The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
"The religious friars expected that from you," said the woman, "but this
is not all that I was ordered to say. Your daughter, sir, was captured by
some men, undoubtedly robbers, and certainly for the purpose of demanding
a rich ransom. God permitted the brethren to recapture her, and now they
demand nothing but the return of their brother and associate. But the
brethren know, and you, too, sir, what hatred there is in this country
against them, and how unfairly even their most righteous actions are
judged. For this reason the brethren are sure that, if the people here
found out that your daughter was with them, they would at once begin to
suspect that they had captured her, and would consequently utter only
slander and complaints.... O yes, evil and malicious people here have
frequently repaid them so, and the reputation of the holy Order has
suffered greatly by it, and the brethren are greatly concerned about it,
and therefore they add this sole condition that you alone assure the
prince of this country and all the mighty knights that it is true, that
not the Teutonic knights, but robbers carried off your daughter, and that
you had to ransom her from robbers."
"It is true," said Jurand, "that bandits have captured my child, and that
I have to buy her back from bandits...."
"You shall tell nobody otherwise, because if only one person should find
out that you come to terms with the brethren, if only one living soul or
only one complaint were sent to the master, or the assembly, great
complications would ensue."
Jurand's face exhibited great alarm. At the first moment it seemed to him
quite natural that the knights required secrecy, fearing responsibility
and disgrace, but now a suspicion arose in his mind that there might be
another reason, but, not being able to account for it, he was seized with
such terror as sometimes happens to the most courageous when danger does
not threaten them alone, but also their relatives and loved ones.
He determined however to find out more from the Order's servant.
"The knights wish secrecy," he said, "but how can it be kept, when I
release von Bergow and the others in return for my child?"
"You will say that you accepted ransom for von Bergow in order to be able
to pay the robbers."
"People will not believe it, because I never accepted ransom," gloomily
replied Jurand.
"But your child was never in question," hissed the messenger in reply.
And again silence followed, after which the _pontnik_, who, in the
meanwhile had gained courage, and judged that Jurand must now restrain
himself more, said:
"Such is the will of the brethren Shomberg and Markward."
The messenger continued:
"You will say, that this _pontnik_ who came with me, brought you the
ransom, we also will leave here with the noble von Bergow and the
prisoners."
"How so?" said Jurand, frowning, "do you think that I will give up the
prisoners before you return my child?"
"You can act, sir, still differently. You can call personally for your
daughter at Szczytno, whither the brethren will bring her to you."
"I? at Szczytno?"
"Because, should the bandits capture her again on the way, your and your
people's suspicion would again fall upon the pious knights, and therefore
they prefer to give her into your own hands."
"And who will pledge himself for my return, if I walk alone into a wolf's
throat?"
"The virtue of the brethren, their justice and godliness!"
Jurand began to walk up and down the room. He began to suspect treason
and feared it, but he felt at the same time that the Teutons could impose
any conditions they pleased upon him, and that he was powerless before
them.
However, an idea struck him, and suddenly halting before the _pontnik_,
he gazed at him with a piercing look, and then turned to the messenger
and said;
"Well, I will go to Szczytno. You and this man, who is wearing _pontnik_
garb, will remain here until my return, after which you will leave with
von Bergow and the prisoners."
"Do you refuse, sir, to believe friars." said the _pontnik_; "how then
can they trust you to liberate us and von Bergow on your return?"
Jurand's face turned pale with fury, and a critical moment followed, in
which it almost seemed that he would catch the _pontnik_ by the throat
and dash him to the floor; but he suppressed his anger, drew a deep
breath and commenced to speak slowly but emphatically.
"Whoever you are, do not strain my patience to the breaking point!"
But the _pontnik_ turned to the sister: "Speak! what you were ordered."
"Lord," she said: "we would not dare distrust your oath upon your sword
and knightly honor, but it is not proper for you to swear before people
of low rank. And we were not sent for your oath."
"What were you sent for?"
"The brethren told us that, without saying anything to anybody, you must
appear at Szczytno with von Bergow and the prisoners."
At that, Jurand's shoulders began to draw together, and his fingers to
extend like the claws of a bird of prey; at last, stopping before the
woman, he bent down, as if to speak into her ear, and said:
"Did they not tell you that I should order you and von Bergow to be
broken on the wheel in Spychow?"
"Your daughter is in the power of the brethren, and under the care of
Shomberg and Markward," replied the sister, meaningly.
"Robbers, poisoners, hangmen!" burst forth Jurand.
"Who are able to avenge us and who said at our departure: 'Should he not
comply with all our orders, it would be far better that the girl should
die, as Witold's children died.' Choose!"
"And understand that you are in the power of the knights," remarked the
_pontnik_. "They do not wish to do you any harm, and the _starosta_ of
Szczytno sends you his word by us that you shall go free from his castle;
but they want you, for the wrong done to them, to present your respects
to the Teuton, and beg for the victor's mercy. They want to forgive you,
but they first wish to bend your stubborn neck. You denounced them as
traitors and perjurers.--therefore they want you to acknowledge their
good faith. They will restore you and your daughter to liberty--but you
must beg for it. You trampled upon them--now you must swear that your
hand will never, be raised against the white robe."
"The knights wish it so," added the woman, "and Markward and Shomberg
with them."
A moment of deathlike silence followed. It seemed only that somewhere
among the beams of the ceiling some smothered echo repeated as if in
terror: "Markward ... Shomberg."
Outside the windows could be heard the voices of Jurand's archers keeping
watch on the mounds near the palisade of the castle.
The _pontnik_ and the servant of the Order looked for a long time at each
other and Jurand, who sat leaning against the wall, motionless, and with
a face deeply shadowed by furs suspended by the window. His brain
contained only one thought, that, if he did not do what the Teutons
demanded, they would destroy his child; again, if he should do it, he
might perhaps even then not save Danusia nor himself. And he saw no help,
no way of escape. He felt a pitiless superior force over him which was
crushing him. He saw in his soul already the iron hands of a Teuton on
Danusia's throat; knowing them thoroughly, he did not doubt for a moment
that they would kill her, bury her in the castle yard, and then deny
it,--and who would then be able to prove that they had captured her?
It was true that Jurand had the messengers in his power; he could bring
them to the prince and get a confession by means of torture, but the
Teutons had Danusia, and they might not care about their agents' torture.
And for a moment he seemed to see his child stretching out her hands from
afar, asking for assistance.... If he at least knew that she was really
at Szczytno, then he could go that very night to the border, attack the
unsuspecting Germans, capture the castle, destroy the garrison and
liberate the child--but she might not be and positively was not in
Szczytno. It flashed like lightning through his head, that if he were to
seize the woman and the _pontnik_, and take them directly to the grand
master, then perhaps the master could draw confessions from them and
might order the return of his daughter; but that gleam was extinguished
almost as quickly as it took fire.
These people could tell the master that they came to ransom von Bergow
and that they knew nothing about a girl. No! that way led to nothing, but
what did? He thought, that should he go to Szczytno they would chain him
and cast him under ground, while Danusia would not be released, lest it
should transpire that they had captured her, if for no other reason. And
meanwhile death hung over his only child, death over the last dear
head!... And finally his thoughts grew confused, and the pain became so
great, that it overpowered itself and became numbness. He sat motionless,
for his body became as dead as if cut out of stone. If he wanted to rise
now, he would not be able to do so.
Meanwhile the others grew tired of the long waiting, therefore the
servant of the Order arose and said:
"It will be soon daylight, therefore permit us, sir, to retire, because
we need a rest."
"And refreshment after the long journey," added the _pontnik_. Then they
both bowed to Jurand and went out.
But he continued to sit motionless, as if seized by sleep or death.
Presently, however, the door opened and Zbyszko appeared, followed by the
priest Kaleb.
"Who are the messengers? What do they want?" inquired the young knight,
approaching Jurand.
Jurand quivered, but at first answered nothing; he only began to blink
like a man awakened from a sound sleep.
"Sir, are you not ill?" said the priest Kaleb, who, knowing Jurand
better, noticed that something curious was taking place within him.
"No!" replied Jurand.
"And Danusia?" further inquired Zbyszko; "where is she and what did they
say to you?"
"What did they bring?"
"The ransom," slowly replied Jurand.
"The ransom for von Bergow?"
"For von Bergow...."
"How so, for von Bergow? what is the matter with you?"
"Nothing."
But in his voice there was something so strange and listless that a
sudden fear seized those two, especially because Jurand spoke of the
ransom and not the exchange of von Bergow for Danusia.
"Gracious God!" exclaimed Zbyszko: "where is Danusia?"
"She is not with the Teutons,--no!" replied Jurand, in a sleepy tone; and
suddenly he fell from the bench upon the floor as if dead.
CHAPTER VI.
The following day at noon the messengers saw Jurand, and soon afterward
they rode away taking with them von Bergow, two esquires and a number of
other prisoners. Jurand then summoned Father Kaleb and dictated a letter
to the prince, stating that Danusia had not been carried off by the
Knights of the Order, but that he had succeeded in discovering her
refuge, and hoped to recover her in a few days. He repeated the same to
Zbyszko, who had been wild with astonishment, dread and perplexity since
the night before.
The old knight refused to answer any of his questions, telling him
instead to wait patiently and not to undertake anything for the
liberation of Danusia, because it was unnecessary.
Toward evening he shut himself in again with Father Kaleb, whom he had
ordered to write down his last will; then he confessed himself, and after
receiving the sacrament, he summoned Zbyszko, and the old taciturn
Tolima, who used to accompany him in all his expeditions and fights, and
in times of peace administered the affairs of Spychow.
"Here," he said, turning to the old warrior and raising his voice, as if
he was speaking to a man who could not hear well, "is the husband of my
daughter whom he married at the prince's court, for which he had my