The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
moved slowly and deliberately, as their dignity and gravity demanded, for
the first bout.
Very few paid attention to the seconds, but those of the experienced men
and of the domestics who looked at them understood at once how great were
the odds on Hlawa's side. The German wielded the heavier axe and his
shield was cumbersome. Below the shield were visible his legs which were
longer, though not so strong nor active as the sturdy and tightly covered
legs of the Bohemian.
Hlawa moreover pressed so vigorously that van Krist, almost from the
first moment, was compelled to retreat. It was instantly understood that
one of the adversaries would fall upon the other like a tempest; that he
would attack and strike like lightning, while the other, under the
conviction that death was already upon him, would merely defend himself
so as to postpone the terrible moment as long as possible.
And so it actually was. That boaster, who generally stood up to fight
only when he could not do otherwise, now recognized that his insolent and
heedless words had led him into a fight with a terrible giant whom he
ought to have avoided like a perdition; and so, when he now felt that
every one of these blows could kill an ox, his heart began to fail
entirely. He almost forgot that it is not sufficient to catch the blows
on the shield, but that it was also necessary to return them. He saw
above him the lightning of the axe and thought that every gleam was the
last. Holding up the shield, he involuntarily half closed his eyes with a
feeling of terror and doubt whether he would ever open them again. Very
rarely he gave a blow himself, but without any hope of reaching his
opponent, and raised the shield constantly higher over his head, so as to
save it yet for a little.
Finally he began to tire, but the Bohemian struck on constantly more
powerfully. Just as from a tall pine-tree great chips fly under the
peasant's axe, so under the Bohemian's strokes fragments began to scale
off and fly from the German warrior's armor. The upper edge of the shield
was bent and shattered, the mail from the right shoulder rolled to the
ground, together with the cut and already bloody strap of leather. This
made van Krist's hair stand on end--and a deadly fear seized him. He
struck with all the force of his arm once and again at the Bohemian's
shield; finally, seeing that he had no chance against his adversary's
terrible strength and that only some extraordinary exertion could save
him, he threw himself suddenly with all the weight of his armor and body
against Hlawa's legs. Both fell to the ground and tried to overcome each
other, rolling and struggling in the snow. But the Bohemian soon appeared
on top; for a moment he still checked the desperate efforts of his
opponent; finally he pressed his knee upon the chain-armor covering his
belly, and took from the back of his belt a short three-edged "dagger of
mercy."[109]
"Spare me!" faintly gasped van Krist, raising his eyes toward those of
the Bohemian.
But the latter, instead of answering, stretched himself upon him the
easier to reach his neck, and, cutting through the leather fastening of
the helmet under the chin, stabbed the unfortunate man twice in the
throat, directing the sharp edge downward toward the centre of the
breast.
Then van Krist's pupils sank in their sockets, his hands and legs began
to beat the snow, as if trying to clean it of the ashes, but after a
moment he stiffened out and lay motionless, breathing only with red,
foam-covered lips, and bleeding profusely.
But the Bohemian arose, wiped the "dagger of mercy" on the German's
clothing, then raised the axe, and, leaning against it, he began to look
at the harder and more stubborn fight between his knight and Brother
Rotgier.
The western knights were already accustomed to comforts and luxuries,
while the landowners in Little Poland and Great Poland, as also in
Mazowsze, led a rigorous and hardy life, wherefore they awoke admiration
by their bodily strength and endurance of all hardships, whether constant
or occasional, even among strangers and foes. Now also it was
demonstrated that Zbyszko was as superior to the Teuton in bodily
strength as his squire was superior to van Krist, but it was also proven
that his youth rendered him the inferior in knightly training.
It was in some measure favorable for Zbyszko that he had chosen a combat
with axes, because fencing with that kind of weapon was impossible. With
long and short swords, with which it was necessary to know the strokes,
thrusts, and how to ward off blows, the German would have had a
considerable superiority. But even so, Zbyszko, as well as the
spectators, recognized from his motions and management of the shield,
that they had before them an experienced and formidable man, who
apparently was not entering a combat of this kind for the first time. To
each of Zbyszko's blows Rotgier offered his shield, slightly withdrawing
it at the concussion, by which means even the most powerful swing lost
its force, and could neither cleave nor crush the smooth surface. He at
times retreated and at times became aggressive, doing it quietly, though
so quickly that the eyes could hardly follow his motions.
The prince was seized with fear for Zbyszko, and the faces of the men
looked gloomy; it seemed that the German was purposely trifling with his
opponent. Sometimes he did not even interpose the shield, but at the
moment when Zbyszko struck, he turned half aside, so that the sharp edge
of the axe cut the empty air. This was the most terrifying thing, because
Zbyszko might thereby lose his balance and fall, and then his destruction
would be inevitable. Seeing this, the Bohemian, standing over the slain
van Krist, also became alarmed, and said to himself: "My God! if my
master falls, I will strike him with the hook of my axe between the
shoulder-blades, and overthrow him also."
However, Zbyszko did not fall, because, being very strong upon his legs
and separating them widely, he was able to support the entire weight of
his body on either as he swung.
Rotgier observed that instantly, and the onlookers were mistaken in
supposing that he underestimated his opponent. On the contrary, after the
first strokes, when, in spite of his utmost skill in withdrawing the
shield, his hand almost stiffened under it, he understood that he would
have a hard time with this youth, and that, if he did not knock him down
by some clever manoeuvre, the combat would prove long and dangerous. He
expected Zbyszko to fall upon the snow after a vain stroke in the air,
and as that did not happen, he immediately became uneasy. He saw, beneath
the steel visor, the closely-drawn nostrils and mouth of his opponent,
and occasionally his gleaming eyes, and he said to himself that the other
would fly into a blind rage and forget himself, lose his head, and madly
think more of striking than of defending himself. But he was mistaken in
this also. Zbyszko did not know how to avoid a stroke by a half-turn, but
he did not forget his shield, and, while raising the axe, did not expose
himself more than was necessary. His attention was apparently redoubled,
and having recognized the experience and skill of his opponent, instead
of forgetting himself he collected his thoughts and became more cautious;
and there was that premeditation in his blows which not hot but cool
anger only can conquer.
Rotgier, who had fought in many wars and battles, either in troop or
singly, knew by experience that there are some people, like birds of
prey, who are born to fight, being specially gifted by Nature, who
bestows all things, with what others only attain after years of training,
and he at the same time observed that he was now dealing with one of
those. He understood from the very first strokes that there was in this
youth something as in a hawk, who sees in his opponent only his prey, and
thinks of nothing but getting him in his claws. Notwithstanding his own
strength, he also noticed that it was not equal to Zbyszko's, and should
he get exhausted before succeeding in giving a final stroke, the combat
with this formidable, although less experienced, stripling, might result
in his ruin. Thus reflecting, he determined to fight with the least
possible effort, drew the shield closer to him, did not move much either
forward or backward, restricted his motions, and gathered all the power
of his soul and arm for one decisive stroke, and awaited his opportunity.
The terrible fight lasted longer than usual. A deathlike silence reigned
in the porches. The only sounds heard were the sometimes ringing and
sometimes hollow blows of the sharp points and edges of the axes against
the shields. Such sights were not strange to the princes, knights and
courtiers; and nevertheless a feeling, resembling terror, seemed to
clutch all hearts as if with tongs. It was understood that this was not a
mere exhibition of strength, skill and courage, but that in this fight
there was a greater fury and despair, a greater and more inexorable
stubbornness, a deeper vengeance. On one side terrible wrongs, love and
fathomless sorrow; on the other, the honor of the entire Order and deep
hatred, met on this field of battle for the Judgment of God.
Meanwhile the wintry, pale morning brightened, the grey fog cleared away,
and the sunrays shone upon the blue cuirass of the Teuton and the silver
Milanese armor of Zbyszko. The bell rang in the chapel for early mass,
and at the sounds of the bell flights of crows again flew from the castle
roofs, flapping their wings and crowing noisily, as if in joy at the
sight of blood and the corpse lying motionless in the snow. Rotgier
looked at it once and again during the fight, and suddenly began to feel
very lonesome. All the eyes that were turned upon him were those of
enemies. All the prayers, wishes and silent vows which the women were
offering were in Zbyszko's favor. Moreover, although the Teuton was fully
convinced that the squire would not cast himself upon him from behind,
nor strike him treacherously, nevertheless, the presence and nearness of
that terrifying figure involuntarily inspired him with such fear as
people are subject to at the sight of a wolf, a bear or a buffalo, from
which they are not separated by bars. And he could not shake off this
feeling, especially as the Bohemian, in his desire to follow closely the
course of the battle, constantly changed his place, stepping in between
the fighters from the side, from behind, from the front--bending his head
at the same time, and looking at him fiercely through the visor of the
helmet, and sometimes slightly raising his bloody weapon, as if
involuntarily.
At last the Teuton began to tire. One after another, he gave two blows,
short but terrible, directing them at Zbyszko's right arm, but they were
met by the shield with such force that the axe trembled in Rotgier's
hand, and he himself was compelled to retreat suddenly to save himself
from falling; and from that moment, he retreated steadily. Finally, not
only his strength but also his coolness and patience began to be
exhausted. At the sight of his retreating, a few triumphant shouts
escaped from the breasts of the spectators, awakening in him anger and
despair. The strokes of the axes became more frequent. Perspiration
flowed from the brows of both fighters, and panting breath escaped from
their breasts through their clenched teeth. The spectators ceased keeping
silence, and now every moment voices, male or female, cried: "Strike! At
him!... God's judgment! God's punishment! God help you!"
The prince motioned with his hand several times to silence them, but he
could not restrain them! Every moment the noise increased, because
children here and there began to cry on the porches, and finally, at the