“God Almighty decided between you two and guided your hand, for which His name be blessed. Amen!”
Then turning to the knight de Lorche and others, he added:
“You, foreign knight and all present I take as witnesses to what I testify myself, that they met according to law and custom, and as the ‘Judgment of God’ is everywhere performed, this also was conducted in a knightly and devout manner.”
The local warriors cried out affirmatively in chorus; when again the prince’s words were translated to de Lorche, he arose and announced that he not only testified that all was conducted in knightly and devout style, but should anybody in Malborg or any other princely court dare to question it, he, de Lorche, would challenge him instantly to fight either on foot or horseback, even if he should not merely be a common knight, but a giant or wizard, exceeding even Merlin’s magical power.
Meanwhile, the princess Anna Danuta, at the moment when Zbyszko embraced her knees, said as she bent down to him:
“Why do you not feel happy? Be happy and thank God, because if He in His mercy has granted you this suit, then He will not leave you in the future, and will lead you to happiness.”
But Zbyszko replied:
“How can I be happy, gracious lady? God gave me victory and vengeance over that Teuton, but Danusia was not and still is not here, and I am no nearer to her now than I was before.”
“The most stubborn foes, Danveld, Godfried and Rotgier live no longer,” replied the princess, “and they say that Zygfried is more just than they, although cruel. Praise God’s mercy at least for that. Also de Lorche said that if the Teuton fell he would carry his body away, and go instantly to Malborg and demand Danusia from the grand master himself. They will certainly not dare to disobey the grand master.”
“May God give health to de Lorche,” said Zbyszko, “and I will go with him to Malborg.”
But these words frightened the princess, who felt it was as if Zbyszko said he would go unarmed among the wolves that assembled in the winter in packs in the deep Mazovian forests.
“What for?” she exclaimed. “For sure destruction? On your arrival, neither de Lorche nor those letters, written by Rotgier before the fight, will help you. You will save nobody and only ruin yourself.”
But he arose, crossed his hands and said: “So may God help me, that I shall go to Malborg and even across oceans. So may Christ bless me, that I shall look for her until the last breath of my nostrils, and that I shall not cease until I perish. It is easier for me to fight the Germans, and meet them in arms, than for this orphan to moan under ground. Oh, easier! easier!”
And he said that, as always when he mentioned Danusia, with such rapture, with such pain, that his words broke off as if some one had clutched him by the throat.
The princess recognized that it would be useless to turn him aside, and that if anybody wanted to detain him it must be by chaining him and casting him under ground.
But Zbyszko could not leave at once. Knights of that day were not allowed to heed any obstacles, but he was not permitted to break the knightly custom that required the winner in a duel to spend a whole day on the field of combat, until the following midnight, and this in order to show that he remained master of the field of battle and to show his readiness for another fight, should any of the relatives or friends of the defeated wish to challenge him to such.
This custom was even observed by whole armies, which thus sometimes lost advantages which might accrue from haste after the victory. Zbyszko did not even attempt to evade that inexorable law, and refreshing himself, and afterward putting on his armor, he lingered until midnight in the castle yard, under the clouded wintry sky, awaiting the foe that could not come from anywhere.
At midnight, when the heralds finally announced his victory by sound of trumpet, Mikolaj of Dlugolas invited him to supper and at the same time to a council with the prince.
CHAPTER V.
The prince was the first to take the floor at the consultation and spoke as follows:
“It is bad that we have no writing nor testimony against the counts. Although our suspicions may be justified, and I myself think that they and nobody else captured Jurand’s daughter, still what of it? They will deny it. And if the grand master asks for proofs, what shall I show him? Bah! even Jurand’s letter speaks in their favor.”
Here he turned to Zbyszko:
“You say that they forced this letter from him with threats. It is possible, and undoubtedly it is so, because if justice were on their side, God would not have helped you against Rotgier. But since they extorted one, then they could extort also two. And perhaps they have evidence from Jurand, that they are not guilty of the capture of this unfortunate girl. And if so, they will show it to the master and what will happen then?”
“Why, they admitted themselves, gracious lord, that they recaptured her from bandits and that she is with them now.”
“I know that. But they say now that they were mistaken, and that this is another girl, and the best proof is that Jurand himself disclaimed her.”
“He disclaimed her because they showed him another girl, and that is what exasperated him.”
“Surely it was so, but they can say that these are only our ideas.”
“Their lies,” said Mikolaj of Dlugolas, “are like a pine forest. From the edge a little way is visible, but the deeper one goes the greater is the density, so that a man goes astray and loses his way entirely.”
He then repeated his words in German to de Lorche, who said:
“The grand master himself is better than they are, also his brother, although he has a daring soul, but it guards knightly honor.”
“Yes,” replied Mikolaj. “The master is humane. He cannot restrain the counts, nor the assembly, and it is not his fault that everything in the Order is based upon human wrongs, but he cannot help it. Go, go, Sir de Lorche, and tell him what has happened here. They are more ashamed before strangers than before us, lest they should tell of their outrages and dishonest actions at foreign courts. And should the master ask for proofs, then tell him this: ‘To know the truth is divine, to seek it is human, therefore if you wish proofs, lord, then seek them.’ Order the castles to be summoned and the people to be questioned, allow us to search, because it is foolishness and a lie that this orphan was stolen by bandits of the woods.”
“Folly and lies!” repeated de Lorche.
“Because bandits would not dare to attack the princely court, nor Jurand’s child. And even if they should have captured her, it would be only for ransom, and they alone would inform us that they had her.”
“I shall narrate all that,” said the Lotaringen, “and also find von Bergow. We are from the same country, and although I don’t know him, they say that he is a relative of Duke Geldryi’s. He was at Szczytno and should tell the master what he saw.”
Zbyszko understood a few of his words, and whatever he did not, Mikolaj explained to him; he then embraced de Lorche so tightly that the knight almost groaned.
The prince again said to Zbyszko:
“And are you also absolutely determined to go?”
“Absolutely, gracious lord. What else am I to do? I vowed to seize Szczytno, even if I had to bite the walls with my teeth, but how can I declare war without permission?”
“Whoever began war without permission, would rue it under the executioner’s sword,” said the prince.
“It is certainly the law of laws,” replied Zbyszko. “Bah! I wished then to challenge all who were in Szczytno, but people said that Jurand slaughtered them like cattle, and I did not know who was alive and who dead…. Because, may God and the Holy Cross help me, I will not desert Jurand till the last moment!”
“You speak nobly and worthily,” said Mikolaj of Dlugolas. “And it proves that you were sensible not to go alone to Szczytno, because even a fool would have known that they would keep neither Jurand nor his daughter there, but undoubtedly would carry them away to some other castle. God rewarded your arrival here
with Rotgier.”
“And now!” said the prince, “as we heard from Rotgier, of those four only old Zygfried is alive, and the others God has punished already either by your hand or Jurand’s. As for Zygfried, he is less of a rascal than the others, but perhaps the more ruthless tyrant. It is bad that Jurand and Danusia are in his power, and they must be saved quickly. In order that no accident may happen to you, I will give you a letter to the grand master. Listen and understand me well, that you do not go as a messenger, but as a delegate, and write to the master as follows: Since they had once made an attempt upon our person, in carrying off a descendant of their benefactors, it is most likely now, that they have also carried off Jurand’s daughter, especially having a grudge against Jurand. I ask therefore of the master to order a diligent search, and if he is anxious to have my friendship, to restore her instantly to your hands.”
Zbyszko, hearing this, fell at the prince’s feet, and, embracing them, said:
“But Jurand, gracious lord, Jurand? Will you intercede also in his behalf! If he has mortal wounds, let him at least die in his own home and with his children.”
“There is also mention made of Jurand,” said the prince, kindly. “He is to appoint two judges and I two also to investigate the counts’ and Jurand’s actions, according to the rules of knightly honor. And they again will select a fifth to preside over them, and it will be as they decide.”
With this, the council terminated, after which Zbyszko took leave of the prince, because they were soon to start on their journey. But before their departure, Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who had experience and knew the Teutons well, called Zbyszko aside and inquired:
“And will you take that Bohemian fellow along with you to the Germans?”
“Surely, he will not leave me. But why?”
“Because I feel sorry for him. He is a worthy fellow, but mark what I say: you will return from Malborg safe and sound, unless you meet a better man in combat, but his destruction is sure.”
“But why?”
“Because the dog-brothers accused him of having stabbed de Fourcy to death. They must have informed the master of his death, and they doubtless said that the Bohemian shed his blood. They will not forgive that in Malborg. A trial and vengeance await him because, how can his innocence be proven to the master. Why, he even crushed Danveld’s arm, who is a relative of the grand master. I am sorry for him, I repeat, if he goes it is to his death.”
“He will not go to his death, because I shall leave him in Spychow.”
But it happened otherwise, as reasons arose whereby the Bohemian did not remain in Spychow. Zbyszko and de Lorche started with their suites the following morning. De Lorche, whose marriage to Ulryka von Elner, Father Wyszoniek dissolved, rode away happy and, with his mind entirely occupied with the comeliness of Jagienka of Dlugolas, was silent. Zbyszko, not being able to talk with him about Danusia also, because they could not understand each other very well, conversed with Hlawa, who until now had known nothing about the intended expedition into the Teutonic regions.
“I am going to Malborg,” he said, “but God knows when I shall return…. Perhaps soon, in the spring, in a year, and perhaps not at all, do you understand?”
“I do. Your honor also is surely going to challenge the knights there. And God grant that with every knight there is a shield-bearer!”
“No,” replied Zbyszko. “I am not going for the purpose of challenging them, unless it comes of itself; but you will not go with me at all, but remain at home in Spychow.”
Hearing this, the Bohemian at first fretted and began to complain sorrowfully, and then he begged his young lord not to leave him behind.
“I swore that I would not leave you. I swore upon the cross and my honor. And if your honor should meet with an accident, how could I appear before the lady in Zgorzelice! I swore to her, lord! Therefore have mercy upon me, and not disgrace me before her.”
“And did you not swear to her to obey me?” asked Zbyszko.
“Certainly! In everything, but not that I should leave you. If your honor drives me away, I shall go ahead, so as to be at hand in case of necessity.”
“I do not, nor will I drive you away,” replied Zbyszko; “but it would be a bondage to me if I could not send you anywhere, even the least way, nor separate from you for even one day. You would not stand constantly over me, like a hangman over a good soul! And as to the combat, how will you help me? I do not speak of war, because these people fight in troops, and, in a single combat, you certainly will not fight for me. If Rotgier were stronger than I, his armor would not lie on my wagon, but mine on his. And besides, know that I should have greater difficulties there if with you, and that you might expose me to dangers.”
“How so, your honor?”
Then Zbyszko began to tell him what he had heard from Mikolaj of Dlugolas, that the counts, not being able to account for de Fourcy’s murder, would accuse him and prosecute him revengefully.
“And if they catch you,” he said, finally, “then I certainly cannot leave you with them as in dogs’ jaws, and may lose my head.”
The Bohemian became gloomy when he heard these words, because he felt the truth in them; he nevertheless endeavored to alter the arrangement according to his desire.
“But those who saw me are not alive any more, because some, as they say, were killed by the old lord, while you slew Rotgier.”
“The footmen who followed at a distance saw you, and the old Teuton is alive, and is surely now in Malborg, and if he is not there yet he will arrive, because the master, with God’s permission, will summon him.”
He could not reply to that, they therefore rode on in silence to Spychow. They found there complete readiness for war, because old Tolima expected that either the Teutons would attack the small castle, or that Zbyszko, on his return, would lead them to the succor of the old lord. Guards were on watch everywhere, on the paths through the marshes and in the castle itself. The peasants were armed, and, as war was nothing new to them, they awaited the Germans with eagerness, promising themselves excellent booty.
Father Kaleb received Zbyszko and de Lorche in the castle, and, immediately after supper, showed them the parchment with Jurand’s seal, in which he had written with his own hand the last will of the knight of Spychow.
“He dictated it to me,” he said, “the night he went to Szczytno”. And — he did not expect to return.”
“But why did you say nothing?”
“I said nothing, because he admitted his intentions to me under the seal of confession.”
“May God give him eternal peace, and may the light of glory shine upon him….”
“Do not say prayers for him. He is still alive. I know it from the Teuton Rotgier, with whom I had a combat at the prince’s court. There was God’s judgment between us and I killed him.”
“Then Jurand will undoubtedly not return … unless with God’s help!…”
“I go with this knight to tear him from their hands.”
“Then you know not, it seems, Teutonic hands, but I know them, because, before Jurand took me to Spychow, I was priest for fifteen years in their country. God alone can save Jurand.”
“And He can help us too.”
“Amen!”
He then unfolded the document and began to read. Jurand bequeathed all his estates and his entire possessions to Danusia and her offspring, but, in case of her death without issue, to her husband Zbyszko of Bogdaniec. He finally recommended his will to the prince’s care; so that, in case it contained anything unlawful, the prince’s grace might make it lawful. This clause was added because Father Kaleb knew only the canon law, and Jurand himself, engaged exclusively in war, only knew the knightly. After having read the document to Zbyszko, the priest read it to the officers of the Spychow garrison, who at once recognized the young knight as their lord, and promised obedience.
They also thought that Zbyszko would soon lead them to the assistance of the old lord, and they were glad, because their hearts wer
e fierce and anxious for war, and attached to Jurand. They were seized with grief when they heard that they would remain at home, and that the lord with a small following was going to Malborg, not to fight, but to formulate complaints.
The Bohemian Glowacz, shared their grief, although on the other hand, he was glad on account of such a large increase of Zbyszko’s wealth.
“Hej! who would be delighted,” he said, “if not the old lord of Bogdaniec! And he could govern here! What is Bogdaniec in comparison with such a possession!”
But Zbyszko was suddenly seized with yearning for his uncle, as it frequently happened to him, especially in hard and difficult questions in life; therefore, turning to the warrior, he said on the impulse:
“Why should you sit here in idleness! Go to Bogdaniec, you shall carry a letter for me.”
“If I am not to go with your honor, then I would rather go there!” replied the delighted squire.
“Call Father Kaleb to write in a proper manner all that has happened here, and the letter will be read to my uncle by the priest of Krzesnia, or the abbot, if he is in Zgorzelice.”
But as he said this, he struck his moustache with his hand and added, as if to himself:
“Bah! the abbot!…”
And instantly Jagienka arose before his eyes, blue-eyed, dark-haired, tall and beautiful, with tears on her eyelashes! He became embarrassed and rubbed his forehead for a time, but finally he said:
“You will feel sad, girl, but not worse than I.”
Meanwhile Father Kaleb arrived and immediately began to write. Zbyszko dictated to him at length everything that had happened from the moment he had arrived at the Forest Court. He did not conceal anything, because he knew that old Macko, when he had a clear view of the matter, would be glad in the end. Bogdaniec could not be compared with Spychow, which was a large and rich estate, and Zbyszko knew that Macko cared a great deal for such things.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 528
