The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
certain that Danusia would return to Spychow, under Zbyszko's powerful
protection.... "He is a strong man," he thought; "he will not permit
anybody to injure her." And he began to recall with affection all he knew
of Zbyszko: "He defeated the Germans at Wilno, fought single-handed
against the Fryzjans whom he challenged with his uncle and quartered, he
also beat Lichtenstein, saved the child from the wild bull, and he
challenged those four, whom he will surely not pardon." Here Jurand
raised his eyes toward heaven and said: "I gave her to you, O Lord, and
you to Zbyszko!"
And he gained still more confidence, judging that if God had given her to
the youth, then He would certainly not allow the Germans to mock him but
snatch her out of their hands, even if the entire Teuton power should
oppose it. But then he commenced to think again about Zbyszko: "Bah! he
is not only a mighty man but also as true as gold. He will guard her,
love her, and Jesus! be good to her; but it seems to me, that, by his
side she will neither miss the princely court nor paternal love...." At
that thought his eyelids became suddenly moist, and a great yearning
filled us heart. He would like to see his child once more at least in his
life, and at some future time die in Spychow near those two, and not in
the dark Teuton cells. "But God's will be done!" Szczytno was already
visible. The walls became more distinct in the mist, the hour of
sacrifice was approaching; he therefore began to comfort himself, and
said to himself: "Surely, it is God's will! but the end of life is near.
A few years more or less, the result will be the same. Hej! I would like
to see both children yet, but, justly speaking, I have lived long enough.
Whatever I had to experience, I did; whomever to revenge, I revenged. And
what now? Rather to God, than to the world; and since it is necessary to
suffer, then it is necessary. Danusia with Zbyszko, even when most
prosperous, will not forget. Surely, they will sometimes recollect and
ask: where is he? is he alive yet, or already in God's court of justice?
They will inquire and perhaps find out. The Teutons are very revengeful,
but also very greedy for ransom. Zbyszko would not grudge ransoming the
bones at least. And they will surely order more than one mass. The hearts
of both are honest and loving, for which may God and the Most Holy Mother
bless them!"
The road became not only broader but also more frequented. Wagons laden
with lumber and straw were on the way to the town. Herders were driving
cattle. Frozen fish were carried on sledges from the lakes. In one place
four archers led a peasant on a chain to court for some offence, for he
had his hands tied behind him, and on his feet were fetters which,
dragging in the snow, hardly enabled him to move. From his panting
nostrils and mouth escaped breath in the shape of wreaths of vapor, while
they sang as they urged him on. Or seeing Jurand, they began to look at
him inquisitively, apparently marvelling at the huge proportions of the
rider and horse; but, at the sight of the golden spurs and knightly belt,
they lowered then crossbows as a sign of welcome and respect. The town
was still more populous and noisy, but everybody hastily got out of the
armed man's way, while he, traversing the main street, turned toward the
castle which, wrapped in clouds, seemed to sleep yet.
Not everything around slept, at least not the crows and ravens, whole
flights of which were stirring on the elevation, which constituted the
entrance to the castle, flapping their wings and crowing. On coming
nearer, Jurand understood the cause of their gathering. Beside the road
leading to the gate of the castle, stood wide gallows, on which were
hanging the bodies of four Mazovian peasants. There was not the least
breath of wind, therefore the corpses, which seemed to be looking at
their own feet, did not sway at all, except when the black buds perched
upon their shoulders and heads, jostling one another, striking the ropes
and pecking the bowed heads. Some of the hanged men must have been there
for a long time, because their skulls were entirely naked, and their legs
very much lengthened. At Jurand's approach, the flock arose with a great
noise, but they soon turned in the air and began to settle on the
crossbeam of the gallows. Jurand passed them, crossing himself,
approached the moat, and, stopping at the place where the drawbridge was
raised before the gate, sounded the horn.
He sounded it a second and a third time and waited. There was no living
soul upon the walls, nor could a voice be heard within the gates. After a
while though, a heavy flap, visible behind a grate built in stone near
the castle gate, was raised with a crash, and in the opening appeared the
bearded head of a German servant.
"_Wer da?_" inquired a harsh voice.
"Jurand of Spychow!" replied the knight.
Immediately the flap was closed again and deep silence followed.
Time passed. No movement was heard behind the gate, only the cawing of
birds reached his ear from the direction of the gallows.
Jurand stood yet a long time before he raised the horn and sounded it
again. But silence again was the sole response.
Now he understood that he was kept before the gate by Teuton pride, which
knew no bounds before the defeated, in order to humiliate him like a
beggar. He also guessed that he would have to wait thus until evening, or
even longer. Consequently his blood began to boil in the first moments;
he was suddenly seized with the desire to dismount, pick up one of the
rocks which lay near the moat, and cast it at the grate. He and every
other Mazovian or Polish knight would have done so, under other
circumstances, and let them come then from behind the gate and fight him.
But recollecting for what purpose he had come, he bethought himself and
desisted.
"Have I not sacrificed myself for my child?" he said in his soul.
And he waited.
Meanwhile something black appeared in the loopholes of the wall. There
appeared heads covered with fur, dark hoods and even iron bars, from
behind which curious eyes gazed at the knight. More came every moment,
because the terrible Jurand, waiting solitarily before the Teuton gate,
was an unusual sight for the garrison. Whoever had seen him hitherto, had
seen death, but now he could be looked at in safety. The heads constantly
multiplied till at last all the loopholes near the gate were occupied by
servants. Jurand thought that also the superiors must be looking at him
through the grates of the windows in the adjacent tower, and he turned
his eyes in that direction, but there the windows were cut in deep walls,
and it was impossible to see through them. But in the apertures, the
group of people who at first looked at him silently, began to talk. One
after another repeated his name, here and there laughter was heard, gruff
voices shouted as if at a wolf, louder and more insolently, and when,
apparently, nobody among them interfered, they finally began to throw
snow at the standing knight. He moved his horse as if involuntarily and
then for a moment the throwing of snow ceased, voices quieted down, and
even some heads disappeared behind the walls. Surely, Jurand's name must
have been very menacing! Soon, however, even the most cowardly bethought
themselves that a moat and a wall separated them from that terrible
Mazovian, therefore the rough soldiery again commenced to throw not only
small lumps of snow, but also ice, and even shards and stones, which
rebounded with a clang from the armor which covered the horse.
"I have sacrificed myself for the child," repeated Jurand to himself.
And he waited. Noontime arrived, the walls were deserted, because the
retainers were called to dinner. A few, those that had to be on guard,
ate their meal on the wall, and, after having eaten, entertained
themselves with throwing the picked bones at the hungry knight. They also
began to tease and question each other who would dare to descend and
strike him with the fist in the neck, or with the handle of the lance.
Others, returning from their meal, called to him that if he disliked
waiting he could hang himself, because there was a vacant hook on the
gallows with a ready rope. And amidst such mockery, cries, bursts of
laughter and cursing, the afternoon hours passed. The short wintry day
gradually drew toward evening, and the drawbridge was still up and the
gate remained closed.
But toward evening a wind arose, dispersed the mist, cleared the sky and
revealed the sunset glow.
The snow became dark-blue, and then violet. There was no frost, but the
night promised to be fair. The walls were again deserted by all but the
guard; the rooks and crows departed from the gallows to the forests.
Finally the sky darkened and complete silence followed.
"They will not open the gate before nightfall," thought Jurand.
And for a moment he thought to return to the city, but he soon gave up
that idea. "They want me to stand here," he said to himself. "If I
return, they will certainly not let me go home, but surround and capture
me, and then they will say that they owe me nothing, because they took me
by force, and if I should ride over them, even then I must return...."
The great endurance of the Polish knights for cold, hunger and hardships,
so admired by foreign chroniclers, frequently enabled them to perform
deeds which the less hardy people from the west could not undertake.
Jurand possessed that endurance to a still greater degree than others;
therefore, although hunger had long since began to gripe him, and the
evening frost penetrated his fur, which was covered with iron plates, he
determined to wait, even if he had to die before this gate.
But suddenly, before it became entirely dark, he heard behind him the
sound of footsteps in the snow.
He looked back: there were coming toward him, from the direction of the
city, six men, armed with lances and halberds; in their midst walked a
seventh man supporting himself on a weapon.
"They will perhaps open the gate for them and then I shall ride in with
them," thought Jurand. "They will not try to take me by force, nor kill
me, because there are too few; should they attack me, however, it will
prove that they do not mean to keep their promise, and then--woe to
them!"
Thus thinking, he raised the steel axe hanging at his saddle, so heavy,
that its weight was too great for the two hands of an ordinary man, and
moved toward them.
But they did not think of attacking him. On the contrary, the servants
planted their lances and halberds in the snow, and as the night was not
entirely dark yet, Jurand saw that the handles somewhat trembled in their
hands.
The seventh, who appeared to be the superior, put out his left arm
quickly, and turning his hand upward, said:
"Are you the knight Jurand of Spychow?"
"Yes."
"Do you wish to hear my message?"
"I listen."
"The powerful and religious Count von Danveld ordered me to tell you,
lord, that until you dismount, the gate will not be opened for you."
Jurand remained motionless for a while, then he dismounted, the horse
being instantly taken away by one of the archers.
"The arms must be surrendered to us," again said the man with the weapon.
The lord of Spychow hesitated. Perhaps they would attack him unarmed, and
kill him like a beast; or capture and cast him under ground? But after a
moment he thought that if it were to be so, they would have sent more
men. But should they throw themselves on him, they would not destroy his
armor at once, and then he could wrench a weapon from the nearest and
kill them all before assistance could arrive. They knew him well.
"And even if they should wish to shed my blood," he said to himself, "I
came for no other purpose than that."