The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance
crossing of the swamps, and he only praised him for his noble manners
which, as he observed, he must have learned when he was with Zbyszko at
the Mazovian court.
Then he turned to Jagienka and added:
"Hey! Zbyszko!... His deportment befits even a king's presence."
But his work was over in the evening, when it was time to retire. Hlawa,
after having kissed the hand of Jagienka, lifted in turn the hand of
Sieciechowa to his lips and said:
"Not only need you not fear me, but whilst you are with me you need fear
nothing, for I shall not give you to anybody."
Then the men went into the front room whilst Jagienka and Anulka retired
to the alcove and slept together in a wide and comfortable bed. Neither
fell asleep readily, especially Sieciechowa, who was restless and turned
from side to side. At length Jagienka moved her head toward Anulka and
whispered:
"Anulka?"
"What is it?"
"It seems to me that you are much taken with that Bohemian.... Is it so?"
Her question remained unanswered.
But Jagienka whispered again:
"I understand it all.... Tell me."
Sieciechowa did not reply, but instead, pressed her lips to the cheeks of
her mistress and showered kisses upon them.
At Anulka's kisses, poor Jagienka's breast heaved.
"Oh, I understand, I understand," she whispered, so low that Anulka's ear
scarcely caught her words.
CHAPTER IV.
After a mild and foggy night, a windy and gloomy day came. At times the
sky was bright, at others it was covered with broken clouds which were
driven before the wind like flocks of sheep. Macko ordered the train to
move by daybreak. The pitch-burner, who was hired as guide to Buda,
affirmed that the horses could pass everywhere, but as to the wagons,
provisions and baggage, it would be necessary in some places to take them
apart and carry them piecemeal, and that could not be done without
tedious work. But people accustomed to hard labor preferred hardship to
lounging in the deserted inn. Therefore they moved on willingly. Even the
timid Wit was not scared by the words and presence of the pitch-burner.
They left the inn and entered at once between high-trunked forest trees,
free from undergrowth. They led their horses, and could pass along
without taking the wagons to pieces. Occasionally a storm arose, and at
times it increased to such extraordinary force that it struck the
branches of the bending pines as with gigantic wings, bending, twisting
and shaking and breaking them as it were with the fans of a windmill. The
forest bent under the unchained elements. Even in the intervals between
the gusts it did not cease to howl and thunder, as if angry with their
rest at the inn, and the forced march they had undertaken. Now and then
the clouds entirely obscured the daylight. Drenching rain mingled with
hail came down in torrents, and it became as dark as nightfall. Wit was
short of breath, and shouted that "evil was bent to do harm and is doing
it." But nobody paid attention to it, even the timid Anulka did not take
his words to heart because the Bohemian was so near that her stirrup
touched his, and he looked ahead with such a brave air that he seemed to
want to challenge the very devil.
Behind the tall pine trees where the undergrowth began, the thickets were
impassable. There they were obliged to take the wagons in sections; they
did it dexterously and quickly. The strong servants transported the
wheels, axle-tree, front of the wagon, packages and stores, upon their
shoulders. The bad road continued about three furlongs. However they
arrived at Buda about nightfall; there the pitch-burner received them as
his guests, and they were assured by him that along the Devil's Hollow,
correctly speaking, they could reach the town. These people, inhabitants
of the pathless forest seldom saw bread or flour, yet they were not
starving. Because all kinds of smoked meat, especially eels, which
abounded in all swamps and mud holes, they had in plenty. They treated
them liberally, in exchange, holding out greedy hands for the biscuits.
There were among them women and children, all blackened from the smoke.
There was also a peasant, more than one hundred years old, who remembered
the massacre of Lenczyca, which happened in 1331, and the complete
destruction of the town by the "Knights of the Cross." Although Macko,
the Bohemian, and the two girls, had already heard the narrative from the
prior of Sieradz, nevertheless they listened with much interest to the
tale of the old man who was sitting at the fireside scraping in the
cinders. It seemed as if he discovered among them the events of his
earlier days. At Lenczyca, as well as at Sieradz, they spared not even
the churches and clergy, and the knives of the conquerors were covered
with the blood of old men, women and children. Always the Knights of the
Cross, the everlasting Knights of the Cross! The thoughts of Macko and
Jagienka were constantly directed toward Zbyszko, who was living in the
very jaws of the wolves, in the midst of a hardened clan who knew neither
pity nor the laws of hospitality. Sieciechowa was faint at heart, because
she feared that their hunt after the abbot might lead them among those
terrible Knights of the Cross.
But the old man, to counteract the unfavorable impression which the
stories made upon the women, told them of the battle near Plowce, which
put an end to the incursions of the Knights of the Cross, and in which he
took part as a soldier in the infantry raised by the peasants, and armed
with an iron flail. In that battle perished almost the whole clan of the
Gradys; Macko knew all the particulars of it, nevertheless he listened
now as though it were a recital of a new terrible calamity caused by the
Germans, when like cornfields before the storm they were mowed down by
the sword in the hands of the Polish knighthood and the forces of King
Lokietek....
"Ha! I just recollect," said the old man, "when they invaded this
country, they burned the town and castles. Yes, they even massacred the
infants in the cradles, but their terrible end came. Hey! It was a fine
fight. I can see the battle now with my eyes closed...."
He closed his eyes and was silent, gently moving the ashes until
Jagienka, who could wait no longer, asked:
"How was it?"
"How was it?..." repeated the old man. "I remember the battlefield, it
seems that I am now looking at it; there were bushes, and patches of
stubble to the right. But after the battle nothing was visible but
swords, axes, pikes and fine armor, one upon another, as though the whole
blessed land was covered with them.... I have never seen so many slain in
one heap, and so much human blood shed...."
Macko's heart was strengthened anew by the recollection of these events,
then he said:
"True. Merciful Lord Jesus! They had then encompassed the kingdom like a
conflagration or like a plague. Not only Sieradz and Lenczyca, but they
destroyed many other towns. What now? Are not our people mighty and
indestructible? And although those dog-brothers, the Knights of the
Cross, were severely chastised, yet if you cannot crush them they will
attack you and break your teeth.... Only see, King Kazimierz rebuilt
Sieradz and Lenczyca so that they are better now than ever before, yet
the incursions occur there as of old, and the Knights of the Cross are
laid low and rot there as they were at the battle of Plowce. May God
always grant them such an end!"
When the old peasant heard these words he nodded assent; finally he said:
"Perhaps they don't lie and rot. We of the infantry were ordered by the
king, after the battle was over, to dig ditches; the peasants from the
neighborhood came to assist us in our labor. We worked industriously, so
that the spades groaned. Then we laid the Germans in trenches and covered
them well, to avoid pestilence. But they did not remain there."
"What happened? Why did they not remain there?"
"I did not see it, but the people said afterward that after the battle
there came a fierce storm which lasted about twelve weeks, but only at
night-time. The sun shone during the daytime, but at night the wind was
so fierce that it almost tore the hair from off the head. The devils,
like thick clouds, came down in great numbers, whirling like a hurricane;
every one of them held a pitchfork, and as soon as one of them reached
the earth he thrust the pitchfork into the ground and carried off one
Knight of the Cross to hell. At Plowce they heard a hurly-burly of human
voices which sounded like the howling of whole packs of dogs, but they
did not know what it all meant, whether it were the noise of the Germans,
who were howling with terror and pain, or the devils with joy. That
continued as long as the trenches were not consecrated by the priest, and
the ground was not frozen, so that there was no need even for
pitchforks."
Silence followed for a moment, then the old man added:
"But God grant, Sir Knight, such an end to them as you said, and although
I shall not live to see it, but such young lasses as these two will live,
but they shall not see what mine eyes have seen."
Then he turned his head, now looking at Jagienka, now at Sieciechowa,
wondering at their marvelous faces and shaking his head.
"Like poppies in corn," he said. "Such beautiful faces I have never
seen."
Thus they chattered during a part of the night. Then they went to sleep
in the shanties and lay down upon mosses as soft as down and covered
themselves with warm fur; then after a refreshing sleep, they arose early
in the morning and continued their journey. The road along the hollow was
not an easy passage, but it was not a very bad road. So that before
sunset they descried the castle of Lenczyca. The city had arisen from its
ashes, it was rebuilt; part of it was built of brick and part of stone,
its walls were high, the towers armed. The churches were even larger than
those of Sieradz. There they had no difficulty in getting information
from the Dominican friars concerning the abbot. He was there, he said
that he felt better, and he hoped to recover his health entirely; and
only a few days ago he left for his onward journey. Macko was not bent on
overtaking him on the road, so he had already procured conveyance for
both girls to Plock, where the abbot himself would have taken them. But
Macko was much concerned about Zbyszko, and other news distressed him.
The rivers had arisen after the departure of the abbot, and it was
impossible to continue the journey. Seeing that the knight was
accompanied by a considerable retinue and was proceeding to the court of
Prince Ziemowit, the Dominicans offered him their hospitality; they had
even provided him with an olive-wood tablet upon which there was
inscribed a Latin prayer to the angel Raphael, the patron of travelers.
Their compulsory sojourn at Lenczyca lasted a fortnight, during which
time a servant of the castle discovered that the two young pages
accompanying the knight were females in disguise, and at once fell deeply
in love with Jagienka. The Bohemian was about to challenge him at once,
but as it happened on the eve of their departure Macko dissuaded him from
taking such a step.
When they moved on toward Plock, the wind had already somewhat dried the
road, and although it rained often, yet the rainfall, as is usual in the
spring, consisted of larger drops, but warm, and of short duration. The
furrows upon the fields glistened with water. The moist, sweet smell from
the cultivated fields was wafted by the strong wind. The marshes were
covered with buttercups and the violets blossomed in the woods, and the
grasshoppers joyfully chirped among the branches. The hearts of the
travelers were also filled with new hope and longing, especially as they