The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
Thus thinking, he threw down first the axe, then the sword, and finally
the _misericordia_, and waited. They took everything, and then the man
who had addressed him previously, withdrawing several steps, stopped and
began to speak in an insolent, loud voice:
"For all the wrongs you have done to the Order, you must, by the count's
orders, put on this sack cloth which I leave here, tie around your neck
the scabbard of your sword with a rope, and wait humbly at the gate until
the count's grace orders it to be opened for you."
And the next moment Jurand remained alone in the darkness and silence. In
the snow before him the penitential robe and rope showed black while he
stood long, feeling something in his soul dissolving, breaking,
agonizing, dying, and that shortly he would be a knight no more, Jurand
of Spychow no more, but a beggar, a slave without a name, without fame,
without respect.
Therefore, a long time passed before he approached the penitential robe,
and said:
"How can I do otherwise? Christ, Thou knowest they will kill the innocent
child, if I do not do all they order. And Thou also knowest that I would
not do that for the sake of my own life! Disgrace is a distasteful
thing!... distasteful!--but Thou also wast disgraced of old. Well then,
in the name of the Father and of the Son...."
He then bent down, put on the robe in which were cut the openings for the
head and hands, then he tied around his neck the scabbard of his sword,
and dragged himself to the gate.
He did not find it open; but now it was immaterial to him whether they
opened it sooner or later. The castle sank into nocturnal silence, only
the guards called now and then to each other on the bastions. In the
tower near the gate there was light in one window high up; the others
were dark.
The night hours flew one after another, on the sky appeared the crescent
moon and threw light upon the gloomy walls of the castle. It became so
quiet that Jurand was able to hear his own heart-beats. But he stiffened
and became entirely petrified, as if his soul were taken from him, and
took no account of anything. One thought remained with him, that he had
ceased to be a knight, Jurand of Spychow, but what he was he did not
know.... Sometimes it also seemed to him that in the middle of the night
death was coming to him across the snow from those hanged men that he had
seen in the morning....
Suddenly he quivered and awoke entirely.
"O gracious Christ! what is that?"
From the high window in the adjacent tower, the sounds of a lute, hardly
heard at first, reached his ear. Jurand, while on the way to Szczytno,
was sure that Danusia was not in the castle, and yet this sound of the
lute at night aroused his heart in an instant. It seemed to him that he
knew those sounds, and that nobody else was playing but she--his child!
his darling.... He therefore fell upon his knees, clasped his hands to
pray, and listened shivering, as in a fever.
Just then a half-childish and as if ardently longing voice began to sing:
"Had I the dear little wings
Of a gosling,
I would fly
To Jasiek at Szlonsk."
Jurand wished to reply, to utter the dear name, but his words were
imprisoned in his throat, as if an iron band squeezed them. A sudden wave
of pain, tears, longing, suffering, collected in his breast; he therefore
cast himself down with his face in the snow and began in ecstasy to call
upon heaven in his soul, as if in thankful prayer:
"O Jesus! I hear my child once again! O Jesus!" ...
And weeping began to tear his gigantic body. Above, the longing voice
continued to sing amid the undisturbed silence of the night:
"Would that I might sit
In the little Szlonsk garden
To gaze upon little Jasiek
The poor orphan!"
In the morning a stout, bearded German retainer began to prod the ribs of
the knight lying at the gate.
"Upon your feet, dog!... The gate is open, and the count orders you to
appear before him."
Jurand awoke, as if from sleep. He did not catch the man by the throat,
he did not crush him in his iron hands, he had a quiet and almost humble
face; he arose, and, without saying a word, followed the soldier through
the gate.
He had hardly crossed, when a clang of chains was heard, and the bridge
began to be drawn up again, while in the gateway itself fell a heavy iron
grating.
END OF PART FOURTH.
PART FIFTH.
CHAPTER I.
Jurand, finding himself in the castleyard, did not know at first where to
go, because the servant, who had led him through the gate, had left him
and gone toward the stables. It is true, the soldiers stood near the
palisades, either singly or in groups, but their faces were so insolent,
and their looks so derisive, that the knight could easily guess that they
would not show him the way, and even if they were to make a reply to his
question, it would be a brutal or an indignant one.
Some laughed, pointing at him with their fingers, others commenced to
throw snow at him, like yesterday. But he, noticing a door larger than
the others, over which was cut out in stone Christ on a cross, turned to
it, thinking that if the count and the elders were in another part of the
castle or in other rooms, somebody must set him right.
And so it happened. The instant Jurand approached that particular door,
both halves of it opened suddenly, and there stood before it a youth with
a head shaven like the clericals, but dressed in a worldly dress, who
inquired:
"Are you Sir Jurand of Spychow?"
"I am."
"The pious count ordered me to guide you. Follow me."
And he commenced to lead him through a great vaulted vestibule toward a
staircase. At the stairs though he halted, and casting a glance at
Jurand, again inquired:
"But have you no weapon with you? I was ordered to search you."
Jurand threw up his arms, so that his guide might be able to view his
whole figure, and replied:
"Yesterday I gave up everything."
Then the guide lowered his voice and said almost in a whisper:
"Be careful then not to break out into anger, because you are under might
and superior force."
"But also under God's will," returned Jurand.
Then he looked more carefully at his guide, and observing in his face
something in the nature of mercy and sympathy, said:
"Honesty looks through your eyes, young man! Will you answer sincerely to
what I question?"
"Make haste, sir," said the guide.
"Will they return the child to me?"
And the youth raised his brows wonderingly.
"Is your child here?"
"My daughter."
"That lady in the tower near the gate?"
"Yes. They promised to send her away if I surrendered to them."
The guide waved his hand to signify that he knew nothing, but his face
expressed trouble and doubt.
Then Jurand further asked:
"Is it true, that Shomberg and Markward are watching her?"
"Those brethren are not in the castle. Take her away though, sir, ere the
nobleman Danveld regains his health."
Hearing that, Jurand shivered, but there was no time to ask any more
questions, because they had arrived at the hall on the upper floor in
which Jurand was to face the chief Shchycienski. The youth, after having
opened the door, retreated toward the stairs.
The knight of Spychow entered and found himself in a roomy apartment,
very dark, because the lead-framed, oval-shaped panes transmitted very
little light; furthermore the day was wintry and cloudy. There was, it is
true, a fire burning in a large chimney at the other end of the
apartment, but the green logs produced little flame. Only after a time,
when Jurand's eyes became used to the darkness, he distinguished a table
behind which were knights sitting, and behind them a whole group of armed
warriors and servants also armed, among whom the castle fool held a tame
bear by a chain.
Jurand had frequently met Danveld some time before, and afterward had
seen him twice at the court of the prince of Mazowsze, as delegate, but
several years had passed since that time; yet, notwithstanding the
darkness, he recognized him instantly, because of his obesity, his face,
and finally because he sat in the centre behind the table in an armchair,
his hand being circled by wooden splints and resting upon the arm of the
chair. To his right sat the old Zygfried von Löve of Insburk, an
inexorable foe of the Polish race in general, and particularly of Jurand
of Spychow; to his left were the younger brethren, Godfried and Rotgier.
Danveld had invited them purposely, to witness his triumph over a
threatening foe, and at the same time to enjoy the fruits of the treason
which they had plotted together, and in the accomplishment of which they
had assisted. They sat now comfortably dressed in soft dark cloth, with
light swords at their sides. They were joyous and self-confident, and
looking upon Jurand with that pride and extreme contempt which they
always bore in their hearts toward the weaker and vanquished.
The silence lasted a long while, because they wished to satiate
themselves with the sight of the man whom they had previously dreaded,
and who stood before them now with his head bowed upon his breast, and
dressed like a penitent in sackcloth, and with a rope around his neck,
upon which was suspended the scabbard of his sword.
They also apparently wanted as great a number of people as possible to
witness his humiliation, for through a side door, leading into other
rooms, whoever pleased entered, and the hall was nearly half filled with
armed men. They all looked with extreme eagerness at Jurand, conversing
loudly and making remarks about him.
But he gained confidence, at the sight of them, because he thought to
himself:
"If Danveld did not wish to keep his promise, he would not have ordered
so many witnesses."
Meanwhile Danveld raised his hand, and stopped the conversation; he then
made a sign to one of the warriors, who approached Jurand, and catching
the rope which encircled his neck, dragged him a few steps nearer the
table.
And Danveld looked triumphantly at those present and said:
"Look, how the power of religion defeats anger and pride."
"May God always grant it so!" answered those present.
Then again followed a moment of silence, after which Danveld turned to
the prisoner:
"You were biting the faith like a mad dog, therefore God has caused you
to stand before us, with a rope around your neck, looking for charity and
mercy."
"Do not compare me with a dog, count," replied Jurand, "because you thus
lower the honor of those who met me and fell under my hand."
At these words the armed Germans commenced to murmur: it was not known
whether the daring answer aroused their anger or whether they were struck
by its justice.
But the count, dissatisfied at such a turn of the conversation, said:
"Look, even now he spits into our eyes with arrogance and pride!"
Jurand then raised his hands, like a man who calls heaven to witness, and
shaking his head, answered:
"God sees that my arrogance remained outside your gate; God sees and will
judge, whether in dishonoring my knighthood, you did not dishonor
yourself. There is the honor of a nobleman, which every one who has a
belt around him, should respect."
Danveld wrinkled his brows, but at that moment the castle fool started to
rattle the chain to which he had fastened the bear, and called out:
"Sermon! sermon! the preacher from Mazowsze has arrived! Listen! to the
sermon!"
Then turning to Danveld, he said:
"Sir! Duke Rosenheim ordered his sexton to eat the bell-rope from knot to
knot whenever the latter awakened him too early for the sermon. This
preacher has also a rope around his neck--make him also eat it up before
he finishes his sermon."
And, having said this, he gazed at the count in some alarm, being