The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
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?"