The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
"In that way, the abbot will become reconciled with old Wilk," thought
Macko, "and he will give the forests and the lands with the girl."
His sad thoughts were interrupted by Jagienka who said:
"They are soon cured after Zbyszko's beating; but even if they come here
every day, it will not benefit them!"
Macko looked and saw that the girl's face was red with anger, and that
her blue eyes sparkled with indignation, although she knew very well that
Cztan and Wilk had taken her part in the inn, and had been beaten on her
account.
Therefore Macko said:
"Bah! you will do as the abbot commands."
She immediately retorted:
"The abbot will do what I wish."
"Gracious Lord!" thought Macko, "and that stupid Zbyszko left such a
girl!"
CHAPTER II.
Zbyszko had left Bogdaniec with a sad heart indeed. In the first place he
felt strange without his uncle, from whom he had never been separated
before, and to whom he was so accustomed, that he did not know how he
would get along without him during the journey, as well as in the war.
Then he regretted Jagienka. Although he was going to Danusia whom he
loved dearly, still he had been so comfortable and happy with Jagienka,
that now he felt sad without her. He was surprised himself at his grief,
and even somewhat alarmed about it. He would not have minded if he longed
for Jagienka only as a brother longs for a sister; but he noticed that he
longed to embrace her, to put her on horseback, to carry her over the
brooks, to wring the water from her tress, to wander with her in the
forest, to gaze at her, and to converse with her. He was so accustomed to
doing all this and it was so pleasant, that when he began to think about
it, he forgot that he was going on a long journey to Mazury; instead of
that, he remembered the moment when Jagienka helped him in the forest,
when he was struggling with the bear. It seemed to him as though it
happened only yesterday; also as though it were only yesterday when they
went to the Odstajny lake for beavers. Then he recalled how beautifully
she was dressed when going to church in Krzesnia, and how surprised he
was that such a simple girl should appear like the daughter of a mighty
lord. All these thoughts filled his heart with uneasiness, sweetness, and
sadness.
"Had I only bid her good-bye," he said to himself, "perhaps I would feel
easier now."
Finally he became afraid of these reminiscences, and he shook them from
his mind like dry snow from his mantle.
"I am going to Danusia, to my dearest," he said to himself.
He noticed that this was a more holy love. Gradually his feet grew colder
in the stirrups, and the cold wind cooled his blood. All his thoughts now
turned to Danusia Jurandowna. He belonged to her without any doubt; but
for her, he would have been beheaded on the Krakowski square. When she
said in the presence of the knights and burghers: "He is mine!" she
rescued him from the hands of the executioners; from that time, he
belonged to her, as a slave to his master. Jurand's opposition was
useless. She alone could drive him away; and even then he would not go
far, because he was bound by his vow. He imagined, however, that she
would not drive him away; but rather that she would follow him from the
Mazowiecki court, even to the end of the world. Then he began to praise
her to himself to Jagienka's disadvantage, as if it were her fault, that
temptations assailed him and his heart was divided. Now he forgot that
Jagienka cured old Macko; he forgot that without her help, the bear would
have torn him to pieces; and he became enraged with her, hoping in this
way to please Danusia and to justify himself in his own eyes.
At this moment the Czech, Hlawa, sent by Jagienka, arrived, leading a
horse.
"Be blessed!" said he, with a low bow.
Zbyszko had seen him once or twice in Zgorzelice, but he did not
recognize him; therefore he said:
"Be blessed for ages and ages! Who are you?"
"Your servant, famous lord."
"What do you mean? These are my servants," said Zbyszko, pointing to the
two Turks, given to him by Sulimczyk Zawisza, and to two sturdy men who
sitting on horseback, were leading the knight's stallions; "these are
mine; who sent you?"
"_Panna_ Jagienka Zychowna of Zgorzelice."
"_Panna_ Jagienka?"
A while ago, Zbyszko had been angry with her and his heart was still full
of wrath; therefore he said:
"Return home and thank the _panna_ for the favor; I do not want you."
But the Czech shook his head.
"I cannot return. They have given me to you; besides that, I have sworn
to serve you until death."
"If they gave you to me, then you are my servant."
"Yours, sir."
"Then I command you to return."
"I have sworn; although I am a prisoner from Boleslawiec and a poor boy,
still I am a _wlodyczka_."[87]
Zbyszko became angry:
"Go away! What; are you going to serve me against my will? Go away,
before I order my servants to bend their crossbows."
But the Czech quietly untied a broadcloth mantle, lined with wolf-skins,
handed it to Zbyszko and said:
"_Panna_ Jagienka sent you this, also, sir."
"Do you wish me to break your bones?" asked Zbyszko, taking a spear from
an attendant.
"Here is also a bag of money for your disposal," answered the Czech.
Zbyszko was ready to strike him with the lance, but he recollected that
the boy, although a prisoner, was by birth a _wlodyka_, who had remained
with Zych only because he did not have money to pay his ransom;
consequently Zbyszko dropped the spear.
Then the Czech bent to his stirrups and said:
"Be not angry, sir. If you do not wish me to accompany you, I will follow
you at a distance of one or two furlongs; but I must go, because I have
sworn to do so upon the salvation of my soul."
"If I order my servants to kill you or to bind you?"
"If you order them to kill me, that will not be my sin; and if you order
them to bind me, then I will remain until some good people untie me, or
until the wolves devour me."
Zbyszko did not reply; he urged his horse forward and his attendants
followed him. The Czech with a crossbow and an axe on his shoulder,
followed them, shielding himself with a shaggy bison skin, because a
sharp wind carrying flakes of snow, began to blow. The storm grew worse
and worse. The Turks, although dressed in sheepskin coats, were chilled
with cold; Zbyszko himself, not being dressed very warmly, glanced
several times at the mantle lined with wolf-fur, which Hlawa had brought
him; after a while, he told one of the Turks to give it to him.
Having wrapped himself with it carefully, he felt a warmth spreading all
over his body. He covered his eyes and the greater part of his face with
the hood of the mantle, so that the wind did not annoy him any more.
Then, involuntarily, he thought how good Jagienka had been to him. He
reined in his horse, called the Czech, and asked him about her, and about
everything that had happened in Zgorzelice.
"Does Zych know that the _panna_ sent you to me?" he said.
"He knows it," answered Hlawa.
"Was he not opposed to it?"
"He was."
"Tell me then all about it."
"The _pan_ was walking in the room and the _panna_ followed him. He
shouted, but the _panienka_ said nothing; but when he turned toward her,
she kneeled but did not utter one word. Finally the _panisko_[88] said:
'Have you become deaf, that you do not answer my questions? Speak then;
perhaps I will consent.' Then the _panna_ understood that she could do as
she wished and began to thank him. The _pan_ reproached her, because she
had persuaded him, and complained that he must always do as she wished;
finally he said: 'Promise me that you will not go secretly to bid him
good-bye; then I will consent, but not otherwise.' Then the _panienka_
became very sorrowful, but she promised; the _pan_ was satisfied, because
the abbot and he were both afraid that she would see you. Well, that was
not the end of it; afterward the _panna_ wanted to send two horses, but
the _pan_ would not consent; the _panna_ wanted to send a wolf-skin and a
bag of money, but the _pan_ refused. His refusal did not amount to
anything, however! If she wanted to set the house on fire, the _panisko_
would finally consent. Therefore I brought two horses, a wolf-skin and a
bag of money."
"Good girl!" thought Zbyszko. After a while he asked:
"Was there no trouble with the abbot?" The Czech, an intelligent
attendant, who understood what happened around him, smiled and answered:
"They were both careful to keep everything secret from the abbot; I do
not know what happened when he learned about it, after I left Zgorzelice.
Sometimes he shouts at the _panienka_; but afterward he watches her to
see if he did not wrong her. I saw him myself one time after he had
scolded her, go to his chest and bring out such a beautiful chain that
one could not get a better one even in Krakow, and give it to her. She
will manage the abbot also, because her own father does not love her any
more than he does."
"That is certainly true."
"As God is in heaven!"
Then they became silent and rode along amidst wind and snow. Suddenly
Zbyszko reined in his horse; from the forest beside the road, there was
heard a plaintive voice, half stifled by the roar of the wind:
"Christians, help God's servant in his misfortune!"
Thereupon a man who was dressed partly in clerical clothing, rushed to
the road and began to cry to Zbyszko:
"Whoever you are, sir, help a fellow-creature who has met with a dreadful
accident!"
"What has happened to you, and who are you?" asked the young knight.
"I am God's servant, although not yet ordained; this morning the horse
which was carrying my chests containing holy things, ran away. I remained
alone, without weapons; evening is approaching, and soon the wild beasts
will begin to roar in the forest. I shall perish, unless you succor me."
"If I let you perish," answered Zbyszko, "I will be accountable for your
sins; but how can I believe that you are speaking the truth. You may be a
highway robber, like many others wandering on the roads!"
"You may believe me, sir, for I will show you the chests. Many a man
would give a purse full of gold for what is in them; but I will give you
some of it for nothing, if you take me and the chests with you."
"You told me that you were God's servant, and yet you do not know that
one must give help, not for earthly recompense, but for spiritual reward.
But how is it that you have the chests now if the horse carried them
away?"
"The wolves devoured the horse in the forest, but the chests remained; I
brought them to the road, and then waited for mercy and help."
Wishing to prove that he was speaking the truth, he pointed to two chests
made of leather, lying under a pine tree. Zbyszko still looked at him
suspiciously, because the man did not look honest, and his speech
indicated that he came from a distant part of the country. He did not
refuse to help him, however, but permitted him to ride the horse led by
the Czech and take the chests, which proved to be very light.
"May God multiply your victories, valiant knight!" said the stranger.
Then, seeing Zbyszko's youthful face, he added softly:
"And the hairs of your beard, also."
He rode beside the Czech. For a time they could not talk, because a
strong wind was blowing, and roaring in the forest; but when it
decreased, Zbyszko heard the following conversation behind him.
"I don't deny that you were in Rome; but you look like a beer drunkard,"
said the Czech.
"Look out for eternal damnation," answered the stranger; "you are talking
to a man who last Easter ate hard boiled eggs with the holy father. Don't
speak to me in such cold weather about beer; but if you have a flask of