With Fire and Sword

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “He confides as much or more in cunning,” said Zagloba.

  “He is a madman and ignorant besides,” continued Podbipienta. “Thinking Pan Weyher a German,—it is evident he hadn’t heard of the voevodas of Pomorye of that name,—he wrote a letter wishing to persuade the starosta to treason as a foreigner and a mercenary. Then Pan Weyher wrote to him, explaining how everything was and how vainly he had approached him with his attempt. The better to show his importance, the starosta wished to send this letter through some person more important than a trumpeter; and as no officers volunteered, since it was like going to destruction to venture among such wild beasts, and some had scruples about their rank, therefore I undertook it. And now listen, for the most interesting part begins here.”

  “We are listening attentively,” said the two friends.

  “I went then, and found the hetman drunk. He received me angrily. Especially after he had read the letter, he threatened with his baton; and I, commending my soul humbly to God, thought thus to myself: ‘If he touches me, I’ll smash his head with my fist.’ What was to be done, dear brothers,—what?”

  “It was honorable on your part to have those thoughts,” said Zagloba, with emotion.

  “But the colonels pacified him and barred the road to me against him,” said Pan Longin; “and more than all a young man, so bold that he took him by the waist and drew him away, saying, ‘Don’t go, father, you have been drinking.’ I looked to see who was defending me, and wondered at his boldness and intimacy with Hmelnitski, till I saw that he was Bogun.”

  “Bogun!” cried Volodyovski and Zagloba.

  “Yes, I knew him, for I made his acquaintance in Rozlogi. I listened. ‘That is an acquaintance of mine,’ said he to Hmelnitski. And Hmelnitski, since decision with drinking men is sudden, answered, ‘If he is thy acquaintance, son, then give him fifty thalers, and I will give him an answer.’ He gave me the answer; and as to the thalers, not to anger the beast, I told him to put them away for the haiduks, for it was not the custom among officers to take presents. He conducted me politely enough to the door; but I had scarcely come out when Bogun followed me. ‘We met in Rozlogi,’ said he. ‘Yes,’ I answer, ‘but I did not expect, brother, to see you in this camp.’ ‘Not my own will, but misfortune, drove me here,’ said he. In the conversation I told him that it was we who had defeated him beyond Yarmolintsi. ‘I did not know with whom I had to do,’ he answered; ‘I was cut in the hand, and my men were good for nothing, for they thought that Prince Yeremi himself was beating them.’ ‘And we did not know,’ said I; ‘for if Pan Skshetuski had known that you were there, then one of you would not be living now.’”

  “That is very certain; but what did he say then?” asked Volodyovski.

  “He changed greatly, and turned the conversation. He told me how Krívonos had sent him with letters to Hmelnitski at Lvoff in order to get a little rest, and Hmelnitski wouldn’t send him back, for he thought to employ him in other missions, since he was a man of presence. At last he asked, ‘Where is Pan Skshetuski?’ and when I answered, ‘He is in Zamost,’ he said, ‘Zamost? Then we may meet;’ and with that I bade him farewell.”

  “I think now that Hmelnitski sent him immediately afterward to Warsaw,” said Zagloba.

  “True, but wait! I returned then to the fortress, and made a report of my mission to Weyher. It was already late at night. Next day a new storm, more furious than the first. I had no time to see Skshetuski till the third day. I told him that I had seen Bogun and spoken to him. There were many officers present, and with them Rogovski. Hearing this, he said with a taunt: ‘I know it is a question of a woman; but if you are such a knight as report says, now you have Bogun, call him out, and you may be sure that that fighter will not refuse you. We shall have a splendid view from the walls. But there is more talk of you Vishnyevetski men than you deserve.’ Skshetuski looked at Rogovski as if he would cut him off his feet. ‘Is that your advice?’ asked he. ‘Very good! But I don’t know whether you who criticise our value would have the daring to go among the mob and challenge Bogun for me.’ ‘The daring I have, but I am neither groomsman nor brother to you, and I will not go.’ Then others, with laughter against Rogovski, said: ‘Oh, you are small now; but when it was a question of another man’s skin you were big!’ Then Rogovski as an ambitious fellow got his blood up. Next day he went with a challenge, but couldn’t find Bogun. We didn’t believe his story at first, but now after what you have told me I see that it was true. Hmelnitski must have sent Bogun away really, and you killed him.”

  “That was it,” said Volodyovski.

  “Tell us now,” said Zagloba, “where to find Skshetuski, for we must find him so as to go for the princess immediately.”

  “You will find him easily beyond Zamost, for he is heard of there. He and Rogovski, tossing from one to the other the forces of Kalina, the Cossack colonel, destroyed them. Later Skshetuski alone broke up Tartar parties, twice defeated Burlai, and dispersed a number of bands.”

  “Does Hmelnitski permit that?”

  “Hmelnitski disavows them, and says that they plunder in spite of his orders; if he didn’t do this, no one would believe in his loyalty and obedience to the king.”

  “The beer is very bad in this Konskovoli,” remarked Zagloba.

  “Beyond Lublin you will pass through a ravaged country,” continued the Lithuanian; “for the advanced parties reached that place, and the Tartars took captives everywhere, and God only knows how many they seized around Zamost and Grubeshovo. Skshetuski has already sent several thousand rescued prisoners to the fortress. He is working with all his might, regardless of health.”

  Here Pan Longin sighed, bowed his head in thought, and after a while continued: “And I thought: ‘God in his supreme mercy will undoubtedly comfort Skshetuski, and give him that in which he sees his happiness; for great are that man’s services.’ In these times of corruption and covetousness, when every one is thinking of self alone, he has forgotten himself. He might have obtained permission long ago from the prince, and gone to seek the princess; but instead of that, since this paroxysm has come on the country he has not left his duty for a moment, continuing his unceasing labor with torment in his heart.”

  “He has a Roman soul; this cannot be denied,” said Zagloba.

  “We should take example from him.”

  “Especially you, Pan Longin, who have gone to the war, not to serve your country, but to find three heads.”

  “God is looking into my soul,” said Podbipienta, raising his eyes to heaven.

  “God has rewarded Skshetuski with the death of Bogun,” said Zagloba, “and with this, that he has given a moment of peace to the Commonwealth; for now the time has come for him to seek what he lost.”

  “You will go with him?” asked the Lithuanian.

  “And you?”

  “I should be glad to go; but what will happen to the letters I am taking,—one from the starosta of Valets to the king, another to the prince, and a third from Skshetuski to the prince, with a request for leave?”

  “We are taking leave to him.”

  “Yes, but how can I avoid delivering the letters?”

  “You must go to Cracow, it cannot be otherwise; however, I tell you sincerely I should be glad, in this quest after the princess, to have such fists as yours behind my shoulders; but for any other purpose you are useless. There dissimulation will be necessary, and complete disguise in Cossack dress, to appear as peasants; but you are so remarkable with your stature that every one would ask, ‘Who is that tall booby? Where did such a Cossack as that come from?’ Besides, you don’t know their language well. No, no! you go to Cracow, and we will help ourselves somehow.”

  “That is what I think too,” said Volodyovski.

  “Surely it must be so,” answered Podbipienta. “May the merciful God bless and aid you! And do you know where she is hidden?”

 
“Bogun would not tell. We know only what I overheard when Bogun confined me in the stable, but that is enough.”

  “But how will you find her?”

  “My head, my head!” said Zagloba. “I was in more difficult places than this. Now the question is only to find Skshetuski as quickly as possible.”

  “Inquire in Zamost. Pan Weyher must know, for he corresponds with him, and Skshetuski sends him captives. May God bless you!”

  “And you too,” said Zagloba. “When you are in Cracow, at the prince’s, give our respects to Pan Kharlamp.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A Lithuanian of extraordinary beauty, for whom all the maidens and ladies-in-waiting of the princess have lost their heads.”

  Pan Longin trembled. “My good friend, is this joking?”

  “Farewell! Terribly bad beer in this Konskovoli!” concluded Zagloba, muttering at Volodyovski.

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  So Pan Longin went to Cracow, his heart pierced with an arrow, and the cruel Zagloba with Volodyovski to Zamost, where they remained only one day; for the commandant informed them that he had received no news for a long time from Skshetuski, and thought the regiments which had set out under Skshetuski would go to Zbaraj to protect those regions from disorderly bands. This was the more likely since Zbaraj, being the property of the Vishnyevetskis, was specially exposed to the attacks of the mortal enemies of the prince. There lay therefore before Volodyovski and Zagloba a road long and difficult enough; but since they were going after the princess, they were obliged to pass it; therefore it was all one to them whether they should enter on it earlier or later, and they moved without delay, halting only to rest, or disperse robber bands wandering here and there.

  They went through a country so ruined that frequently for whole days they did not meet a living soul. Hamlets lay in ashes, villages were burned and empty, the people either killed or gathered into captivity. They saw only corpses along the road, the skeletons of houses, of Polish and Russian churches, the unburnt remnants of villages and cottages, dogs howling on burnt ruins. Whoever had survived the Tartar-Cossack passage hid in the depth of the forest, and was freezing from cold or dying of hunger, not daring yet to leave the forest, not believing that misfortune could have passed so soon. Volodyovski was obliged to feed the horses of his squadron with the bark of trees or with half-burnt grain taken from the ruins of former granaries. But they advanced quickly, supporting themselves mainly by supplies taken from bands of robbers. It was already the end of November; and inasmuch as the preceding winter had passed, to the greatest wonder of people, without snow, frost, and ice, so that the whole order of Nature seemed reversed by it, by so much did the present one promise to be of more than usual rigor. The ground had stiffened, snow was on the fields, river-banks were bordered each morning with a transparent, glassy shell. The weather was dry; the pale sunbeams warmed the world but feebly in the midday hours. Red twilight of morning and evening flamed in the sky,—an infallible herald of an early and stern winter.

  After war and hunger a third enemy of wretched humanity had to appear,—frost; and still people looked for it with desire because more surely than all negotiations was it a restrainer of war. Volodyovski, as a man of experience and knowing the Ukraine through and through, was full of hope that the expedition for the princess would take place without fail; for the chief obstacle, war, would not soon hinder it.

  “I do not believe in the sincerity of Hmelnitski, that out of love for the king he withdrew to the Ukraine; for he is a cunning fox! He knows that when the Cossacks cannot intrench themselves they are useless; for in the open field, though five times the number, they cannot stand against our squadrons. They will go to winter quarters now, and send their flocks to the snow-fields; the Tartars also need to take home their captives, and if the winter is severe there will be peace till next grass.”

  “Perhaps longer, for still they respect the king. But we do not need so much time. With God’s help we shall celebrate Skshetuski’s wedding at the carnival.”

  “If we don’t miss him this time, for that would be a new vexation.”

  “There are three squadrons with him, therefore it is not like hunting for a kernel of grain in a pile of chaff. Perhaps we shall come up with him yet at Zbaraj, if he is occupied in the neighborhood of robber bands.”

  “We cannot come up with him, but we ought to find some news of him along the road,” answered Volodyovski.

  Still it was difficult to get news. The peasants had seen passing squadrons here and there; they had heard of their battles with robbers, but did not know whose squadrons they were,—they might be Rogovski’s as well as Skshetuski’s; therefore the two friends learned nothing certain. But other news flew to their ears of great disasters to the Cossacks from the Lithuanian armies. It circled around in the form of rumors on the eve of Volodyovski’s departure from Warsaw, but it was doubted then; now it flew through the whole country with great detail as an undoubted truth. The defeats inflicted by Hmelnitski on the armies of the Crown the Lithuanian armies had avenged with defeat. Polksenjits, an old leader and experienced, had yielded his head, and the wild Nebaba; and more powerful than both, Krechovski, who raised himself not to starostaships and voevodaships, nor to dignities and offices, but to the empaling stake in the ranks of insurgents. It seemed as if some marvellous Nemesis had wished to take vengeance on him for the German blood spilled on the Dnieper,—the blood of Flick and Werner, since he fell into the hands of a German regiment of Radzivil, and though shot and severely wounded was immediately empaled on a stake, on which the unfortunate quivered a whole day before he breathed out his gloomy soul. Such was the end of him who by his bravery and military skill might have become a second Stephan Hmeletski, but whom an overweening desire of wealth and dignities pushed upon the road of treason, perjury, and awful murders worthy of Krívonos himself.

  With him, with Polksenjits and Nebaba, nearly twenty thousand Cossacks laid down their heads on the field of battle, or were drowned in the morasses of the Pripet; terror then flew like a whirlwind over the rich Ukraine, for it appeared to all that after the great triumphs—after Jóltiya Vodi, Korsún, Pilavtsi—the hour was coming for such defeats as the former rebellions had experienced at Solonitsa and Kuméiki. Hmelnitski himself, though at the summit of glory, though stronger than ever before, was frightened when he heard of the death of his “friend” Krechovski, and again he began to inquire of wizards about the future. They gave various prophecies,—they foretold great wars, victories, and defeats,—but they could not tell the hetman what would happen to himself.

  The defeat of Krechovski and with it the winter made a prolonged peace more certain. The country began to heal, devastated villages to be populous, and hope entered slowly, gradually, into all weakened and terrified hearts. With that same hope our two friends after a long and difficult journey arrived safely at Zbaraj, and announcing themselves at the castle, went straightway to the commandant, in whom with no small astonishment they beheld Vershul.

  “And where is Skshetuski?” asked Zagloba, after the first greetings.

  “He is not here,” answered Vershul.

  “Then you have command over the garrison?”

  “Yes. Skshetuski had, but he went out and gave me the garrison till his return.”

  “When did he promise to return?”

  “He said nothing, for he didn’t know himself, but he said at parting: ‘If any one comes to me, tell him to wait for me here.’”

  Zagloba and Volodyovski looked at each other.

  “How long since he went away?” asked Volodyovski.

  “Ten days.”

  “Pan Michael,” said Zagloba, “let Pan Vershul give us supper, for men give poor counsel on an empty stomach. At supper we can talk.”

  “I serve you with my heart, for I was just about to sit down myself. Besides, Pan Volodyovski, as senior officer, takes command. I am
with him, not he with me.”

  “Remain in command, Pan Kryshtof,” said Volodyovski, “for you are older in years; besides I shall have to go on without doubt.”

  After a while supper was served. They took their places and ate. When Zagloba had quieted somewhat his first hunger with two plates of broth, he said to Vershul,—

  “Can you imagine where Skshetuski has gone?”