can he afterward think
about that other girl, Jurandowna? From this time, Jagienka will be his
lady, not the other girl; and I wish it because he is my relative and I
like him."

"Bah! What about his vow?"

"I will give him absolution in the twinkling of an eye! Have you not
heard that I promised to absolve him?"

"Your head is wise about everything," answered Zych.

The abbot was pleased with this praise; then he approached nearer
Jagienka and asked:

"Why are you so sad?"

She leaned on the saddle, seized the abbot's hand and lifted it to her
mouth:

"Godfather, could you not send your _shpilmen_ to Krzesnia?"

"What for? They will get drunk in the inn--that's all."

"But they may prevent a quarrel."

The abbot looked into her eyes and then said sharply:

"Let them even kill him."

"Then they must kill me also!" exclaimed Jagienka.

The bitterness which had accumulated in her bosom since that conversation
about Danusia with Zbyszko, mingled with grief, now gushed forth in a
stream of tears. Seeing this, the abbot encircled her with his arm,
almost covering her with his enormous sleeve, and began to talk:

"Do not be afraid, my dear little girl. They may quarrel, but the other
boys are noblemen; they will attack him only in a chivalrous manner; they
will call him up on the field, and then he can manage for himself, even
if he be obliged to fight with both of them at once. As for Jurandowna,
about whom you have heard, I will tell you this: there is no wood growing
for a bed for the other girl."

"If he prefers the other girl, then I do not care about him," answered
Jagienka, through her tears.

"Then why do you, weep?"

"Because I am afraid for him."

"Woman's sense!" said the abbot, laughing.

Then having bent toward Jagienka's ear, he said:

"You must remember, dear girl, that even if he take you, he will be
obliged to fight just the same; a nobleman must be a knight." Here he
bent still closer and added:

"And he will take you, and before long, as God is in heaven!"

"I do not know about that!" answered Jagienka.

But she began to smile through her tears, and to look at the abbot as if
she wished to ask him how he knew it.

Meanwhile, Zbyszko having returned to Krzesnia, went directly to the
priest, because he really wished to have a mass read for Macko's health;
after having settled about that, he went to the inn, where he expected to
find young Wilk of Brzozowa, and Cztan of Rogow.

He found both of them there, and also many other people, noblemen,
farmers and a few "madcap fellows" showing different German tricks. At
first he could not recognize anybody, because the windows of the inn
being made of ox bladders, did not let in a good light; but when the
servant put some resinous wood on the fire, he noticed in the corner
behind the beer buckets, Cztan's hairy cheeks, and Wilk's furious face.

Then he walked slowly toward them, pushing aside the people; when he
reached them, he struck the table so heavily with his fist that the noise
resounded throughout the whole inn.

They arose immediately and began to turn their girdles; but before they
could grasp the hilts of their swords, Zbyszko threw down a glove, and
speaking through his nose, as the knights used to speak while
challenging, he said these words which were unexpected by everybody:

"If either of you, or any other knightly person here present, deny that
the most beautiful and most virtuous girl in the world is _Panna_ Danuta
Jurandowna of Spychow, that one I will challenge to combat, on horseback
or on foot, until the first kneeling, or until the last breath."

Wilk and Cztan were astonished as much as the abbot would have been, had
he heard Zbyszko's words; and for a while they could not say a word. Who
was this _panna_? They cared about Jagienka and not about her; and if
this youth did not care for Jagienka, then what did he wish? Why had he
made them angry in the church-yard? What did he return for, and why did
he wish to quarrel with them? These questions produced such confusion in
their minds, that they opened their mouths widely and stared at Zbyszko
as if he were not a man, but some German wonder.

But the more intelligent Wilk, who was a little familiar with chivalrous
customs and knew that often a knight served one lady, but married
another, thought that this must be a similar case, and that he must seize
the opportunity, to defend Jagienka.

Therefore he came out from behind the table, and coming close to Zbyszko,
asked threateningly:

"Then, you dog-brother, you mean to say that Jagienka Zychowna is not the
most beautiful girl in the world?"

Cztan followed him; and the people surrounded them, because they
understood that it would not end in words.




CHAPTER X.

When Jagienka reached home, she immediately sent a servant to Krzesnia to
learn whether there had been a fight in the inn, or whether there had
been a challenge. But the servant having received a _skojec_,[85] began
to drink with the priest's servants, and did not hasten. Another servant
who had been sent to Bogdaniec to inform Macko that the abbot was going
to pay him a visit, returned, having fulfilled the commission and
reported that he had seen Zbyszko playing dice with the old man. This
partly soothed Jagienka, because knowing by experience how dexterous
Zbyszko was, she was not so much afraid about a regular duel, as she was
about some unexpected accident in the inn. She wanted to accompany the
abbot to Bogdaniec, but he was not willing. He wished to talk with Macko
about the pledge and about some other important business; and then he
wanted to go there toward night. Having learned that Zbyszko had returned
home safe, he became very jovial and ordered his wandering seminarists to
sing and shout. They obeyed him so well that the forest resounded with
the noise, and in Bogdaniec, the farmers came out from their houses, and
looked to see whether there was a fire or an invasion of the enemy. The
pilgrim riding ahead, quieted them by telling them that a high
ecclesiastical dignitary was coming; therefore when they saw the abbot,
they bowed to him, and some of them even made the sign of the cross on
their chests; he seeing how they respected him, rode along with joyful
pride, pleased with the world and full of kindness toward the people.

Macko and Zbyszko having heard the singing, came to the gate to meet him.
Some of the seminarists had been in Bogdaniec before with the abbot; but
others of them having joined the retinue lately, had never seen it until
now. They were disappointed when they saw the miserable house which could
not be compared with the large mansion in Zgorzelice. But they were
reassured when they saw the smoke coming out from the thatched roof of
the house; and they were greatly pleased when upon entering the room,
they smelt saffron and different kinds of meats, and noticed two tables
full of tin dishes, empty as yet, but enormous. On the smaller table
which was prepared for the abbot, shone a silver dish and also a
beautifully engraved silver cup, both taken with the other treasures from
the Fryzes.

Macko and Zbyszko invited them to the table immediately; but the abbot
who had eaten plentifully in Zgorzelice, refused because he had something
else on his mind. Since his arrival he had looked at Zbyszko attentively
and uneasily, as if he desired to see on him some traces of the fight;
but seeing the quiet face of the youth, he began to be impatient; finally
he was unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

"Let us go into the chamber," said he, "to speak about the pledge. Do not
refuse me; that will make me angry!"

Here he turned to the seminarists and shouted:

"You keep quiet and do not listen at the door!"

Having said this, he opened the door to the chamber and entered, followed
by Zbyszko and Macko. As soon as they were seated on the chests, the
abbot turned toward the young knight:

"Did you go back to Krzesnia?" asked he.

"Yes, I was there."

"And what?"

"Well, I paid for a mass for my uncle's health, that's all."

The abbot moved on the chest impatiently.

"Ha!" thought he, "he did not meet Cztan and Wilk; perhaps they were not
there, and perhaps he did not look for them. I was mistaken."

But he was angry because he was mistaken, and because his plans had not
been realized; therefore immediately his face grew red and he began to
breathe loudly.

"Let us speak about the pledge!" said he. "Have you the money? If not,
then the estate is mine!"

Macko, who knew how to act with him, rose silently, opened the chest on
which he was sitting, and took out of it a bag of _grzywien_, evidently
prepared for this occasion, and said:

"We are poor people, but we have the money; we will pay what is right, as
it is written in the 'letter' which I signed with the mark of the holy
cross. If you want to be paid for the improvements, we will not quarrel
about that either; we will pay the amount you say, and we will bow to
you, our benefactor."

Having said this, he kneeled at the abbot's knee and Zbyszko did the
same. The abbot, who expected some quarrels and arguing, was very much
surprised at such a proceeding, and not very much pleased with it; he
wanted to dictate some conditions and he saw that he would have no
opportunity to do so.

Therefore returning the "letter" or rather the mortgage which Macko had
signed with a cross, he said:

"Why are you talking to me about an additional payment?"

"Because we do not want to receive any presents," answered Macko
cunningly, knowing well that the more he quarreled in that matter the
more he would get.

At this the abbot reddened with anger:

"Did you ever see such people? They do not wish to accept anything from a
relative! You have too much bread! I did not take waste land and I do not
return it waste; and if I want to give you this bag, I will do it!"

"You would not do that!" exclaimed Macko.

"I will not do it! Here is your pledge! Here is your money! I give it
because I want to, and had I even thrown it into the road, it would be
none of your affairs. You shall see if I will not do as I wish!"

Having said this, he seized the bag and threw it on the floor so hard
that it burst, and the money was scattered.

"May God reward you! May God reward you, father and benefactor!"
exclaimed Macko, who had been waiting for this; "I would not accept it
from anyone else, but from a relation and a spiritual father, I will
accept it."

The abbot looked threateningly at both of them, and finally he said:

"Although I am angry, I know what I am doing; therefore hold what you
have, because I assure you that you shall not have one _skojeo_ more."

"We did not expect even this."

"You know that Jagienka will inherit everything I have."

"The land also?" asked Macko, simply.

"The land also!" shouted the abbot.

At this Macko's face grew long, but he recovered himself and said:

"Ej, why should you think about death! May the Lord Jesus grant you a
hundred years or more of life, and an important bishopric soon."

"Certainly! Am I worse than others?" said the abbot.

"Not worse, but better!"

These words appeased the abbot, for his anger never lasted long.

"Well," said he, "you are my relations, and she is only my goddaughter;
but I love her, and Zych also. There is no better man in the world than
Zych and no better girl than Jagienka, also! Who can say anything against
them?"

He began to look angry, but Macko did not contradict; he quickly affirmed
that there was no worthier neighbor in the whole kingdom.

"And as for the girl," said he, "I could not love my own daughter any
more than I love her. With her help, I recovered my health and I shall
never forget it until my death."

"You will both be punished if you forget it," said the abbot, "and I will
curse you. But I do not wish to wrong you, therefore I have found a way
by which, what I will leave after my death, can belong to you and to
Jagienka; do you understand?"

"May God help us to realize that!" answered Macko. "Sweet Jesus! I would
go on foot to the grave of the queen in Krakow or to Lysa Gora[86] to bow
to the Holy Cross."

The abbot was very much pleased with such sincerity; he smiled and said:

"The girl is perfectly right to be particular in her choice, because she
is pretty, rich and of good family! Of what account are Cztan or Wilk,
when the son of a _wojewoda_ would not be too good for her! But if
somebody, as myself for instance, spoke in favor of any particular one,
then she would marry him, because she loves me and knows that I will
advise her well."

"The one whom you advise her to marry, will be very lucky," said Macko.

But the abbot turned to Zbyszko:

"What do you say to this?"

"Well, I think the same as my uncle does."

The face of the abbot became still more serene; he struck Zbyszko's
shoulder with his hand so hard that the blow resounded in the chamber,
and asked:

"Why did you not let Cztan or Wilk approach Jagienka at church?"

"Because I did not want them to think that I was afraid of them, and I
did not want you to think so."

"But you gave the holy water to her."

"Yes, I did."

The abbot gave him another blow.

"Then, take her!"

"Take her!" exclaimed Macko, like an echo.

At this Zbyszko gathered up his hair, put it in the net, and answered
quietly:

"How can I take her, when before the altar in Tyniec, I made a vow to
Danusia Jurandowna?"

"You made a vow about the peacock's tufts, and you must get them, but
take Jagienka immediately."

"No," answered Zbyszko; "afterward when Danusia covered me with her veil,
I promised that I would marry her."

The blood began to rush to the abbot's face; his ears turned blue, and
his eyes bulged; he approached Zbyszko and said, in a voice muffled with
anger:

"Your vows are the chaff and I am the wind; understand! Ot!"

And he blew on Zbyszko's head so powerfully, that the net fell off and
the hair was scattered on his shoulders. Then Zbyszko frowned, and
looking into the abbot's eyes, he said:

"In my vows is my honor, and over my honor, I alone am the guardian!"

At this, the abbot not being accustomed to opposition, lost his breath to
such a degree, that for a time he could not speak. There was an
ill-omened silence, which finally was broken by Macko:

"Zbyszku!" exclaimed he, "come to your wits again! What is the matter
with you?"

Meanwhile the abbot raised his hand and pointing toward the youth, began
to shout:

"What is the matter with him? I know what is the matter; he has not the
heart of a nobleman, nor of a knight, but of a hare! That is the matter
with him; he is afraid of Cztan and Wilk!"

But Zbyszko, who had remained cool and calm, carelessly shrugged his
shoulders and answered:

"Owa! I broke their heads when I was in Krzesnia."

"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed Macko.

The abbot stared for a while at Zbyszko. Anger was struggling with
admiration in him, and his reason told him that from that fight, he might
derive some benefit for his plans.

Therefore having become cooler, he shouted to Zbyszko:

"Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"Because I was ashamed. I thought they would challenge me, as it is
customary for knights to do, to fight on horseback or on foot; but they
are bandits, not knights. Wilk first took a board from the table, Cztan
seized another and they both rushed against me! What could I do? I seized
a bench; well--you know!"

"Are they still alive?" asked Macko.

"Yes, they are alive, but they were hurt. They breathed when I left."

The abbot, rubbing his forehead, listened; then he suddenly jumped from
the chest, on which he had seated himself to be more comfortable and to
think the matter over, and exclaimed:

"Wait! I want to tell you something!"

"What?" asked Zbyszko.

"If you fought for Jagienka and injured them for her sake, then you are
really her knight, not Danusia's; and you must take Jagienka."

Having said this, he put his hands on his hips and looked at Zbyszko
triumphantly; but Zbyszko smiled and said:

"Hej! I knew very well why you wanted me to fight with them; but you have
not succeeded in your plans."

"Why? Speak!"

"Because I challenged them to deny that Danusia Jurandowna is the
prettiest and the most virtuous girl in the world; they took Jagienka's
part, and that is why there was a fight."

Having heard this, the abbot stood amazed, and only the frequent movement
of his eyes indicated that he was still alive. Finally he turned, opened
the door with his foot, and rushed into the other room; there he seized
the curved stick from the pilgrim's hands and began to strike the
_shpilmen_ with it, roaring like a wounded urus.

"To horse, you rascals! To horse, you dog-faiths! I will not put my foot
in this house again! To horse, he who believes in God, to horse!"

Then he opened the outer door and went into the court-yard, followed by
the frightened seminarists. They rushed to the stable and began to saddle
the horses. In vain Macko followed the abbot, and entreated him to
remain; swore that it was not his fault. The abbot cursed the house, the
people and the fields; when they brought him a horse, he jumped in the
saddle without touching the stirrups and galloped away looking, with his
large sleeves filled by the wind, like an enormous red bird. The
seminarists rushed after him, like a herd following its leader.

Macko stood looking after them for some time; but when they disappeared
in the forest, he returned slowly to the room and said to Zbyszko,
shaking his head sadly:

"See what you have done?"

"It would not have happened if I had gone away; and it is your fault that
I did not."

"Why?"

"Because I did not wish to leave you when you were sick."

"And what will you do now?"

"Now I shall go."

"Where?"

"To Mazowsze to see Danusia; and after that to search for peacock's tufts
among the Germans."

Macko was silent for a moment, then he said:

"He returned the 'letter,' but the mortgage is recorded in the
mortgage-book at the court. Now the abbot will not give us even a
_skojec_."

"I do not care. You have money, and I do not need anything for my
journey. I will be received everywhere and my horses will be fed; if I
only had a suit of armor on my back and a sword in my hand, I would need
nothing else."

Macko began to think about everything that had happened. All his plans
and wishes had been frustrated. He had wished with his whole heart that
Zbyszko would marry Jagienka; but he now realized that this wish would
never be fulfilled; and considering the abbot's anger, the behavior of
Zbyszko toward Jagienka and finally the fight with Cztan and Wilk, he
concluded it would be better to allow Zbyszko to go.

"Ha!" said he, finally, "if you must seek for the peacock's feathers on
the heads of the Knights of the Cross, go then. Let the Lord Jesus' will
be accomplished. But I must go immediately to Zgorzelice; perhaps I will
succeed in appeasing their wrath if I implore pardon of the abbot and of
Zych; I care especially for the friendship of Zych."

Here he looked into Zbyszko's eyes and asked:

"Do you not regret Jagienka?"

"May God give her health and the best of everything!" answered Zbyszko.


END OF PART SECOND.




PART THIRD.




CHAPTER I.

Macko waited patiently for several days, hoping to receive some news from
Zgorzelice, or to hear that the abbot's anger had been appeased; finally
he became impatient and determined to go personally to see Zych.
Everything had happened contrary to his wishes, and now he was anxious to
know whether Zych was angry with him. He was afraid that the abbot would
never be reconciled with Zbyszko and him. He wanted, however, to do
everything he could, to soften that anger; therefore while riding, he was
thinking what he would say in Zgorzelice, to palliate the offence and
preserve the old friendship with his neighbor. His thoughts, however,
were not clear, therefore he was glad to find Jagienka alone; the girl
received him as usual with a bow and kissed his hand,--in a word, she was
friendly, but a little sad.

"Is your father home?" asked he.

"He went out hunting with the abbot. They may be back at any moment."

Having said this, she conducted him into the house, where they both sat
in silence for a long time; the girl spoke first, and said:

"Are you lonely now in Bogdaniec?"

"Very lonely," answered Macko. "Then you knew that Zbyszko had gone
away?"

Jagienka sighed softly:

"Yes, I knew it the very same day; I thought he would come here to bid me
good-bye, but he did not."

"How could he come!" said Macko. "The abbot would have torn him to
pieces; neither would your father have welcomed him."

She shook her head and said:

"Ej! I would not allow anybody to injure him."

Upon this Macko hugged the girl and said:

"God be with you, girl! You are sad, but I also am sad. Let me tell you
that neither the abbot nor your own father loves you more than I do. I
wish that Zbyszko had chosen you, and not another."

There came upon Jagienka such a moment of grief and longing, that she
could not conceal her feelings, but said:

"I shall never see him again, or if I see him, it will be with
Jurandowna, and then I will cry my eyes out."

She raised her apron and covered her eyes, which were filled with tears.

Macko said:

"Stop crying! He has gone, but with God's grace, he will not come back
with Jurandowna."

"Why not?" said Jagienka, from behind her apron.

"Because Jurand does not want to give him the girl."

Then Jagienka suddenly uncovered her face, and having turned toward
Macko, said to him:

"Zbyszko told me that; but is it true?"

"As true as that God is in heaven."

"But why?"

"Who knows why. Some vow, or something like that, and there is no
remission for vows! He liked Zbyszko, because the boy promised to help
him in his vengeance; but even that was useless. Jurand would listen
neither to persuasion, nor to command, nor to prayers. He said he could
not. Well, there must be some reason why he could not do it, and he will
not change his mind, because he is stern and unyielding. Don't lose hope
but cheer up. Rightly speaking, the boy was obliged to go, because he had
sworn in the church to secure three peacocks' crests. Then, also, the
girl covered him with her veil, which was a sign that she would take him
for her husband; otherwise they would have beheaded him; for that, he
must be grateful to her--one cannot deny it. With God's help, she will
not be his; but according to the law, he is hers. Zych is angry with him;
the abbot has sent a plague upon him, so that his skin shivers; I am
angry also, but if one thinks carefully, what else could he do? Since he
belonged to the other girl, he was obliged to go. He is a nobleman. But I
tell you this; if the Germans do not kill him, then he will come back;
and he will come back not only to me an old man, not only to Bogdaniec,
but to you, because he was very fond of you."

"I don't believe he was!" said Jagienka.

But she drew near Macko, and having touched him with her elbow, she
asked:

"How do you know it? I am sure that is not true."

"How do I know?" answered Macko. "I saw how difficult it was for him to
go away. When it was decided that he must go, I asked him: 'Do you not
regret Jagienka?' and he said: 'May God give her health and the best of
everything.' Then immediately he began to sigh."

"I am sure that it is not true!" said Jagienka, softly; "but tell me
again."

"As God is dear to me, it is true! After seeing you, he will not care for
the other girl, because you know yourself that there is no girl more
beautiful than you in the whole world. He has felt God's will toward
you--do not fear--perhaps even more than you have felt it toward him."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Jagienka. Then she again covered her face, which
was as rosy as an apple, with her sleeve; Macko smiled, passed his hand
over his moustache and said:

"Hej! if I were only younger; but you must comfort yourself, because I
see how it will be. He will get his spurs at the Mazowiecki court,
because that is near the boundary and it is not difficult to kill a
Krzyzak there. I know that there are good knights among the Germans; but
I think that it will take a very good one to defeat Zbyszko. See how he
routed Cztan of Rogow and Wilk of Brzozowa, although they are said to be
dreadful boys and as strong as bears. He will bring his crests, but he
will not bring Jurandowna."

"But when will he return?"

"Bah I if you are not willing to wait, then you will not be wronged.
Repeat what I have told you to the abbot and to Zych; perhaps they will
not be so angry with Zbyszko."

"How can I tell them anything? _Tatus_ is more sorrowful than angry; but
it is dangerous even to mention Zbyszko's name to the abbot. He scolded
me because I sent Zbyszko a servant."

"What servant?"

"We had a Czech, whom _tatus_ captured at Boleslawiec, a good, faithful
boy. His name was Hlawa. _Tatus_ gave him to my service, because he was a
_wlodyka_; I gave him a worthy armor and sent him to Zbyszko, to serve
and protect him. I also gave him a bag of money for the journey. He
promised me that he would serve Zbyszko faithfully until death."

"My dear girl! may God reward you! Was Zych opposed to your doing it?"

"Yes, at first _tatus_ did not want to let me do it; but when I began to
coax him, then he consented. When the abbot heard about it from his
seminarists, he immediately rushed out of the room swearing; there was
such a disturbance, that _tatus_ escaped to the barn. Toward evening, the
abbot took pity on my tears and even made me a present of some beads."

"As God is dear to me, I do not know whether I love Zbyszko any better
than I love you; but he had a worthy retinue. I also gave him money,
although he did not want to take it. Well, the Mazurs are not beyond the
seas."

The conversation was interrupted by the barking of dogs, by shouting and
by the sounds of brass trumpets in front of the house. Having heard this,
Jagienka said:

"_Tatus_ and the abbot have returned from hunting. Let us go outside; it
will be better for the abbot to see you there, and not to meet you
unexpectedly in the house."

Having said this, she conducted Macko out-of-doors; in the courtyard, on
the snow they perceived a throng of men, horses and dogs, also elks and
wolves pierced with spears or shot with crossbows. The abbot saw Macko
before he dismounted, and hurled a spear toward him, not to strike him,
but to show in that way, his great anger against the inhabitants of
Bogdaniec. But Macko uncovered and bowed to him as if he noticed nothing
unusual; Jagienka, however, had not noticed the abbot's action, because
she was very much surprised to see her two wooers in the retinue.

"Cztan and Wilk are here!" she exclaimed; "I presume they met _tatus_ in
the forest."

Immediately the thought ran through Macko's mind, that perhaps one of
them would get Jagienka, and with her Moczydoly, the abbot's lands,
forests and money. Then grief and anger filled his heart, especially when
he perceived what occurred. Behold, Wilk of Brzozowa, although only a
short time before the abbot wanted to fight with his father, sprang to
the abbot's stirrups, and helped him to dismount; and the abbot leaned in
a friendly manner on the young nobleman's shoulder.

"In that way, the abbot will become reconciled with old Wilk," thought
Macko, "and he will give the forests and the lands with the girl."

His sad thoughts were interrupted by Jagienka who said:

"They are soon cured after Zbyszko's beating; but even if they come here
every day, it will not benefit them!"

Macko looked and saw that the girl's face was red with anger, and that
her blue eyes sparkled with indignation, although she knew very well that
Cztan and Wilk had taken her part in the inn, and had been beaten on her
account.

Therefore Macko said:

"Bah! you will do as the abbot commands."

She immediately retorted:

"The abbot will do what I wish."

"Gracious Lord!" thought Macko, "and that stupid Zbyszko left such a
girl!"




CHAPTER II.

Zbyszko had left Bogdaniec with a sad heart indeed. In the first place he
felt strange without his uncle, from whom he had never been separated
before, and to whom he was so accustomed, that he did not know how he
would get along without him during the journey, as well as in the war.
Then he regretted Jagienka. Although he was going to Danusia whom he
loved dearly, still he had been so comfortable and happy with Jagienka,
that now he felt sad without her. He was surprised himself at his grief,
and even somewhat alarmed about it. He would not have minded if he longed
for Jagienka only as a brother longs for a sister; but he noticed that he
longed to embrace her, to put her on horseback, to carry her over the
brooks, to wring the water from her tress, to wander with her in the
forest, to gaze at her, and to converse with her. He was so accustomed to
doing all this and it was so pleasant, that when he began to think about
it, he forgot that he was going on a long journey to Mazury; instead of
that, he remembered the moment when Jagienka helped him in the forest,
when he was struggling with the bear. It seemed to him as though it
happened only yesterday; also as though it were only yesterday when they
went to the Odstajny lake for beavers. Then he recalled how beautifully
she was dressed when going to church in Krzesnia, and how surprised he
was that such a simple girl should appear like the daughter of a mighty
lord. All these thoughts filled his heart with uneasiness, sweetness, and
sadness.

"Had I only bid her good-bye," he said to himself, "perhaps I would feel
easier now."

Finally he became afraid of these reminiscences, and he shook them from
his mind like dry snow from his mantle.

"I am going to Danusia, to my dearest," he said to himself.

He noticed that this was a more holy love. Gradually his feet grew colder
in the stirrups, and the cold wind cooled his blood. All his thoughts now
turned to Danusia Jurandowna. He belonged to her without any doubt; but
for her, he would have been beheaded on the Krakowski square. When she
said in the presence of the knights and burghers: "He is mine!" she
rescued him from the hands of the executioners; from that time, he
belonged to her, as a slave to his master. Jurand's opposition was
useless. She alone could drive him away; and even then he would not go
far, because he was bound by his vow. He imagined, however, that she
would not drive him away; but rather that she would follow him from the
Mazowiecki court, even to the end of the world. Then he began to praise
her to himself to Jagienka's disadvantage, as if it were her fault, that
temptations assailed him and his heart was divided. Now he forgot that
Jagienka cured old Macko; he forgot that without her help, the bear would
have torn him to pieces; and he became enraged with her, hoping in this
way to please Danusia and to justify himself in his own eyes.

At this moment the Czech, Hlawa, sent by Jagienka, arrived, leading a
horse.

"Be blessed!" said he, with a low bow.

Zbyszko had seen him once or twice in Zgorzelice, but he did not
recognize him; therefore he said:

"Be blessed for ages and ages! Who are you?"

"Your servant, famous lord."

"What do you mean? These are my servants," said Zbyszko, pointing to the
two Turks, given to him by Sulimczyk Zawisza, and to two sturdy men who
sitting on horseback, were leading the knight's stallions; "these are
mine; who sent you?"

"_Panna_ Jagienka Zychowna of Zgorzelice."

"_Panna_ Jagienka?"

A while ago, Zbyszko had been angry with her and his heart was still full
of wrath; therefore he said:

"Return home and thank the _panna_ for the favor; I do not want you."

But the Czech shook his head.

"I cannot return. They have given me to you; besides that, I have sworn
to serve you until death."

"If they gave you to me, then you are my servant."

"Yours, sir."

"Then I command you to return."

"I have sworn; although I am a prisoner from Boleslawiec and a poor boy,
still I am a _wlodyczka_."[87]

Zbyszko became angry:

"Go away! What; are you going to serve me against my will? Go away,
before I order my servants to bend their crossbows."

But the Czech quietly untied a broadcloth mantle, lined with wolf-skins,
handed it to Zbyszko and said:

"_Panna_ Jagienka sent you this, also, sir."

"Do you wish me to break your bones?" asked Zbyszko, taking a spear from
an attendant.

"Here is also a bag of money for your disposal," answered the Czech.

Zbyszko was ready to strike him with the lance, but he recollected that
the boy, although a prisoner, was by birth a _wlodyka_, who had remained
with Zych only because he did not have money to pay his ransom;
consequently Zbyszko dropped the spear.

Then the Czech bent to his stirrups and said:

"Be not angry, sir. If you do not wish me to accompany you, I will follow
you at a distance of one or two furlongs; but I must go, because I have
sworn to do so upon the salvation of my soul."

"If I order my servants to kill you or to bind you?"

"If you order them to kill me, that will not be my sin; and if you order
them to bind me, then I will remain until some good people untie me, or
until the wolves devour me."

Zbyszko did not reply; he urged his horse forward and his attendants
followed him. The Czech with a crossbow and an axe on his shoulder,
followed them, shielding himself with a shaggy bison skin, because a
sharp wind carrying flakes of snow, began to blow. The storm grew worse
and worse. The Turks, although dressed in sheepskin coats, were chilled
with cold; Zbyszko himself, not being dressed very warmly, glanced
several times at the mantle lined with wolf-fur, which Hlawa had brought
him; after a while, he told one of the Turks to give it to him.

Having wrapped himself with it carefully, he felt a warmth spreading all
over his body. He covered his eyes and the greater part of his face with
the hood of the mantle, so that the wind did not annoy him any more.
Then, involuntarily, he thought how good Jagienka had been to him. He
reined in his horse, called the Czech, and asked him about her, and about
everything that had happened in Zgorzelice.

"Does Zych know that the _panna_ sent you to me?" he said.

"He knows it," answered Hlawa.

"Was he not opposed to it?"

"He was."

"Tell me then all about it."

"The _pan_ was walking in the room and the _panna_ followed him. He
shouted, but the _panienka_ said nothing; but when he turned toward her,
she kneeled but did not utter one word. Finally the _panisko_[88] said:
'Have you become deaf, that you do not answer my questions? Speak then;
perhaps I will consent.' Then the _panna_ understood that she could do as
she wished and began to thank him. The _pan_ reproached her, because she
had persuaded him, and complained that he must always do as she wished;
finally he said: 'Promise me that you will not go secretly to bid him
good-bye; then I will consent, but not otherwise.' Then the _panienka_
became very sorrowful, but she promised; the _pan_ was satisfied, because
the abbot and he were both afraid that she would see you. Well, that was
not the end of it; afterward the _panna_ wanted to send two horses, but
the _pan_ would not consent; the _panna_ wanted to send a wolf-skin and a
bag of money, but the _pan_ refused. His refusal did not amount to
anything, however! If she wanted to set the house on fire, the _panisko_
would finally consent. Therefore I brought two horses, a wolf-skin and a
bag of money."

"Good girl!" thought Zbyszko. After a while he asked:

"Was there no trouble with the abbot?" The Czech, an intelligent
attendant, who understood what happened around him, smiled and answered:

"They were both careful to keep everything secret from the abbot; I do
not know what happened when he learned about it, after I left Zgorzelice.
Sometimes he shouts at the _panienka_; but afterward he watches her to
see if he did not wrong her. I saw him myself one time after he had
scolded her, go to his chest and bring out such a beautiful chain that
one could not get a better one even in Krakow, and give it to her. She
will manage the abbot also, because her own father does not love her any
more than he does."

"That is certainly true."

"As God is in heaven!"

Then they became silent and rode along amidst wind and snow. Suddenly
Zbyszko reined in his horse; from the forest beside the road, there was
heard a plaintive voice, half stifled by the roar of the wind:

"Christians, help God's servant in his misfortune!"

Thereupon a man who was dressed partly in clerical clothing, rushed to
the road and began to cry to Zbyszko:

"Whoever you are, sir, help a fellow-creature who has met with a dreadful
accident!"

"What has happened to you, and who are you?" asked the young knight.

"I am God's servant, although not yet ordained; this morning the horse
which was carrying my chests containing holy things, ran away. I remained
alone, without weapons; evening is approaching, and soon the wild beasts
will begin to roar in the forest. I shall perish, unless you succor me."

"If I let you perish," answered Zbyszko, "I will be accountable for your
sins; but how can I believe that you are speaking the truth. You may be a
highway robber, like many others wandering on the roads!"

"You may believe me, sir, for I will show you the chests. Many a man
would give a purse full of gold for what is in them; but I will give you
some of it for nothing, if you take me and the chests with you."

"You told me that you were God's servant, and yet you do not know that
one must give help, not for earthly recompense, but for spiritual reward.
But how is it that you have the chests now if the horse carried them
away?"

"The wolves devoured the horse in the forest, but the chests remained; I
brought them to the road, and then waited for mercy and help."

Wishing to prove that he was speaking the truth, he pointed to two chests
made of leather, lying under a pine tree. Zbyszko still looked at him
suspiciously, because the man did not look honest, and his speech
indicated that he came from a distant part of the country. He did not
refuse to help him, however, but permitted him to ride the horse led by
the Czech and take the chests, which proved to be very light.

"May God multiply your victories, valiant knight!" said the stranger.

Then, seeing Zbyszko's youthful face, be added softly:

"And the hairs of your beard, also."

He rode beside the Czech. For a time they could not talk, because a
strong wind was blowing, and roaring in the forest; but when it
decreased, Zbyszko heard the following conversation behind him.

"I don't deny that you were in Rome; but you look like a beer drunkard,"
said the Czech.

"Look out for eternal damnation," answered the stranger; "you are talking
to a man who last Easter ate hard boiled eggs with the holy father. Don't
speak to me in such cold weather about beer; but if you have a flask of
wine with you, then give me two or three swallows of it, and I will
pardon you a month of purgatory."

"You have not been ordained; I heard you say you had not. How then can
you grant me pardon for a month of purgatory?"

"I have not received ordination, but I have my head shaved, because I
received permission for that; beside, I am carrying indulgences and
relics."

"In the chests?" asked the Czech.

"Yes, in the chests. If you saw all I have there, you would fall on your
face, not only you, but all the pines in the forest and all the wild
beasts."

But the Czech, being an intelligent and experienced attendant, looked
suspiciously at this peddler of indulgences, and said:

"The wolves devoured your horse?"

"Yes, they devoured him, because they are the devil's relatives. If you
have any wine, give me some; although the wind has ceased, yet I am
frozen, having sat by the road so long."

The Czech would not give him any wine; and they rode along silently,
until the stranger began to ask:

"Where are you going?"

"Far. At first to Sieradz. Are you going with us?"

"I must. I will sleep in the stable, and perhaps to-morrow this pious
knight will give me a present of a horse; then I will go further."

"Where are you from?"

"From under Prussian lords, not far from Marienburg."

Having heard this, Zbyszko turned and motioned to the stranger to come
nearer to him.

"Did you come from Marienburg?" said he

"Yes, sir."

"But are you a German? You speak our language very well. What is your
name?"

"I am a German, and they call me Sanderus; I speak your language well,
because I was born in Torun, where everybody speaks that language; then I
lived in Marienburg, and there it is the same. Bah! even the brothers of
the Order understand your language."

"How long since you left Marienburg?"

"I was in the Holy Land, then in Constantinople, and in Rome; thence
through France I came to Marienburg and from there I was going to
Mazowsze, carrying the holy relics which pious Christians buy willingly,
for the salvation of their souls."

"Have you been in Plock or in Warszawa?"

"I was in both cities. May God give good health to both of the
princesses! Princess Alexandra is greatly esteemed even by the Prussian
lords, because she is a pious lady; the princess Anna Januszowna is also
pious."

"Did you see the court in Warszawa?"

"I did not see it in Warszawa but in Ciechanow, where both the princesses
received me hospitably, and gave me munificent presents, as God's servant
deserves to receive. I left them relics, which will bring them God's
blessing."

Zbyszko wanted to ask about Danusia; but he understood that it would be
unwise to make a confidant of this stranger, a man of low origin.
Therefore, after a short silence, he asked:

"What kind of relics are you carrying?"

"I carry indulgences and relics; the indulgences are different kinds;
there are total indulgences, some for five hundred years, some for three
hundred, some for two hundred and some for less time, which are cheaper,
so that even poor people can buy them and shorten the torments of
purgatory. I have indulgences for future and for past sins; but don't
think, sir, that I keep the money I receive for them. I am satisfied with
a piece of black bread and a glass of water--that is all for me; the rest
I carry to Rome, to accumulate enough for a new crusade. It is true,
there are many swindlers who carry false indulgences, false relics, false
seals and false testimonials; and they are righteously pursued by the
holy father's letters; but I was wronged by the prior of Sieradz, because
my seals are authentic. Look, sir, at the wax and tell me what you think
of them."

"What about the prior of Sieradz?"

"Ah, sir! I fear that he is infected with Wiklef's heresy. If, as your
shield-bearer told me, you are going to Sieradz, it will be better for me
not to show myself to him, because I do not want to lead him into the sin
of blasphemy against holy things."

"This means, speaking frankly, that he thinks that you are a swindler."

"If the question were about myself, I would pardon him for the sake of
brotherly love; but he has blasphemed against my holy wares, for which, I
am very much afraid, he will be eternally damned."

"What kind of holy wares have you?"

"It is not right to talk about them with covered head; but this time,
having many indulgences ready, I give you, sir, permission to keep your
cowl on, because the wind is blowing again. For that you will buy an
indulgence and the sin will not be counted against you. What have I not?
I have a hoof of the ass on which the Holy Family rode during the flight
into Egypt; it was found near the pyramids. The king of Aragon offered me
fifty ducats for it. I have a feather from the wings of the archangel
Gabriel, which he dropped during the annunciation; I have the heads of
two quails, sent to the Israelites in the desert; I have the oil in which
the heathen wanted to fry St. John; a step of the ladder about which
Jacob dreamed; the tears of St. Mary of Egypt and some rust of St.
Peter's keys. But I cannot mention any more. I am very cold and your
shield-bearer would not give me any wine."

"Those are great relics, if they are authentic!" said Zbyszko.

"If they are authentic? Take the spear from your attendant and aim it,
because the devil is near and brings such thoughts to you. Hold him, sir,
at the length of the spear. If you do not wish to bring some misfortune
on yourself, then buy an indulgence from me; otherwise within three weeks
somebody whom you love, will die."

Zbyszko was frightened at this threat, because he thought about Danusia,
and said:

"It is not I, but the prior of the Dominicans in Sieradz who does not
believe."

"Look, sir, for yourself, at the wax on the seals; as for the prior, I do
not know whether he is still living, because God's justice is quick."

But when they came to Sieradz they found the prior alive. Zbyszko went to
see him, and purchased two masses; one of which was to be read to insure
success for Macko's vow, and the other to insure success for his vow to
obtain three peacocks' crests. The prior was a foreigner, having been
born in Cylia; but during his forty years' residence in Sieradz, he had
learned the Polish language very well, and was a great enemy of the
Knights of the Cross. Therefore, having learned about Zbyszko's
enterprise, he said:

"A still greater punishment will fall upon them; but I shall not dissuade
you, because you promised it upon your knightly honor; neither can there
be punishment enough administered by Polish hands for the wrongs they
hare perpetrated in this land."

"What have they done?" asked Zbyszko, who was anxious to hear about the
iniquities of the Knights of the Cross.




CHAPTER III.

The old prior crossed his hands and began to recite aloud "The eternal
rest;"[89] then he sat down on a bench and kept his eyes closed for a
while as if to collect his thoughts; finally he began to talk:

"Wincenty of Szamotul brought them here. I was twenty years old then, and
I had just come from Cylia with my uncle Petzoldt. The Krzyzaks attacked
the town and set it on fire. We could see from the walls, how in the
market square they cut men and women's heads off, and how they threw
little children into the fire. They even killed the priests, because in
their fury they spared nobody. The prior Mikolaj, having been born in
Elblong, was acquainted with _Comthur_ Herman, the chief of their army.
Therefore he went accompanied by the senior brothers, to that dreadful
knight, and having kneeled before him, entreated him in German, to have
pity on Christian blood. _Comthur_ Herman replied: "I do not understand,"
and ordered his soldiers to continue killing the people. They slaughtered
the monks also, among them my uncle Petzoldt; the prior Mikolaj was tied
to a horse's tail. The next morning there was no man alive in this town
except the Krzyzaks and myself. I hid on a beam in the belfry. God
punished them at Plowce;[90] but they still want to destroy this
Christian kingdom, and nothing will deter them unless God's arm crush
them."

"At Plowce," said Zbyszko, "almost all the men of my family perished; but
I do not regret it, for God granted a great victory to the king
Lokietek,[91] and twenty thousand Germans were destroyed.

"You will see a still greater war and a greater victory," said the prior.

"Amen!" answered Zbyszko.

Then they began to talk about other matters. The young knight asked about
the peddler of relics whom he met on the road. He learned that many
similar swindlers were wandering on the roads, cheating credulous people.
The prior also told him that there were papal bulls ordering the bishops
to examine such peddlers and immediately punish those who did not have
authentic letters and seals. The testimonials of the stranger seemed
spurious to the prior; therefore he wanted to deliver him to the bishop's
jurisdiction. If he proved that he was sent by the pope, then no harm
would be done him. He escaped, however. Perhaps he was afraid of the
delay in his journey; but on account of this flight, he had drawn on
himself still greater suspicion.

The prior invited Zbyszko to remain and pass the night in the monastery;
but he would not, because he wanted to hang in front of the inn an
inscription challenging all knights who denied that _Panna_ Danuta
Jurandowna was the most beautiful and the most virtuous girl in the
kingdom, to a combat on horseback or on foot. It was not proper to hang
such a challenge over the gate of the monastery. When he arrived at the
inn, he asked for Sanderus.

"The prior thinks you are a scoundrel," said Zbyszko, "because he said:
'Why should he be afraid of the bishop's judgment, if he had good
testimonials?'"

"I am not afraid of the bishop," answered Sanderus; "I am afraid of the
monks, who do not know anything about seals. I wanted to go to Krakow,
but I have no horse; therefore I must wait until somebody makes me a
present of one. Meanwhile, I will send a letter, and I will put my own
seal on it."

"If you show that you know how to write, that will prove that you are not
a churl; but how will you send the letter?"

"By some pilgrim, or wandering monk. There are many people going on a
pilgrimage to the queen's tomb."

"Can you write a card for me?"

"I will write, sir, even on a board, anything you wish."

"I think it will be better on a board," said Zbyszko, "because it will
not tear and I can use it again later on."

In fact, after awhile the attendants brought a new board and Sanderus
wrote on it. Zbyszko could not read what was written on the board; but he
ordered it fastened with nails on the door of the inn, under it to be
hung a shield, which was watched by the Turks alternately. Whoever struck
the shield would declare that he wished to fight. But neither that day
nor the following day, did the shield resound from a blow; and in the
afternoon the sorrowful knight was ready to pursue his journey.

Before that, however, Sanderus came to Zbyszko and said to him:

"Sir, if you hang your shield in the land of the Prussian lords, I am
sure your shield-bearer will buckle your armor."

"What do you mean! Don't you know that a Krzyzak, being a monk, cannot
have a lady nor be in love with one, because it is forbidden him."

"I do not know whether it is forbidden them or not; but I know that they
have them. It is true that a Krzyzak cannot fight a duel without bringing
reproach on himself, because he swore that he would fight only for the
faith; but besides the monks, there are many secular knights from distant
countries, who came to help the Prussian lords. They are looking for some
one to fight with, and especially the French knights."

"_Owa!_ I saw them at Wilno, and with God's permission I shall see them
in Marienburg. I need the peacocks' crests from their helmets, because I
made a vow--do you understand?"

"Sir, I will sell you two or three drops of the perspiration, which St.
George shed while fighting with the dragon. There is no relic, which
could be more useful to a knight. Give me the horse for it, on which you
permitted me to ride; then I will also give you an indulgence for the
Christian blood which you will shed in the fight."

"Let me be, or I shall become angry. I shall not buy your wares until I
know they are genuine."

"You are going, sir, so you have said, to the Mazowiecki court. Ask there
how many relics they bought from me, the princess herself, the knights
and the girls for their weddings, at which I was present."

"For what weddings?" asked Zbyszko.

"As is customary before advent, the knights were marrying as soon as they
could, because the people are expecting that there will be a war between
the Polish king and the Prussian lords about the province of Dobrzyn.
Therefore some of them say: 'God knows whether I shall return.'"

Zbyszko was very anxious to hear about the war, but still more anxious to
hear about the weddings, of which Sanderus was talking; therefore he
asked:

"Which girls were married there?"

"The princess' ladies-in-waiting. I do not know whether even one
remained, because I heard the princess say that she would be obliged to
look for other attendants."

Having heard this, Zbyszko was silent for awhile; then he asked in an
altered voice:

"Was _Panna_ Danuta Jurandówna, whose name is on the board, married
also?"

Sanderus hesitated before he answered. He did not know anything correctly
himself; then he thought that if he kept the knight anxious and
perplexed, he would have more influence over him. He wanted to retain his
power over this knight who had a goodly retinue, and was well provided
with everything.

Zbyszko's youth led him to suppose that he would be a generous lord,
without forethought and careless of money. He had noticed already the
costly armor made in Milan, and the enormous stallions, which everybody
could not possess; then he assured himself that if he traveled with such
a knight, he would receive hospitality in noblemen's houses, and a good
opportunity to sell his indulgences; he would be safe during the journey,
and have abundance of food and drink, about which he cared greatly.

Therefore having heard Zbyszko's question, he frowned, lifted his eyes as
if he were trying to recollect, and answered:

"_Panna_ Danuta Jurandowna? Where is she from?"

"Jurandowna Danuta of Spychow."

"I saw all of them, but I cannot remember their names."

"She is very young; she plays the lute, and amuses the princess with her
singing."

"Aha--young--plays the lute--there were some young ones married also. Is
she dark like an agate?"

Zbyszko breathed more freely.

"No, that was not she! Danusia is as white as snow, but has pink cheeks."

To this Sanderus replied:

"One of them, dark as an agate, remained with the princess; the others
were almost all married."

"You say 'almost all,' therefore not all. For God's sake, if you wish to
get anything from me, then try to recollect."

"In two or three days I could recollect; the best way will be to give me
a horse, on which I can carry my holy wares."

"You will get it if you only tell me the truth."

At that moment the Czech, who was listening to the conversation, smiled
and said:

"The truth will be known at the Mazowiecki court."

Sanderus looked at him for a while; then he said:

"Do you think that I am afraid of the Mazowiecki court?"

"I do not say you are afraid of the Mazowiecki court; but neither now,
nor after three days will you go away with the horse. If it prove that
you were lying, then you will not be able to go on your feet either,
because my lord will order me to break them."

"Be sure of that!" answered Zbyszko.

Sanderus now thought that it would be wiser to be more careful, and said:

"If I wanted to lie, I would have said immediately whether she was
married or not; but I said: 'I don't remember.' If you had common sense,
you would recognize my virtue by that answer."

"My common sense is not a brother of your virtue, because that is the
sister of a dog."

"My virtue does not bark, as your common sense does; and the one who
barks when alive, may howl after death."

"That is sure! Your virtue will not howl after your death; it will gnash
its teeth, provided it does not lose its teeth in the service of the
devil while living." Thus they quarreled; the Czech's tongue was ready,
and for every word of the German, he answered two. Zbyszko having asked
about the road to Lenczyca, ordered the retinue to move forward. Beyond
Sieradz, they entered thick forests which covered the greater part of the
country; but the highways through these forests, had been paved with logs
and ditches dug along the sides, by the order of King Kazimierz. It is
true that after his death, during the disturbances of the war aroused by
Nalenczs and Grzymalits, the roads were neglected; but during Jadwiga's
reign, when peace was restored to the kingdom, shovels were again busy in
the marshes, and axes in the forests; soon everywhere between the
important cities, merchants could conduct their loaded wagons in safety.
The only danger was from wild beasts and robbers; but against the beasts,
they had lanterns for night, and crossbows for defence during the day;
then there were fewer highway robbers than in other countries, and one
who traveled with an armed retinue, need fear nothing.

Zbyszko was not afraid of robbers nor of armed knights; he did not even
think about them. But he was filled with great anxiety, and longed with
his whole soul to be at the Mazowiecki court. Would he find Danusia still
a lady-in-waiting of the princess, or the wife of some Mazowiecki knight?
Sometimes it seemed to him impossible that she should forget him; then
sometimes he thought that perhaps Jurand went to the court from Spychow
and married the girl to some neighbor or friend. Jurand had told him in
Krakow, that he could not give Danusia to him; therefore it was evident
that he had promised her to somebody else; evidently he was bound by an
oath, and now he had fulfilled his promise. Zbyszko called Sanderus and
questioned him again; but the German prevaricated more and more.

Therefore, Zbyszko was riding along, sad and unhappy. He did not think
about Bogdaniec, nor about Zgorzelice, but only how he should act. First,
it was necessary to ascertain the truth at the Mazowiecki court;
therefore, he rode hastily, only stopping for a short time at the houses
of noblemen, in the inns and in the cities to rest the horses. He had
never ceased to love Danusia; but while in Bogdaniec and Zgorzelice,
chatting almost every day with Jagienka and admiring her beauty, he had
not thought about Danusia often. Now she was constantly in his thoughts,
day and night. Even in his sleep, he saw her standing before him, with a
lute in her hands and a garland on her head. She stretched her hands
toward him, and Jurand drew her away. In the morning, when the dreams
disappeared, a greater longing came, and he loved this girl more than
ever now, when he was uncertain whether they had taken her from him or
not.

Sometimes he feared that they had married her against her will;
therefore, he was not angry with her, as she was only a child and could
not have her own will. But he was angry with Jurand and with Princess
Januszowna. He determined that he would not cease to serve her; even if
he found her somebody else's wife, he would deposit the peacocks' crests
at her feet.

Sometimes he was consoled by the thought of a great war. He felt that
during the war, he would forget about everything and that he would escape
all sorrows and griefs. The great war seemed suspended in the air. It was
not known whence the news came, because there was peace between the king
and the Order; nevertheless, wherever Zbyszko went, nothing else was
talked about. The people had a presentiment that it would come, and some
of them said openly: "Why were we united with Litwa, if not against those
wolves, the Knights of the Cross? Therefore we must finish with them once
for all, or they will destroy us." Others said: "Crazy monks! They are
not satisfied with Plowce! Death is over them, and still they have taken
the land of Dobrzyn."

In all parts of the kingdom, they were making preparations, gravely,
without boasting, as was customary for a fight for life or death; but
with the silent, deadly grudge of a mighty nation, which had suffered
wrongs for a long time, and finally was ready to administer a terrible
punishment. In all the houses of the nobility, Zbyszko met people who
were convinced that at any moment one might be obliged to mount his
horse. Zbyszko was pleased to see these hasty preparations which he met
at every step. Everywhere other cares gave way to thoughts about horses
and armor. Everywhere the people were gravely inspecting spears, swords,
axes, helmets and javelins. The blacksmiths were busy day and night,
hammering iron sheets and making heavy armor, which could hardly be
lifted by the refined western knights, but which the strong noblemen of
Wielko and Malopolska could wear very easily. The old people were pulling
out musty bags full of _grzywns_[92] from their chests, for the war
expedition of their children. Once Zbyszko passed the night in the house
of a wealthy nobleman, Bartosz of Bielaw, who having twenty-two sturdy
sons, pledged his numerous estates to the monastery in Lowicz, to
purchase twenty-two suits of armor, the same number of helmets and
weapons of war. Zbyszko now realized that it would be necessary to go to
Prussia, and he thanked God that he was so well provided.

Many thought that he was the son of a _wojewoda_; and when he told the
people that he was a simple nobleman, and that armor such as he wore,
could be bought from the Germans by paying for it with a good blow of an
axe, their hearts were filled with enthusiasm for war. Many a knight
seeing that armor, and desiring to possess it, followed Zbyszko, and
said: "Will you not fight for it?"

In Mazowsze, the people did not talk so much about the war. They also
believed that it would come, but they did not know when. In Warszawa
there was peace. The court was in Ciechanow, which Prince Janusz rebuilt
after the Lithuanian invasion; nothing of the old town remained, only the
castle.

In the city of Warszawa, Zbyszko was received by Jasko Socha, the
_starosta_[93] of the castle, and the son of the _wojewoda_ Abraham, who
was killed at Worskla. Jasko knew Zbyszko, because he was with the
princess in Krakow; therefore he received him hospitably and with joy;
but the young man, before he began to eat or drink, asked Jasko about
Danusia. But he did not know anything about her, because the prince and
the princess had been in Ciechanow since fall. In Warszawa there were
only a few archers and himself, to guard the castle. He had heard that
there had been feasts and weddings in Ciechanow; but he did not know
which girls were married.

"But I think," said he, "that Jurandowna is not married; it could not be
done without Jurand, and I have not heard of his arrival. There are two
brothers of the Order, _comthurs_, with the prince; one from Jansbork and
the other from Szczytno, and also some foreign guests; on such occasions,
Jurand never goes to the court, because the sight of a white mantle
enrages him. If Jurand were not there, there would be no wedding! If you
wish, I will send a messenger to ascertain and tell him to return,
immediately; but I firmly believe that you will find Jurandowna still a
girl."

"I am going there to-morrow myself; but may God reward you for your
kindness. As soon as the horses are rested, I will go, because I shall
have no peace, until I know the truth."

But Socha was not satisfied with that, and inquired among the nobles and
the soldiers if they had heard about Jurandowna's wedding. But nobody had
heard anything, although there were several among them who had been in
Ciechanow.

Meanwhile Zbyszko retired greatly relieved. While lying in bed he decided
to get rid of Sanderus; but afterward he thought that the scoundrel might
be useful to him because he could speak German. Sanderus had not told him
a falsehood; and although he was a costly acquisition, because he ate and
drank as much as four men would in the inns, still he was serviceable,
and showed some attachment for the young knight. Then he possessed the
art of writing, and that gave him a superiority over the shield-bearer,
the Czech, and even over Zbyszko himself. Consequently Zbyszko permitted
him to accompany his retinue to Ciechanow. Sanderus was glad of this,
because he noticed that being in respectable company, he won confidence
and found purchasers for his wares more easily. After stopping one night
in Nasielsk, riding neither too swiftly nor too slowly, they perceived
next day toward evening, the walls of the castle of Ciechanow. Zbyszko
stopped in an inn to don his armor, so as to enter the castle according
to knightly custom, with his helmet on his head and his spear in his
hand; then he mounted his enormous stallion, and having made the sign of
the cross in the air, he rushed forward. He had gone only a short
distance, when the Czech who was riding behind him, drew near and said:

"Your Grace, some knights are coming behind us; they must be Krzyzaks."

Zbyszko turned and saw about half a furlong behind him, a splendid
retinue at the head of which there were riding two knights on fine
Pomeranian horses, both in full armor, each of them wearing a white
mantle with a black cross, and a helmet having a high crest of peacock's
feathers.

"For God's sake, Krzyzacy!" said Zbyszko.

Involuntarily he leaned forward in his saddle and aimed his spear; seeing
this the Czech seized his axe. The other attendants being experienced in
war, were also ready, not for a fight, because the servants did not
participate in single combat, but to measure the space for the fight on
horseback, or to level the ground for the fight on foot. The Czech alone,
being a nobleman, was ready to fight; but he expected that Zbyszko would
challenge before he attacked, and he was surprised to see the young
knight aim his spear before the challenge.

But Zbyszko came to his senses in time. He remembered how he attacked
Lichtenstein near Krakow, and all the misfortunes which followed;
therefore he raised the spear and handed it to the Czech. Without drawing
his sword, he galloped toward the Krzyzaks. When he came near them, he
noticed that there was a third knight, also with a peacock's crest on his
helmet, and a fourth, without armor, but having long hair, who seemed to
be a Mazur. Seeing them, he concluded that they must be some envoys to
the prince of Mazowiecki; therefore he said aloud:

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"For ages and ages!" answered the long-haired knight.

"May God speed you!"

"And you also, sir!"

"Glory be to St. George!"

"He is our patron. You are welcome, sir."

Then they began to bow; Zbyszko told his name, who he was, what his coat
of arms was, what his war-cry was and whence he was going to the
Mazowiecki court. The long-haired knight said that his name was Jendrek
of Kropiwnica and that he was conducting some guests to the prince;
Brother Godfried, Brother Rotgier, also Sir Fulko de Lorche of
Lotaringen, who being with the Knights of the Cross, wished to see the
prince and especially the princess, the daughter of the famous
"Kiejstut."

While they were conversing, the foreign knights sat erect on their
horses, occasionally bending their heads which were covered with iron
helmets ornamented with peacocks' tufts. Judging from Zbyszko's splendid
armor, they thought that the prince had sent some important personage,
perhaps his own son, to meet them. Jendrek of Kropiwnica said further:

"The _comthur_, or as we would say the _starosta_ from Jansbork is at our
prince's castle; he told the prince about these knights; that they
desired to visit him, but that they did not dare, especially this knight
from Lotaringen, who being from a far country, thought that the Saracens
lived right beyond the frontier of the Knights of the Cross, and that
there was continual war with them. The prince immediately sent me to the
boundary, to conduct them safely to his castle."

"Could they not come without your help!"

"Our nation is very angry with the Krzyzaks, because of their great
treacherousness; a Krzyzak will hug and kiss you, but he is ready in the
same moment to stab you with a knife from behind; and such conduct is
odious to us Mazurs. Nevertheless anyone will receive even a German in
his house, and will not wrong his guest; but he would stop him on the
road. There are many who do this for vengeance, or for glory."

"Who among you is the most famous?"

"There is one whom all Germans fear to meet; his name is Jurand of
Spychow."

The heart of the young knight throbbed when he heard that name;
immediately he determined to question Jendrek of Kropiwnica.

"I know!" said he; "I heard about him; his daughter Danuta was
girl-in-waiting with the princess; afterward she was married."

Having said this, he looked sharply into the eyes of the Mazowiecki
knight, who answered with great astonishment:

"Who told you that? She is very young yet. It is true that it sometimes
happens that very young girls are married, but Jurandowna is not married.
I left Ciechanow six days ago and I saw her then with the princess. How
could she marry during advent?"

Zbyszko having heard this, wanted to seize the knight by the neck and
shout: "May God reward you for the news!" but he controlled himself, and
said:

"I heard that Jurand gave her to some one."

"It was the princess who wished to give her, but she could not do it
against Jurand's will. She wanted to give her to a knight in Krakow, who
made a vow to the girl, and whom she loves."

"Does she love him?" exclaimed Zbyszko.

At this Jendrek looked sharply at him, smiled and said:

"Do you know, you are too inquisitive about that girl."

"I am asking about my friend to whom I am going."

One could hardly see Zbyszko's face under the helmet; but his nose and
cheeks were so red that the Mazur, who was fond of joking, said:

"I am afraid that the cold makes your face red!"

Then the young man grew still more confused, and answered:

"It must be that."

They moved forward and rode silently for some time; but after a while
Jendrek of Kropiwnica asked:

"What do they call you? I did not hear distinctly?"

"Zbyszko of Bogdaniec."

"For heaven's sake! The knight who made a vow to Jurandowna, had the same
name."

"Do you think that I shall deny that I am he?" answered Zbyszko, proudly.

"There is no reason for doing so. Gracious Lord, then you are that
Zbyszko whom the girl covered with her veil! After the retinue returned
from Krakow, the women of the court talked about nothing else, and many
of them cried while listening to the story. Then you are he! Hej! how
happy they will be to see you at the court; even the princess is very
fond of you."

"May the Lord bless her, and you also for the good news. I suffered
greatly when I heard that Danusia was married."

"She is not married! Although she will inherit Spychow, and there are
many handsome youths at the court, yet not one of them looks into her
eyes, because all respect your vow; then the princess would not permit
it. Hej! there will be great joy. Sometimes they teased the girl! Some
one would tell her: 'Your knight will not come back!' Then she would
reply: 'He will be back! He will be back!' Sometimes they told her that
you had married another; then she cried."

These words made Zbyszko feel very tender; he also felt angry because
Danusia had been vexed; therefore he said:

"I shall challenge those who said such things about me!"

Jendrek of Kropiwnica began to laugh and said:

"The women teased her! Will you challenge a woman? You cannot do anything
with a sword against a distaff."

Zbyszko was pleased that he had met such a cheerful companion; he began
to ask Jendrek about Danusia. He also inquired about the customs of the
Mazowiecki court, about Prince Janusz, and about the princess. Finally he
told what he had heard about the war during his journey, and how the
people were making preparations for it, and were expecting it every day.
He asked whether the people in the principalities of Mazowsze, thought it
would soon come.

The heir of Kropiwnica did not think that the war was near. The people
said that it could not be avoided; but he had heard the prince himself
say to Mikolaj of Dlugolas, that the Knights of the Cross were very
peaceable now, and if the king only insisted, they would restore the
province of Dobrzyn to Poland; or they would try to delay the whole
affair, until they were well prepared,

"The prince went to Malborg a short time ago," said he, "where during the
absence of the grand master, the grand marshal received him and
entertained him with great hospitality; now there are some _comthurs_
here, and other guests are coming."

Here he stopped for a while, and then added:

"The people say that the Krzyzaks have a purpose in coming here and in
going to Plock to the court of Prince Ziemowit. They would like to have
the princes pledge themselves not to help the king but to aid them; or if
they do not agree to help the Krzyzaks, that at least they will remain
neutral; but the princes will not do that."

"God will not permit it. Would you stay home? Your princes belong to the
kingdom of Poland!"

"No, we would not stay home," answered Jendrek of Kropiwnica.

Zbyszko again glanced at the foreign knights, and at their peacocks'
tufts, and asked:

"Are these knights going for that purpose?"

"They are brothers of the Order and perhaps that is their motive. Who
understands them?"

"And that third one?"

"He is going because he is inquisitive."

"He must be some famous knight."

"Bah! three heavily laden wagons follow him, and he has nine men in his
escort. I would like to fight with such a man!"

"Can you not do it?"

"Of course not! The prince commanded me to guard them. Not one hair shall
fall from their heads until they reach Ciechanow."

"Suppose I challenge them? Perhaps they would desire to fight with me?"

"Then you would be obliged to fight with me first, because I will not
permit you to fight with them while I live."

Zbyszko looked at the young nobleman in a friendly way, and said:

"You understand what knightly honor is. I shall not fight with you,
because I am your friend; but in Ciechanow, God will help me to find some
pretext for a challenge to the Germans."

"In Ciechanow you can do what you please. I am sure there will be
tournaments; then you can fight, if the prince and the _comthurs_ give
permission."

"I have a board on which is written a challenge for anyone who will not
affirm that _Panna_ Danuta Jurandowna is the most virtuous and the most
beautiful girl in the world; but everywhere the people shrugged their
shoulders and laughed."

"Because it is a foreign custom; and speaking frankly, a stupid one which
is not known in our country, except near the boundaries. That Lotaringer
tried to pick a quarrel with some noblemen, asking them to praise some
lady of his; but nobody could understand him, and I would not let them
fight."

"What? He wanted to praise his lady? For God's sake!"

He looked closely at the foreign knight, and saw that his young face was
full of sadness, he also perceived with astonishment that the knight had
a rope made of hairs round his neck.

"Why does he wear that rope?" asked Zbyszko.

"I could not find out, because they do not understand our language,
Brother Rotgier can say a few words, but not very well either. But I
think that this young knight has made a vow to wear that rope until he
has accomplished some knightly deed. During the day, he wears it outside
of his armor, but during the night, on the bare flesh."

"Sanderus!" called Zbyszko, suddenly

"At your service," answered the German, approaching

"Ask this knight, who is the most virtuous and the most beautiful girl in
the world."

Sanderus repeated the question in German.

"Ulryka von Elner!" answered Fulko de Lorche.

Then he raised his eyes and began to sigh. Zbyszko hearing this answer,
was indignant, and reined in his stallion; but before he could reply,
Jendrek of Kropiwnica, pushed his horse between him and the foreigner,
and said:

"You shall not quarrel here!"

Zbyszko turned to Sanderus and said:

"Tell him that I say that he is in love with an owl."

"Noble knight, my master says that you are in love with an owl!" repeated
Sanderus, like an echo.

At this Sir de Lorche dropped his reins, drew the iron gauntlet from his
right hand and threw it in the snow in front of Zbyszko, who motioned to
the Czech to lift it with the point of his spear.

Jendrek of Kropiwnica, turned toward Zbyszko with a threatening face, and
said:

"You shall not fight; I shall permit neither of you."

"I did not challenge him; he challenged me."

"But you called his lady an owl. Enough of this! I also know how to use a
sword."

"But I do not wish to fight with you."

"You will be obliged to, because I have sworn to defend the other
knight."

"Then what shall I do?" asked Zbyszko.

"Wait; we are near Ciechanow."

"But what will the German think?"

"Your servant must explain to him that he cannot fight here; that first
you must receive the prince's permission, and he, the _comthur's_."

"Bah! suppose they will not give permission."

"Then you will find each other. Enough of this talk."

Zbyszko, seeing that he could not do otherwise, because Jendrek of
Kropiwnica would not permit them to fight, called Sanderus, and told him
to explain to the Lotaringer knight, that they could fight only in
Ciechanow. De Lorche having listened, nodded to signify that he
understood; then having stretched his hand toward Zbyszko, he pressed the
palm three times, which according to the knightly custom, meant that they
must fight, no matter when or where. Then in an apparent good
understanding, they moved on toward the castle of Ciechanow, whose towers
one could see reflected on the pink sky.

It was daylight when they arrived; but after they announced themselves at
the gate, it was dark before the bridge was lowered. They were received
by Zbyszko's former acquaintance, Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who commanded the
garrison consisting of a few knights and three hundred of the famous
archers of Kurpie.[94] To his great sorrow, Zbyszko learned that the
court was absent. The prince wishing to honor the _comthurs_ of Szczytno
and Jansbork, arranged for them a great hunting party in the Krupiecka
wilderness; the princess, with her ladies-in-waiting went also, to give
more importance to the occasion. Ofka, the widow of Krzych[95] of
Jarzombkow, was key-keeper, and the only woman in the castle whom Zbyszko
knew. She was very glad to see him. Since her return from Krakow, she had
told everybody about his love for Danusia, and the incident about
Lichtenstein. These stories made her very popular among the younger
ladies and girls of the court; therefore she was fond of Zbyszko. She now
tried to console the young man in his sorrow, caused by Danusia's
absence.

"You will not recognize her," she said. "She is growing older, and is a
little girl no longer; she loves you differently, also. You say your
uncle is well? Why did he not come with you?"

"I will let my horses rest for a while and then I will go to Danusia. I
will go during the night," answered Zbyszko.

"Do so, but take a guide from the castle, or you will be lost in the
wilderness."

In fact after supper, which Mikolaj of Dlugolas ordered to be served to
the guests, Zbyszko expressed his desire to go after the prince, and he
asked for a guide. The brothers of the Order, wearied by the journey,
approached the enormous fireplaces in which were burning the entire
trunks of pine trees, and said that they would go the next day. But de
Lorche expressed his desire to go with Zbyszko, saying that otherwise he
might miss the hunting party, and he wished to see them very much. Then
he approached Zbyszko, and having extended his hand, he again pressed his
fingers three times.




CHAPTER IV.

Mikolaj of Dlugolas having learned from Jendrek of Kropiwnica about the
challenge, required both Zbyszko and the other knight to give him their
knightly word that they would not fight without the prince and the
_comthur's_ permission; if they refused, he said he would shut the gates
and not permit them to leave the castle. Zbyszko wished to see Danusia as
soon as possible, consequently he did not resist; de Lorche, although
willing to fight when necessary, was not a bloodthirsty man, therefore he
swore upon his knightly honor, to wait for the prince's consent. He did
it willingly, because having heard so many songs about tournaments and
being fond of pompous feasts, he preferred to fight in the presence of
the court, the dignitaries and the ladies; he believed that such a
victory would bring greater renown, and he would win the golden spurs
more easily. Then he was also anxious to become acquainted with the
country and the people, therefore he preferred a delay. Mikolaj of
Dlugolas, who had been in captivity among the Germans a long time, and
could speak the language easily, began to tell him marvelous tales about
the prince's hunting parties for different kinds of beasts not known in
the western countries. Therefore Zbyszko and he left the castle about
midnight, and went toward Przasnysz, having with them their armed
retinues, and men with lanterns to protect them against the wolves, which
gathering during the winter in innumerable packs, it was dangerous even
for several well armed cavaliers to meet. On this side of Ciechanow there
were deep forests, which a short distance beyond Przasnysz were merged
into the enormous Kurpiecka wilderness, which on the west joined the
impassable forest of Podlasie, and further on Lithuania. Through these
forests the Lithuanian barbarians came to Mazowsze, and in 1337 reached
Ciechanow, which they burned. De Lorche listened with the greatest
interest to the stories, told him by the old guide, Macko of Turoboje. He
desired to fight with the Lithuanians, whom as many other western knights
did, he had thought were Saracens. In fact he had come on a crusade,
wishing to gain fame and salvation. He thought that a war with the
Mazurs, half heathenish people, would secure for him entire pardon.
Therefore he could scarcely believe his own eyes, when having reached
Mazowsze, he saw churches in the towns, crosses on the towers, priests,
knights with holy signs on their armor and the people, very daring
indeed, and ready for a fight, but Christian and not more rapacious than
the Germans, among whom the young knight had traveled. Therefore, when he
was told that these people had confessed Christ for centuries, he did not
know what to think about the Knights of the Cross; and when he learned
that Lithuania was baptized by the command of the late queen, his
surprise and sorrow were boundless.

He began to inquire from Macko of Turoboje, if in the forest toward which
they were riding, there were any dragons to whom the people were obliged
to sacrifice young girls, and with whom one could fight. But Macko's
answer greatly disappointed him.

"In the forest, there are many beasts, wolves, bisons and bears with
which there is plenty of work," answered the Mazur. "Perhaps in the
swamps there are some unclean spirits; but I never heard about dragons,
and even if they were there, we would not give them girls, but we would
destroy them. Bah! had there been any, the Kurpie would have worn belts
of their skins long ago."

"What kind of people are they; is it possible to fight with them?" asked
de Lorche.

"One can fight with them, but it is not desirable," answered Macko; "and
then it is not proper for a knight, because they are peasants."

"The Swiss are peasants also. Do they confess Christ?"

"There are no such people in Mazowsze. They are our people. Did you see
the archers in the castles? They are all the Kurpie, because there are no
better archers than they are."

"They cannot be better than the Englishmen and the Scotch, whom I saw at
the Burgundian court."

"I have seen them also in Malborg," interrupted the Mazur. "They are
strong, but they cannot compare with the Kurpie, among whom a boy seven
years old, will not be allowed to eat, until he has knocked the food with
an arrow from the summit of a pine."

"About what are you talking?" suddenly asked Zbyszko, who had heard the
word "Kurpie" several times.

"About the English and the Kurpiecki archers. This knight says that the
English and the Scotch are the best."

"I saw them at Wilno. Owa! I heard their darts passing my ears. There
were knights there from all countries, and they announced that they would
eat us up without salt; but after they tried once or twice, they lost
their appetite."

Macko laughed and repeated Zbyszko's words to Sir de Lorche.

"I have heard about that at different courts," answered the Lotaringer;
"they praised your knights' bravery, but they blamed them because they
helped the heathen against the Knights of the Cross."

"We defended the nation which wished to be baptized, against invasion and
wrong. The Germans wished to keep them in idolatry, so as to have a
pretext for war."

"God shall judge them," answered de Lorche.

"Perhaps He will judge them soon," answered Macko of Turoboje.

But the Lotaringer having heard that Zbyszko had been at Wilno, began to
question Macko, because the fame of the knightly combats fought there,
had spread widely throughout the world. That duel, fought by four Polish
and four French knights, especially excited the imagination of western
warriors. The consequence was that de Lorche began to look at Zbyszko
with more respect, as upon a man who had participated in such a famous
battle; he also rejoiced that he was going to fight with such a knight.

Therefore they rode along apparently good friends, rendering each other
small services during the time for refreshment on the journey and
treating each other with wine. But when it appeared from the conversation
between de Lorche and Macko of Turoboje, that Ulryka von Elner was not a
young girl, but a married woman forty years old and having six children,
Zbyszko became indignant, because this foreigner dared not only to
compare an old woman with Danusia, but even asked him to acknowledge her
to be the first among women.

"Do you not think," said he to Macko, "that an evil spirit has turned his
brain? Perhaps the devil is sitting in his head like a worm in a nut and
is ready to jump on one of us during the night. We must be on our guard."

Macko of Turoboje began to look at the Lotaringer with a certain
uneasiness and finally said:

"Sometimes it happens that there are hundreds of devils in a possessed
man, and if they are crowded, they are glad to go in other people. The
worst devil is the one sent by a woman."

Then he turned suddenly to the knight:

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"I praise him also," answered de Lorche, with some astonishment.

Macko was completely reassured.

"No, don't you see," said he, "if the devil were dwelling in him, he
would have foamed immediately, or he would have been thrown to the earth,
because I asked him suddenly. We can go."

In fact, they proceeded quietly. The distance between Ciechanow and
Przasnysz is not great, and during the summer a cavalier riding a good
horse can travel from one city to the other in two hours; but they were
riding very slowly on account of the darkness and the drifts of snow.
They started after midnight and did not arrive at the prince's hunting
house, situated near the woods, beyond Przasnysz, until daybreak. The
wooden mansion was large and the panes of the windows were made of glass
balls. In front of the house were the well-sweeps and two barns for
horses, and round the mansion were many tents made of skins and booths
hastily built of the branches of pine trees. The fires shone brightly in
front of the tents, and round them were standing the huntsmen who were
dressed in coats made of sheepskins, foxskins, wolfskins and bearskins,
and having the hair turned outside. It seemed to Sir de Lorche that he
saw some wild beasts standing on two legs, because the majority of these
men had caps made of the heads of animals. Some of them were standing,
leaning on their spears or crossbows; others were busy winding enormous
nets made of ropes; others were turning large pieces of urus and elk meat
which was hanging over the fire, evidently preparing for breakfast.
Behind them were the trunks of enormous pines and more people; the great
number of people astonished the Lotaringer who was not accustomed to see
such large hunting parties.

"Your princes," said he, "go to a hunt as if to a war."

"To be sure," answered Macko of Turoboje; "they lack neither hunting
implements nor people."

"What are we going to do?" interrupted Zbyszko; "they are still asleep in
the mansion."

"Well, we must wait until they get up," answered Macko; "we cannot knock
at the door and awaken the prince, our lord."

Having said this, he conducted them to a fire, near which the Kurpie
threw some wolfskins and urusskins, and then offered them some roasted
meat. Hearing a foreign speech, the people began to gather round to see
the German. Soon the news was spread by Zbyszko's attendants that there
was a knight "from beyond the seas," and the crowd became so great that
the lord of Turoboje was obliged to use his authority to shield the
foreigner from their curiosity. De Lorche noticed some women in the crowd
also dressed in skins, but very beautiful; he inquired whether they also
participated in the hunt.

Macko explained to him that they did not take part in the hunting, but
only came to satisfy their womanly curiosity, or to purchase the products
of the towns and to sell the riches of the forest. The court of the
prince was like a fireplace, round which were concentrated two
elements--rural and civic. The Kurpie disliked to leave their wilderness,
because they felt uneasy without the rustling of the trees above their
heads; therefore the inhabitants of Przasnysz brought their famous beer,
their flour ground in wind mills or water mills built on the river
Wengierka, salt which was very rare in the wilderness, iron, leather and
other fruits of human industry, taking in exchange skins, costly furs,
dried mushrooms, nuts, herbs, good in case of sickness, or clods of amber
which were plentiful among the Kurpie. Therefore round the prince's court
there was the noise of a continual market, increased during the hunting
parties, because duty and curiosity attracted the inhabitants from the
depths of the forests.

De Lorche listened to Macko, looking with curiosity at the people, who,
living in the healthy resinous air and eating much meat as was the custom
with the majority of the peasants in those days, astonished the foreign
travelers by their strength and size. Zbyszko was continually looking at
the doors and windows of the mansion, hardly able to remain quiet. There
was light in one window only, evidently in the kitchen, because steam was
coming out through the gapes between the panes.

In the small doors, situated in the side of the house, servants in the
prince's livery appeared from time to time, hurrying to the wells for
water. These men being asked if everybody was still sleeping, answered
that the court, wearied by the previous day's hunting, was still resting,
but that breakfast was being prepared. In fact through the window of the
kitchen, there now issued the smell of roasted meat and saffron,
spreading far among the fires. Finally the principal door was opened,
showing the interior of a brightly lighted hall, and on the piazza
appeared a man whom Zbyszko immediately recognized as one of the
_rybalts_, whom he had seen with the princess in Krakow. Having perceived
him, and waiting neither for Macko of Turoboje, nor for de Lorche,
Zbyszko rushed with such an impetus toward the mansion, that the
astonished Lotaringer asked:

"What is the matter with the young knight?"

"There is nothing the matter with him," answered Macko of Turoboje; "he
is in love with a girl of the princess' court and he wants to see her as
soon as possible."

"Ah!" answered de Lorche, putting both of his hands on his heart. He
began to sigh so deeply that Macko shrugged his shoulders and said to
himself:

"Is it possible that he is sighing for that old woman? It may be that his
senses are impaired!"

In the meanwhile he conducted de Lorche into the large hall of the
mansion which was ornamented with the horns of bisons, elks and deer, and
was lighted by the large logs burning in the fireplace. In the middle of
the hall stood a table covered with _kilimek_[96] and dishes for
breakfast; there were only a few courtiers present, with whom Zbyszko was
talking. Macko of Turoboje introduced Sir de Lorche to them. More
courtiers were coming at every moment; the majority of them were fine
looking men, with broad shoulders and fallow hair; all were dressed for
hunting. Those who were acquainted with Zbyszko and were familiar with
his adventure in Krakow, greeted him as an old friend--it was evident
that they liked him. One of them said to him:

"The princess is here and Jurandowna also; you will see her soon, my dear
boy; then you will go with us to the hunting party."

At this moment the two guests of the prince, the Knights of the Cross,
entered: brother Hugo von Danveld, _starosta_ of Ortelsburg,[97] and
Zygfried von Löve, bailiff of Jansbork. The first was quite a young man,
but stout, having a face like a beer drunkard, with thick, moist lips;
the other was tall with stern but noble features. It seemed to Zbyszko
that he had seen Danveld before at the court of Prince Witold and that
Henryk, bishop of Plock, had thrown him from his horse during the combat
in the lists. These reminiscences were disturbed by the entrance of
Prince Janusz, whom the Knights of the Cross and the courtiers saluted.
De Lorche, the _comthurs_ and Zbyszko also approached him, and he
welcomed them cordially but with dignity. Immediately the trumpets
resounded, announcing that the prince was going to breakfast; they
resounded three times; and the third time, a large door to the right was
opened and Princess Anna appeared, accompanied by the beautiful blonde
girl who had a lute hanging on her shoulder.

Zbyszko immediately stepped forward and kneeled on both knees in a
position full of worship and admiration. Seeing this, those present began
to whisper, because Zbyszko's action surprised the Mazurs and some of
them were even scandalized. Some of the older ones said: "Surely he
learned such customs from some knights living beyond the sea, or perhaps
even from the heathen themselves, because there is no custom like it even
among the Germans." But the younger ones said: "No wonder, she saved his
life." But the princess and Jurandowna did not recognize Zbyszko at once,
because he kneeled with his back toward the fire and his face was in the
shadow. The princess thought that it was some courtier, who, having been
guilty of some offence, besought her intervention with the prince; but
Danusia having keener sight, advanced one step, and having bent her fair
head, cried suddenly:

"Zbyszko!"

Then forgetting that the whole court and the foreign guests were looking
at her, she sprang like a roe toward the young knight and encircling his
neck with her arms, began to kiss his mouth and his cheeks, nestling to
him and caressing him so long that the Mazurs laughed and the princess
drew her back.

Then Zbyszko embraced the feet of the princess; she welcomed him, and
asked about Macko, whether he was alive or not, and if alive whether he
had accompanied Zbyszko. Finally when the servants brought in warm
dishes, she said to Zbyszko:

"Serve us, dear little knight, and perhaps not only now at the table, but
forever."

Danusia was blushing and confused, but was so beautiful, that not only
Zbyszko but all the knights present were filled with pleasure; the
_starosta_ of Szczytno, put the palm of his hands to his thick, moist
lips; de Lorche was amazed, and asked:

"By Saint Jacob of Compostella, who is that girl?"

To this the _starosta_ of Szczytno, who was short, stood on his toes and
whispered in the ear of the Lotaringer:

"The devil's daughter."

De Lorche looked at him; then he frowned and began to say through his
nose:

"A knight who talks against beauty is not gallant."

"I wear golden spurs, and I am a monk," answered Hugo von Danveld,
proudly.

The Lotaringer dropped his head; but after awhile he said:

"I am a relative of the princess of Brabant."

"_Pax! Pax!_" answered the Knight of the Cross. "Honor to the mighty
knights and friends of the Order from whom, sir, you shall soon receive
your golden spurs. I do not disparage the beauty of that girl; but
listen, I will tell you who is her father."

But he did not have time to tell him, because at that moment, Prince
Janusz seated himself at the table; and having learned before from the
bailiff of Jansbork about the mighty relatives of Sir de Lorche, he
invited him to sit beside him. The princess and Danusia were seated
opposite. Zbyszko stood as he did in Krakow, behind their chairs, to
serve them. Danusia held her head as low as possible over the plate,
because she was ashamed. Zbyszko looked with ecstasy at her little head
and pink cheeks; and he felt his love, like a river, overflowing his
whole breast. He could also feel her sweet kisses on his face, his eyes
and his mouth. Formerly she used to kiss him as a sister kisses a
brother, and he received the kisses as from a child. Now Danusia seemed
to him older and more mature--in fact she had grown and blossomed. Love
was so much talked about in her presence, that as a flower bud warmed by
the sun, takes color and expands, so her eyes were opened to love;
consequently there was a certain charm in her now, which formerly she
lacked, and a strong intoxicating attraction beamed from her like the
warm beams from the sun, or the fragrance from the rose.

Zbyszko felt it, but he could not explain it to himself. He even forgot
that at the table one must serve. He did not see that the courtiers were
laughing at him and Danusia. Neither did he notice Sir de Lorche's face,
which expressed great astonishment, nor the covetous eyes of the
_starosta_ from Szczytno, who was gazing constantly at Danusia. He
awakened only when the trumpets again sounded giving notice that it was
time to go into the wilderness, and when the princess Anna Danuta,
turning toward him said:

"You will accompany us; you will then have an opportunity to speak to
Danusia about your love."

Having said this, she went out with Danusia to dress for the ride on
horseback. Zbyszko rushed to the court-yard, where the horses covered
with frost were standing. There was no longer a great crowd, because the
men whose duty it was to hem in the beasts, had already gone forward into
the wilderness with the nets. The fires were quenched; the day was bright
but cold. Soon the prince appeared and mounted his horse; behind him was
an attendant with a crossbow and a spear so long and heavy, that very few
could handle it; but the prince used it very easily, because like the
other Mazovian Piasts, he was very strong. There were even women in that
family so strong that they could roll iron axes,[98] between their
fingers. The prince was also attended by two men, who were prepared to
help him in any emergency: they had been chosen from among the landowners
of the provinces of Warszawa and Ciechanow; they had shoulders like the
trunks of oak trees. Sir de Lorche gazed at them with amazement.

In the meanwhile, the princess and Danusia came out; both wore hoods made
of the skins of white weasels. This worthy daughter of Kiejstut could
_stitch_ with a bow better than with a needle; therefore her attendants
carried a crossbow behind her. Zbyszko having kneeled on the snow,
extended the palm of his hand, on which the princess rested her foot
while mounting her horse; then he lifted Danusia into her saddle and they
all started. The retinue stretched in a long column, turned to the right
from the mansion, and then began slowly to enter the forest.

Then the princess turned to Zbyszko and said:

"Why don't you talk? Speak to her."

Zbyszko, although thus encouraged, was still silent for a moment; but,
after quite a long silence, he said:

"Danuska!"

"What, Zbyszku?"

"I love you!"

Here he again stopped, searching for words which he could not find;
although he kneeled before the girl like a foreign knight, and showed her
his respect in every way, still he could not express his love in words.
Therefore he said:

"My love for you is so great that it stops my breathing."

"I also love you, Zbyszku!" said she, hastily.

"Hej, my dearest! hej, my sweet girl" exclaimed Zbyszko. "Hej!" Then he
was silent, full of blissful emotion; but the good-hearted and curious
princess helped them again.

"Tell her," said she, "how lonesome you were without her, and when we
come to a thicket, you may kiss her; that will be the best proof of your
love."

Therefore he began to tell how lonesome he was without her in Bogdaniec,
while taking care of Macko and visiting among the neighbors. But the
cunning fellow did not say a word about Jagienka. When the first thicket
separated them from the courtiers and the guests, he bent toward her and
kissed her.

During the winter there are no leaves on the hazel bushes, therefore Hugo
von Danveld and Sir de Lorche saw him kiss the girl; some of the
courtiers also saw him and they began to say among themselves:

"He kissed her in the presence of the princess! The lady will surely
prepare the wedding for them soon."

"He is a daring boy, but Jurand's blood is warm also!"

"They are flint-stone and fire-steel, although the girl looks so quiet.
Do not be afraid, there will be some sparks from them!"

Thus they talked and laughed; but the _starosta_ of Szczytno turned his
evil face toward Sir de Lorche and asked:

"Sir, would you like some Merlin to change you by his magic power into
that knight?"[99]

"Would you, sir?" asked de Lorche.

To this the Knight of the Cross, who evidently was filled with jealousy,
drew the reins of his horse impatiently, and exclaimed:

"Upon my soul!"

But at that moment he recovered his composure, and having bent his head,
he said:

"I am a monk and have made a vow of chastity."

He glanced quickly at the Lotaringer, fearing he would perceive a smile
on his face, because in that respect the Order had a bad reputation among
the people; and of all among the monks, Hugo von Danveld had the worst. A
few years previous he had been vice-bailiff of Sambia. There were so many
complaints against him there that, notwithstanding the tolerance with
which the Order looked upon similar cases in Marienburg, the grand master
was obliged to remove him and appoint him _starosta_ of the garrison in
Szczytno. Afterward he was sent to the prince's court on some secret
mission, and having perceived the beautiful Jurandowna, he conceived a
violent passion for her, to which even Danusia's extreme youth was no
check. But Danveld also knew to what family the girl belonged, and
Jurand's name was united in his memory with a painful reminiscence.

De Lorche began to question him:

"Sir, you called that beautiful girl the devil's daughter; why did you
call her that?"

Danveld began to relate the story of Zlotorja: how during the restoration
of the castle, they captured the prince with the court, and how during
that fight Jurandowna's mother died; how since that time Jurand avenged
himself on all the Knights of the Cross. Danveld's hatred was apparent
during the narration, because he also had some personal reasons for
hating Jurand. Two years before, during an encounter, he met Jurand; but
the mere sight of that dreadful "Boar of Spychow" so terrified him for
the first time in his life that he deserted two of his relatives and his
retinue, and fled to Szczytno. For this cowardly act the grand marshal of
the Order brought a knightly suit against him; he swore that his horse
had become unmanageable and had carried him away from the battlefield;
but that incident shut his way to all higher positions in the Order. Of
course Danveld did not say anything to Sir de Lorche about that
occurrence, but instead he complained so bitterly about Jurand's
atrocities and the audacity of the whole Polish nation, that the
Lotaringer could not comprehend all he was saying, and said:

"But we are in the country of the Mazurs and not of the Polaks."

"It is an independent principality but the same nation," answered the
_starosta_; "they feel the same hatred against the Order. May God permit
the German swords to exterminate all this race!"

"You are right, sir; I never heard even among the heathen of such an
unlawful deed, as the building of a castle on somebody else's land, as
this prince tried to do," said de Lorche.

"He built the castle against us, but Zlotorja is situated on his land,
not on ours."

"Then glory be to Christ that he granted you the victory! What was the
result of the war?"

"There was no war then?"

"What was the meaning of your victory at Zlotorja?"

"God favored us; the prince had no army with him, only his court and the
women."

Here de Lorche looked at the Knight of the Cross with amazement.

"What? During the time of peace you attacked the women and the prince,
who was building a castle on his own land?"

"For the glory of the Order and of Christendom."

"And that dreadful knight is seeking vengeance only for the death of his
young wife, killed by you during the time of peace?"

"Whosoever raises his hand against a Knight of the Cross, is a son of
darkness."

Hearing this, Sir de Lorche became thoughtful; but he did not have time
to answer Danveld, because they arrived at a large, snow-covered glade in
the woods, on which the prince and his courtiers dismounted.




CHAPTER V.

The foresters under the direction of the head huntsman, placed the
hunters in a long row at the edge of the forest, in such a way that being
hidden themselves, they faced the glade. Nets were fastened along two
sides of the glade, and behind these were the men whose duty it was to
turn the beasts toward the hunters, or to kill them with spears if they
became entangled in the nets. Many of the Kurpie were sent to drive every
living thing from the depths of the forest into the glade. Behind the
hunters there was another net stretched; if an animal passed the row of
hunters, he would be entangled in it and easily killed.

The prince was standing in the middle in a small ravine, which extended
through the entire width of the glade. The head huntsman, Mrokota of
Mocarzew, had chosen that position for the prince because he knew that
the largest beasts would pass through this ravine. The prince had a
crossbow, and leaning on a tree beside him was a heavy spear; a little
behind him stood two gigantic "defenders" with axes on their shoulders,
and holding crossbows ready to be handed to the prince. The princess and
Jurandowna did not dismount, because the prince would not allow them to
do so, on account of the peril from urus and bisons; it was easier to
escape the fury of these fierce beasts on horseback than on foot. De
Lorche, although invited by the prince to take a position at his right
hand, asked permission to remain with the ladies for their defence.
Zbyszko drove his spear into the snow, put his crossbow on his back and
stood by Danusia's horse, whispering to her and sometimes kissing her. He
became quiet only when Mrokota of Mocarzew, who in the forest scolded
even the prince himself, ordered him to be silent.

In the meanwhile, far in the depths of the wilderness, the horns of the
Kurpie were heard, and the noisy sound of a _krzywula_[100] answered from
the glade; then perfect silence followed. From time to time the chatter
of the squirrels was heard in the tops of the pines. The hunters looked
at the snow-covered glade, where only the wind moved the bushes, and
asked themselves what kind of animals would first appear. They expected
abundant game, because the wilderness was swarming with urus, bisons and
boars. The Kurpie had smoked out a few bears which were wandering in the
thickets, angry, hungry and watchful.

But the hunters were obliged to wait a long time, because the men who
were driving the animals toward the glade, had taken a very large space
of the forest, and therefore they were so far away that the hunters did
not even hear the baying of the dogs, that had been freed from the
leashes immediately after the horns resounded.

After a while some wolves appeared on the edge of the forest, but having
noticed the people, they again plunged into the forest, evidently
searching for another pass. Then some boars having emerged from the
wilderness, began to run in a long black line through the snowy space,
looking from afar like domestic swine. They stopped and listened--turned
and listened again: turned toward the nets, but having smelt the men,
went in the direction of the hunters, snorting and approaching more and
more carefully; finally there resounded the clatter of the iron cranks of
the crossbows, the snarl of the bolts and then the first blood spotted
the white snow.

Then a dreadful squealing resounded and the whole pack dispersed as if
struck by a thunderbolt; some of them rushed blindly straight ahead,
others ran toward the nets, while still others ran among the other
animals, with which the glade was soon covered. The sounds of the horns
were heard distinctly, mingled with the howling of the dogs and the
bustle of the people coming from the depths of the forest. The wild
beasts of the forest driven by the huntsmen soon filled the glade. It was
impossible to see anything like it in foreign countries or even in the
other Polish provinces; nowhere else was there such a wilderness as there
was in Mazowsze. The Knights of the Cross, although they had visited
Lithuania, where bisons attacked[101] and brought confusion to the army,
were very much astonished at the great number of beasts, and Sir de
Lorche was more astonished than they. He beheld in front of him herds of
yellow deer and elks with heavy antlers, mingled together and running on
the glade, blinded by fear and searching in vain for a safe passage. The
princess, in whom Kiejstut's blood began to play, seeing this, shot arrow
after arrow, shouting with joy when a deer or an elk which was struck,
reared and then fell heavily plowing the snow with his feet. Some of the
ladies-in-waiting were also shooting, because all were filled with
enthusiasm for the sport. Zbyszko alone did not think about hunting; but
having leaned his elbows on Danusia's knees and his head on the palms of
his hands, he looked into her eyes, and she smiling and blushing, tried
to close his eyelids with her fingers, as if she could not stand such
looks.

Sir de Lorche's attention was attracted by an enormous bear, gray on the
back and shoulders, which jumped out unexpectedly from the thicket near
the huntsmen. The prince shot at it with his crossbow, and then rushed
forward with his boar-spear; when the animal roaring frightfully, reared,
he pierced it with his spear in the presence of the whole court so deftly
and so quickly, that neither of the "defenders" needed to use his axe.
The young Lotaringer doubted that few of the other lords, at whose courts
he had visited during his travels, would dare to amuse themselves in such
a way, and believed that the Order would have hard work to conquer such
princes and such people. Later on he saw the other hunters pierce in the
same way, many boars much larger and fiercer than any that could be found
in the forest of Lower Lotaringen or in the German wilderness. Such
expert hunters and those so sure of their strength, Sir de Lorche had
never before seen; he concluded, being a man of some experience, that
these people living in the boundless forests, had been accustomed from
childhood to use the crossbow and the spear; consequently they were very
dexterous in using them.

The glade of the wood was finally covered with the dead bodies of many
different kinds of animals; but the hunt was not finished. In fact, the
most interesting and also the most perilous moment was coming, because
the huntsmen had met a herd of urus and bisons. The bearded bulls
marching in advance of the herd, holding their heads near the ground,
often stopped, as if calculating where to attack. From their enormous
lungs came a muffled bellowing, similar to the rolling of thunder, and
perspiration steamed from their nostrils; while pawing the snow with
their forefeet, they seemed to watch the enemy with their bloody eyes
hidden beneath their manes. Then the huntsmen shouted, and their cries
were followed by similar shoutings from all sides; the horns and fifes
resounded; the wilderness reverberated from its remotest parts; meantime
the dogs of the Kurpie rushed to the glade with tremendous noise. The
appearance of the dogs enraged the females of the herd who were
accompanied by their young. The herd which had been walking up to this
moment, now scattered in a mad rush all over the glade. One of the
bisons, an enormous old yellow bull, rushed toward the huntsmen standing
at one side, then seeing horses in the bushes, stopped, and bellowing,
began to plow the earth with his horns, as if inciting himself to fight.

Seeing this, the men began to shout still more, but among the hunters
there were heard frightened voices exclaiming: "The princess! The
princess! Save the princess!" Zbyszko seized his spear which had been
driven into the ground behind him and rushed to the edge of the forest;
he was followed by a few Litwins who were ready to die in defence of
Kiejstut's daughter; but all at once the crossbow creaked in the hands of
the lady, the bolt whistled and, having passed over the animal's head,
struck him in his neck.

"He is hit!" exclaimed the princess; "he will not escape."

But suddenly, with such a dreadful bellowing that the frightened horses
reared, the bison rushed directly toward the lady; at the same moment
with no less impetus, Sir de Lorche rushed from beneath the trees and
leaning on his horse, with his spear extended as in a knightly
tournament, attacked the animal.

Those near by perceived during one moment, the spear plunged into the
animal's neck, immediately bend like a bow, and break into small pieces;
then the enormous horned head disappeared entirely under the belly of Sir
de Lorche's horse, and the charger and his rider were tossed into the
air.

From the forest the huntsmen rushed to help the foreign knight. Zbyszko
who cared most about the princess and Danusia's safety, arrived first and
drove his spear under the bison's shoulder blade. He gave the blow with
such force, that the spear by a sudden turn of the bison, broke in his
hands, and he himself fell with his face on the ground. "He is dead! He
is dead!" cried the Mazurs who were rushing to help him. The bull's head
covered Zbyszko and pressed him to the ground. The two powerful
"defenders" of the prince arrived; but they were too late; fortunately
the Czech Hlawa, given to Zbyszko by Jagienka, outstripped them, and
having seized his broad-axe with both hands he cut the bison's bent neck,
near the horns.

The blow was so powerful that the animal fell, as though struck by a
thunderbolt, with his head almost severed from his neck; this enormous
body fell on top of Zbyszko. Both "defenders" pulled it away quickly. The
princess and Danusia having dismounted, arrived at the side of the
wounded youth.

Zbyszko, pale and covered with his own and the animal's blood, tried to
rise; but he staggered, fell on his knees and leaning on his hands, could
only pronounce one word:

"Danuska."

Then the blood gushed from his mouth. Danusia grasped him by his
shoulders, but being unable to hold him, began to cry for help. The
huntsmen rubbed him with snow and poured wine in his mouth; finally the
head huntsman, Mrokota of Mocarzew ordered them to put him on a mantle
and to stop the blood with soft spunk from the trees.

"He will live if his ribs and his backbone are not broken," said he,
turning toward the princess. In the meanwhile some ladies of the court
with the help of other huntsmen, were attending to Sir de Lorche. They
turned him over, searching in his armor for holes or dents made by the
horns of the bull; but besides traces of the snow, which had entered
between the joints of the iron plates, they could find nothing. The urus
had avenged himself especially on the horse, which was lying dead beside
the knight; as for Sir de Lorche, he was not seriously injured. He had
fainted and his right hand was sprained. When they took off his helmet
and poured some wine in his mouth, he opened his eyes, and seeing the
sorrowful faces of two pretty young ladies bent over him, said in German:

"I am sure I am in paradise already and the angels are over me."

The ladies did not understand what he said; but being glad to see him
open his eyes and speak, they smiled, and with the huntsmen's help raised
him from the ground; feeling the pain in his right hand, he moaned and
leaned with the left on the shoulder of one of the "angels"; for a while
he stood motionless, fearing to make a step, because he felt weak. Then
he glanced around and perceived the yellow body of the urus, he also saw
Danusia wringing her hands and Zbyszko lying on a mantle.

"Is that the knight who rushed to help me?" he asked. "Is he alive?"

"He is very severely injured," answered a courtier who could speak
German.

"From this time, I am going to fight not with him, but for him!" said the
Lotaringer.

At this time, the prince who was near Zbyszko, approached Sir de Lorche
and began to praise him because he had defended the princess and the
other ladies, and perhaps saved their lives by his bold deed; for which,
besides the knightly reward, he would be renowned not only then but in
all future generations.

"In these effeminate times," said he, "there are few true knights
traveling through the world; therefore pray be my guest as long as
possible or if you can, remain forever in Mazowsze, where you have
already won my favor, and by honest deeds will easily win the love of the
people."

Sir de Lorche's heart was filled with joy when he heard the prince's
words and realized that he had accomplished such a famous knightly deed
and deserved such praise in these remote Polish lands, about which so
many strange things were told in the East. He knew that a knight who
could tell at the Burgundian court or at the court of Brabant, that when
on a hunting party, he had saved the life of the Mazowiecka princess,
would be forever famous.

Zbyszko became conscious and smiled at Danusia; then he fainted again.
The huntsmen seeing how his hands closed and his mouth remained open,
said to one another that he would not live; but the more experienced
Kurpie, among whom many an one had on him the traces of a bear's paws, a
boar's tusks or an urus' horns, affirmed that the urus' horn had slipped
between the knight's ribs, that perhaps one or two of his ribs were
broken, but that the backbone was not, because if it were, he could not
rise. They pointed out also, that Zbyszko had fallen in a snow-drift and
that had saved him, because on account of the softness the animal when
pressing him with his horns, could not entirely crush his chest, nor his
backbone.

Unfortunately the prince's physician, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek of
Dziewanna, was not with the hunting party, being busy in the chateau
making wafers.[102] The Czech rushed to bring him immediately, and
meanwhile the Kurpie carried Zbyszko to the prince's mansion. The Knight
of the Cross, Hugo von Danveld, helped Danusia mount her horse and then,
riding beside her and closely following the men who were carrying
Zbyszko, said in Polish in a muffled voice, so that she alone could hear
him:

"In Szczytno I have a marvelous balm, which I received from a hermit
living in the Hercynski forest; I can bring it for you in three days."

"God will reward you," answered Danusia.

"God records every charitable deed; but will you reward me also?"

"What reward can I give you?"

The Krzyzak approached and evidently wished to say something else but
hesitated; after a while he said:

"In the Order, besides the brothers there are also sisters. One of them
will bring the healing balm, and then I will speak about the reward."




CHAPTER VI.

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek dressed Zbyszko's wounds and he stated that only
one rib was broken; but the first day he could not affirm that the sick
man would live, because he could not ascertain whether the heart had been
injured or not. Sir de Lorche was so ill toward morning that he was
obliged to go to bed, and on the following day he could not move his hand
nor his foot, without great pain in all the bones. The princess Danusia
and some other ladies of the court nursed the sick men and prepared for
them, according to the prescriptions of the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek,
different ointments and potions. But Zbyszko was very severely injured,
and from time to time blood gushed from his mouth, and this alarmed the
_ksiondz_ Wyszoniek very much. He was conscious however, and on the
second day, although very weak, having learned from Danusia to whom he
owed his life, called Hlawa to thank and reward him. He remembered that
he had received the Czech from Jagienka and that had it not been for her
kind heart, he would have perished. He feared that he never would be able
to repay the good-hearted girl for her kindness, but that he would only
be the cause of her sorrow.

"I swore to my _panienka_," said Hlawa, "on my honor of a _wlodyka_, that
I would protect you; therefore I will do it without any reward. You are
indebted to her for your life."

Zbyszko did not answer, but began to breathe heavily; the Czech was
silent for a while, then he said:

"If you wish me to hasten to Bogdaniec, I will go. Perhaps you will be
glad to see the old lord, because God only knows whether you will
recover."

"What does the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek say?" asked Zbyszko.

"The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek says that he will know when the new moon comes.
There are four days before the new moon."

"Hej! then you need not go to Bogdaniec, because I will either die, or I
will be well before my uncle could come."

"Could you not send a letter to Bogdaniec? Sanderus will write one. Then
they will know about you, and will engage a mass for you."

"Let me rest now, because I am very ill. If I die, you will return to
Zgorzelice and tell how everything happened; then they can engage a mass.
I suppose they will bury me here or in Ciechanow."

"I think they will bury you in Ciechanow or in Przasnysz, because only
the Kurpie are buried in the forest, and the wolves howl over their
graves. I heard that the prince intends to return with the court to
Ciechanow in two days' time, and then to Warszawa."

"They would not leave me here alone," answered Zbyszko.

He guessed correctly, because that same day the princess asked the
prince's permission to remain in the house in the wilderness, with
Danusia and the ladies-in-waiting, and also with the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek,
who was opposed to carrying Zbyszko to Przasnysz. Sir de Lorche at the
end of two days felt better, and he was able to leave his bed; but having
learned that the ladies intended to remain, he stayed also, in order to
accompany them on their journey and defend them in case the "Saracens"
attacked them. Whence the "Saracens" could come, the Lotaringer did not
know. It is true that the people in the East used thus to call the
Litwins; but from them no danger could threaten Kiejstut's daughter,
Witold's sister and the first cousin of the mighty "Krakowski king,"
Jagiello. But Sir de Lorche had been among the Knights of the Cross for
so long a time, that notwithstanding all he had heard in Mazowsze about
the baptism of the Litwa, and about the union of the two crowns on the
head of one ruler, he could not believe that any one could expect any
good from the Litwins. Thus the Knights of the Cross had made him
believe, and he had not yet entirely lost all faith in their words.

In the meantime an incident occurred which cast a shadow between Prince
Janusz and his guests. One day, before the departure of the court,
Brother Godfried and Brother Rotgier, who had remained in Ciechanow, came
accompanied by Sir de Fourcy, who was a messenger of bad news to the
Knights of the Cross. There were some foreign guests at the court of the
Krzyzacki _starosta_ in Lubowa; they were Sir de Fourcy and also Herr von
Bergow and Herr Meineger, both belonging to families which had rendered
great services to the Order. They having heard many stories about Jurand
of Spychow, determined, to draw the famous warrior into an open field,
and ascertain for themselves whether he really was as dreadful as
represented. The _starosta_ opposed the plan, giving as a reason that
there was peace between the Order and the Mazowiecki princes; but
finally, perhaps hoping thus to get rid of his terrible neighbor, not
only connived at the expedition but even furnished the armed _knechts_.
The knights sent a challenge to Jurand, who immediately accepted it under
the condition that they would send away the soldiers and that three of
them would fight with him and two of his companions on the boundaries of
Szlonsk and Spychow. But when they refused to send away the _knechts_ or
to retire from the land belonging to Spychow, he suddenly fell upon them,
exterminated the _knechts_, pierced Herr Meineger dreadfully with a
spear, took Herr von Bergow into captivity and put him into the
Spychowski dungeon. De Fourcy alone escaped and after three days'
wandering in the Mazowiecki forests, having learned from some
pitch-burners that there were some brothers of the Order in Ciechanow, he
succeeded in reaching them. He and the brothers of the Order made a
complaint to the prince, and asked for the punishment of Jurand, and for
an order for the deliverance of Herr von Bergow.

This news disturbed the good understanding between the prince and his
guests, because not only the two newly arrived brothers but also Hugo von
Danveld and Zygfried von Löve, began to beseech the prince to render
justice to the Order, to free the boundaries from the plunderer and to
punish him once for all his offences. Hugo von Danveld, having his own
grievance against Jurand, the remembrance of which burned him with shame
and grief, asked for vengeance almost threateningly.

"The complaint will go to the grand master," he said; "and if we be not
able to get justice from Your Grace, he will obtain it himself, even if
the whole Mazowsze help that robber."

But the prince, although naturally good-tempered, became angry and said.

"What kind of justice do you ask for? If Jurand had attacked you first,
then I would surely punish him. But your people were the first to
commence hostilities. Your _starosta_ gave the _knechts_, permission to
go on that expedition. Jurand only accepted the challenge and asked that
the soldiers be sent away. Shall I punish him for that? You attacked that
dreadful man, of whom everybody is afraid, and voluntarily brought
calamity upon yourselves--what do you want then? Shall I order him not to
defend himself, when it pleases you to attack him?"

"It was not the Order that attacked him, but its guests, foreign
knights," answered Hugo.

"The Order is responsible for its guests, and then the _knechts_, from
the Lubowski garrison were there."

"Could the _starosta_ allow his guests to be slaughtered?"

Here the prince turned to Zygfried and said.

"You must take heed lest your wiles offend God."

But the stern Zygfried answered:

"Heir von Bergow must be released from captivity, because the men of his
family were high dignitaries in the Order and they rendered important
services to the Cross."

"And Meineger's death must be avenged," added Hugo von Danveld.

Thereupon the prince arose and walked threateningly toward the Germans;
but after a while, evidently having remembered that they were his guests,
he restrained his anger, put his hand on Zygfried's shoulder, and said:

"Listen: you wear a cross on your mantle, therefore answer according to
your conscience--upon that cross! Was Jurand right or was he not?"

"Herr von Bergow must be released from prison," answered Zygfried von
Löve.

There was as a moment of silence; then the prince said:

"God grant me patience!"

Zygfried continued sharply, his words cutting like a sword:

"The wrong which was done to us in the persons of our guests, is only one
more occasion for complaint. From the time the Order was founded, neither
in Palestine, nor in Siedmiogrod,[103] nor among the heathenish Litwa,
has any man wronged us so much as that robber from Spychow. Your
Highness! we ask for justice and vengeance not for one wrong, but for
thousands; not for the blood shed once, but for years of such deeds, for
which fire from heaven ought to burn that nest of wickedness and cruelty.
Whose moanings entreat God for vengeance? Ours! Whose tears? Ours! We
have complained in vain. Justice has never been given us!"

Having heard this, Prince Janusz began to nod his head and said:

"Hej! formerly the Krzyzaks were received hospitably in Spychow, and
Jurand was not your foe, until after his dear wife died on your rope; and
how many times have you attacked him first, wishing to kill him, as in
this last case, because he challenged and defeated your knights? How many
times have you sent assassins after him, or shot at him with a crossbow
from the forest? He attacked you, it is true, because vengeance burns
within him; but have you not attacked peaceful people in Mazowsze? Have
you not taken their herds, burned their houses and murdered the men,
women and children? And when I complained to the grand master, he sent me
this reply from Marienburg: 'Customary frolic of the boundaries' Let me
be in peace! Was it not you who captured me when I was without arms,
during the time of peace, on my own land? Had it not been for your fear
of the mighty Krakowski king, probably I would have had to moan until now
in captivity. Who ought to complain? With such gratitude you repaid me,
who belonged to the family of your benefactors. Let me be in peace; it is
not you who have the right to talk about justice!"

Having heard this, the Knights of the Cross looked at each other
impatiently, angry because the prince mentioned the occurrence at
Zlotorja, in the presence of Sir de Fourcy; therefore Hugo von Danveld,
wishing to finish the conversation about it, said:

"That was a mistake, Your Highness, and we made amends for it, not on
account of fear of the Krakowski king, but for the sake of justice; and
with regard to the frolics on the boundaries, the grand master cannot be
held responsible, because on every frontier there are some restless
spirits."

"Then you say this yourself, and still you ask for the punishment of
Jurand. What do you wish then?"

"Justice and punishment!"

The prince clenched his bony fists and repeated:

"God grant me patience!"

"Your Princely Majesty must also remember," said Danveld, further, "that
our wantons only wrong lay people who do not belong to the German race,
but your men raise their hand against the German Order, and for this
reason they offend our Saviour Himself."

"Listen!" said the prince. "Do not talk about God; you cannot deceive
Him!"

Then having placed his hands on the Krzyzak's shoulders, he shook him so
strongly, that he frightened him. He relented immediately and said,
mildly:

"If it be true that our guests attacked Jurand first and did not send
away the soldiers, I will not blame him; but had Jurand really accepted
the challenge?"

Having said this, he looked at Sir de Fourcy, winking at him, to deny it;
but the latter, not wishing to lie, answered:

"He asked us to send our soldiers away, and to fight three against
three."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Upon my honor! Herr von Bergow and I agreed, but Meineger did not
consent."

Here the prince interrupted:

"_Starosta_ from Szczytno! you know better than anybody else that Jurand
would not miss a challenge."

Then he turned to all present and said:

"If one of you will challenge Jurand to a fight on horseback or on foot,
I give my permission. If he be taken prisoner or killed, then Herr von
Bergow will be released without paying any ransom. Do not ask me for
anything else, because I will not grant it."

After these words, there was a profound silence. Hugo von Danveld,
Zygfried von Löve, Brother Rotgier and Brother Godfried, although brave,
knew the dreadful lord of Spychow too well to dare to challenge him for
life or death. Only a foreigner from a far distant country, like de
Lorche or de Fourcy, would do it; but de Lorche was not present during
the conversation, and Sir de Fourcy was still too frightened.

"I have seen him once," he muttered, "and I do not wish to see him any
more."

Zygfried von Löve said:

"It is forbidden the monks to fight in single combat, except by special
permission from the grand master and the grand marshal; but I do not ask
for permission for a combat, but for the release of von Bergow and the
punishment by death of Jurand."

"You do not make the laws in this country."

"Our grand master will know how to administer justice."

"Your grand master has nothing to do with Mazowsze!"

"The emperor and the whole German nation will help him."

"The king of Poland will help me, and he is more powerful than the German
emperor."

"Does Your Highness wish for a war with the Order?"

"If I wanted a war, I would not wait for you to come to Mazowsze, but
would go toward you; you need not threaten me, because I am not afraid of
you."

"What shall I say to the grand master?"

"He has not asked you anything. Tell him what you please."

"Then we will avenge ourselves."

Thereupon the prince stretched forth his arm and began to shake his
finger close to the Krzyzak's face.

"Keep quiet!" said he, angrily; "keep quiet! I gave you permission to
challenge Jurand; but if you dare to invade this country with the army of
the Order, then I will attack you, and you will stay here not as a guest
but as a prisoner."

Evidently his patience was entirely exhausted, because he threw a cap
violently on the table and left the room, slamming the door. The Knights
of the Cross became pale and Sir de Fourcy looked at them askance.

"What will happen now?" asked Brother Rotgier, who was the first to break
the silence.

Hugo von Danveld turned to Sir de Fourcy and menacing him with his fists,
said:

"Why did you tell him that you attacked Jurand?"

"Because it is true!"

"You should have lied."

"I came here to fight and not to lie."

"Well, you fought well, indeed!"

"And you! did you not run away from Jurand of Spychow?"

"_Pax!_" said von Löve. "This knight is a guest of the Order."

"It is immaterial what he said," added Brother Godfried. "They would not
punish Jurand without a trial, and in the court, the truth would come
out."

"What will be done now?" repeated Brother Rotgier.

There was a moment of silence; then the sturdy and virulent Zygfried von
Löve spoke:

"We must finish once for all with that bloody dog!" said he. "Herr von
Bergow must be released from his fetters. We will gather the garrisons
from Szczytno, Insburk and Lubowa; we will summon the Chelminsk nobility
and attack Jurand. It is time to settle with him!"

"We cannot do it without permission from the grand master."

"If we succeed, the grand master will be pleased!" said Brother Godfried.

"But if we do not succeed? If the prince go against us?"

"He will not do that if there is peace between him and the Order."

"There is peace, but we are going to violate it. Our garrisons will not
be sufficient to fight against the Mazurs."

"Then the grand master will help us and there will be a war."

Danveld frowned again and became thoughtful.

"No! no!" said he after a while. "If we be successful, the grand master
will be pleased. Envoys will be sent to the prince, there will be
negotiations and we will go scot-free. But in case of defeat, the Order
will not intercede for us and will not declare war. Another grand master
is necessary for that. The Polski king is behind the prince, and the
grand master will not quarrel with him."

"But we have taken the Dobrzynska province; it is evident that we are not
afraid of Krakow."

"There was some pretext--Opolczyk. We took it apparently in pledge, and
then----" Here he looked around and said quietly:

"I heard in Marienburg, that if they threaten us with war, we will return
the province."

"Ah!" said Brother Rotgier, "if we had Markward Salzbach with us, or
Shomberg who killed Witold's whelps, he would find some remedy against
Jurand. Witold was the king's viceroy and a grand duke! Notwithstanding
that, Shomberg was not punished. He killed Witold's children, and went
scot-free! Verily, there is great lack among us of people who can find a
remedy for everything."

Having heard this, Hugo von Danveld put his elbows on the table, leaned
his head on his hands and plunged into deep thought. Then his eyes became
bright, he wiped, according to his custom, his moist, thick lips with the
upper part of his hand and said:

"May the moment in which you mentioned, pious brother, the name of the
valiant Shomberg be blessed."

"Why? Have you found a remedy?" asked Zygfried von Löve.

"Speak quickly!" exclaimed Brother Godfried.

"Listen," said Hugo. "Jurand has a daughter here, his only child, whom he
loves dearly."

"Yes, so he has. We know her. The princess Anna Danuta loves her also."

"Yes. Listen then: if you capture this girl, Jurand will give as a ransom
for her, not only, Bergow, but all his prisoners, himself and Spychow!"

"By Saint Bonifacius' blood shed in Duchum!" exclaimed Brother Godfried;
"it would be as you say!"

Then they were silent, as if frightened by the boldness and the
difficulties of the enterprise. But after a while Brother Rotgier turned
toward Zygfried von Löve, and said:

"Your judgment and experience are equal to your bravery: what do you
think about this plan?"

"I think that the matter is worthy of consideration."

"Because," said Rotgier further, "the girl is a lady-in-waiting with the
princess--the princess loves her as if she were her own daughter. Think,
pious brother, what an uproar will arise."

But Hugo von Danveld began to laugh:

"You said yourself, that Shomberg poisoned or strangled Witold's whelps,
and what happened to him? They will raise an uproar about anything we do;
but if we sent Jurand in chains to the grand master, then it is certain
that we could expect reward rather than punishment."

"Yes," said von Löve, "there is a good opportunity for an attack. The
prince is going away and Anna Danuta will remain here alone with her
court. However it is a serious matter to invade the prince's house during
the time of peace. The prince's house is not Spychow. It will be the same
thing that happened in Zlotorja! Again complaints against the Order will
go to all kings and to the pope; again that cursed Jagiello will threaten
us, and the grand master; you know him: he is glad to take hold of
anything he can, but he does not wish for war with Jagiello. Yes! there
will be a great uproar in all the provinces of Mazowsze and of Polska."

"In the meanwhile Jurand's bones will whiten on a hook," answered Brother
Hugo. "Then we do not need to take his daughter from the prince's
mansion."

"But we cannot do it from Ciechanow either, because there, besides the
noblemen, there are three hundred archers."

"No. But Jurand can become ill and send for his daughter. Then the
princess would not prevent her going, and if the girl be lost on the
road, who will accuse you or me and say to us: 'You captured her!'"

"Bah!" answered von Löve, impatiently. "You must first make Jurand sick
and then make him summon the girl."

At this Hugo smiled triumphantly and answered:

"I have a goldsmith, who having been driven from Marienburg for theft,
settled in Szczytno and who is able to make a seal; I also have people,
who although our bondmen, came from the Mazurski country. Do you
understand me yet?"

"I understand," shouted Brother Godfried.

And Rotgier raised his hands and said:

"May God bless you, pious brother, because neither Markward Salzbach, nor
Shomberg could find better means."

Then he half closed his eyes, as if he saw something afar.

"I see Jurand," said he, "with a rope around his neck, standing at the
Gdansk gate in Marienburg and our _knechts_ are kicking him."

"And the girl will become a servant of the Order," said Hugo.

Having heard this, von Löve turned his severe eyes on Danveld; but the
latter again rubbed his lips with the upper part of his hand and said:

"And now to Szczytno as soon as we can!"

Before starting on the journey to Szczytno, the four brothers of the
Order and de Fourcy went to bid the prince and the princess adieu. It was
not a very friendly farewell; but the prince, not wishing to act contrary
to the old Polish custom which did not permit the guests to depart with
empty hands, made each brother a present of some beautiful marten-fur and
of one _grzywna_ of silver; they received the presents with great
pleasure, assuri