I.
In Tyniec, at the inn under the Luty Tur, which belonged to the abbey, a few men sat listening to the tale of a seasoned warrior who, having arrived from distant lands, told them of the adventures he had experienced in war and on the road.
The man was bearded, in his prime, broad-shouldered, almost huge, but gaunt. His hair was held in a net, that is, a cap embroidered with beads; he wore a leather tunic with marks pressed into it from his armor, and over it a belt made entirely of brass buckles. In the belt was a knife in a horn sheath, and at his side a short traveling sword.
Close by him at the table sat a youth with long hair and a cheerful look, evidently his companion or perhaps his squire, for he too was dressed for travel in a similar leather tunic, pressed from armor.
The rest of the company consisted of two landowners from the vicinity of Krakow and three burghers in red folded caps, the thin ends of which hung down to their elbows.
The host, a German in a dun-colored hood with a jagged collar, poured them hearty beer from a pitcher into earthenware mugs and listened curiously to the war stories.
But the burghers listened even more curiously. In those days the hatred that had divided the city from the knightly landed gentry—the nobility—during the reign of King Władysław Łokietek had already subsided considerably, and the burghers held their heads higher than in later centuries. Thus it often happened that in the inns merchants were seen drinking as equals with nobles. They were even welcomed, for they had ready cash and usually paid for the men of coat armor.
So the burghers sat and talked, winking from time to time at the host to fill their mugs.
“So, noble knight, you’ve seen a bit of the world,” said one of the merchants.
“Few of those who are now gathering in Krakow from all sides have seen as much,” replied the visiting knight.
“And quite a few are gathering,” said the burgher, “because these are great festivities and a great blessing for the kingdom! They say that the king had the entire queen’s bedchamber hung with cloth of gold embroidered with pearls, and had a canopy of the same made over it. There will be entertainments and jousts such as the world has never seen.”
“Gossip Gamroth, do not interrupt the knight,” said the second merchant.
“I’m not interrupting, gossip Eyertreter, I only think that he too would be glad to know what they’re saying, for surely he is going to Krakow himself. We won’t get back to town tonight anyway, and the worm that breeds in shavings will not let me sleep, so we have time for everything.”
“And you answer a single word with twenty. You’re getting old, gossip Gamroth.”
“But I can still carry a bolt of wet cloth under one arm.”
“Ho! Such cloth that you can see through it like a sieve.”
But the quarrel was interrupted by the traveling warrior, who said:
“Certainly, I’ll stay in Krakow, because I’ve heard about the jousts and I want to try my strength in the lists. And this nephew of mine too, who though young and beardless, has already seen many a breastplate lying on the ground.”
The guests looked at the youth, who smiled cheerfully and, pushing his long hair behind his ears with both hands, lifted his beer mug to his lips.
The old knight then said:
“Besides, even if we wanted to return, we have nowhere to go.”
“How so?” asked one of the nobles. “Where are you from and what are your names?”
“My name is Macko of Bogdaniec, and this lad here, my brother’s son, is called Zbyszko. Our coat of arms is the Blunt Horseshoe, and our war cry is Grady.”
“Where is your Bogdaniec?”
“Well, better ask, brother, where it was, for it’s no more. Hey! Back during the war between the Grzymalici and the Nałęcze, they burned our Bogdaniec to the ground, took everything there was, and the servants ran off. Only bare land remained, because even the peasants who lived nearby fled deeper into the forest. My brother and I, the father of this lad here, rebuilt it, but the next year the floods took it again. Then my brother died, and when he died, I was left alone with the orphan. So I thought: I can’t stay here! And at the time they were talking about war, about how Jasko z Oleśnicy, whom King Władysław had sent to Vilnius after Mikołaj of Moskorzów, was eagerly seeking knights in Poland.
“So, knowing the worthy Abbot John of Tulcza, I left him the land, and with the money I bought a set of armor, horses, outfitted myself as usual for a military expedition, put the boy, who was twelve years old, on a pony, and off we went to Jasko z Oleśnicy!”
“With a youngster?”
“He wasn’t even a youth then, but he was strong from childhood. Sometimes, at twelve, he’d set a crossbow on the ground, press his belly against it, and crank the winch so that not even any of the Englishmen we saw under Vilnius could draw it better.”
“Was he that strong?”
“He carried my helmet, and when he turned thirteen, he carried the pavise too.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t lack for warfare.”
“Prince Witold was staying with the Teutonic Knights, and every year they made expeditions into Lithuania, against Vilnius. All sorts of people marched with them: Germans, French, Englishmen—the best archers—Czechs, Swiss, and Burgundians. They cut through the forests, built castles along the way, and finally devastated Lithuania terribly with fire and sword, so much so that the entire nation inhabiting that land wanted to abandon it and seek another, even at the end of the world, even among the children of Belial, just to be far from the Germans.”
“We heard here too that all the Lithuanians wanted to leave with their children and wives, but we didn’t believe it.”
“And I saw it with my own eyes. Hey! If it hadn’t been for Mikołaj of Moskorzów, for Jasko z Oleśnicy, and, without boasting, for us as well, there would be no Vilnius.”
“We know. You didn’t give up the castle.”
“We didn’t. So listen carefully to what I tell you, because I am a seasoned man and know war. The old folk used to say: ‘the Lithuanians are fierce’—and it’s true! They fight well, but in the open field they can’t match knights. When the horses of the Germans get stuck in the marshes, or in a thick forest, that’s another matter.”
“The Germans are good knights!” cried the burghers.
“They stand wall-like, man beside man in iron armor, so covered that you can barely see the dog’s eyes through the visor. And they advance in a phalanx. Sometimes the Lithuanians would charge and scatter like sand; but if they didn’t scatter, they would be laid flat and trampled. And not only Germans are among them, for every nation in the world serves the Teutonic Knights. And brave they are! Many a time a knight would lean forward, stretch out his lance, and all alone before battle strike into the whole army like a hawk into a flock.”
“Christ!” cried Gamroth. “Which of them are the best?”
“It depends. For the crossbow, the English are best—they can pierce a breastplate through with an arrow and hit a dove at a hundred paces. The Czechs wield axes fiercely. No one beats a German with a two-handed broadsword. A Swiss likes to smash helmets with an iron flail, but the greatest knights are those who come from the land of France. Such a man will fight on horseback and on foot, and at the same time will speak dreadfully valiant words, which, however, you won’t understand, because their language is like shaking pewter dishes, though they are a pious people. They accused us through the Germans that we defended pagans and Saracens against the cross, and they undertook to prove it in knightly combat. Such a trial is to take place between four and four of our knights, and the meeting is appointed at the court of Wenceslaus, King of the Romans and of Bohemia.”
At this even greater curiosity seized the landowners and merchants, so that they stretched their necks over their mugs toward Macko of Bogdaniec and began to ask:
“And which of ours are they? Tell us quickly!”
“Eh, don’t worry about them. There’s Jan of Włoszczowa, Castellan of Dobrzyń; there’s Mikołaj of Waszmuntów; there’s Jasko of Zdaków; and Jarosz of Czechów—all knights of high renown and stout fellows. Whether they go at it with lances, swords, or axes—it’s not new to them! Human eyes will have something to watch and ears something to hear—because, as I said, you can put your foot on a Frenchman’s throat and he’ll still speak knightly words to you. So help me God and the Holy Cross, those foreigners will talk themselves out, and our men will beat them.”
“There will be glory, if only God blesses it,” said one of the nobles.
“And Saint Stanislaus,” added another.
Then, turning to Macko, he began to question further:
“Come now! Tell us! You praised the Germans and other knights for being brave and for easily breaking the Lithuanians. But with you, wasn’t it harder for them? Did they come at you just as eagerly? How did God favor you? Praise our men!”
But Macko of Bogdaniec was apparently no braggart, for he replied modestly:
“Those who came fresh from distant lands attacked us eagerly, but after trying once or twice, they no longer did so with such heart. For our nation is stubborn, and they often reproached us for that stubbornness: ‘You despise death, but you aid the Saracens, and therefore you will be damned.’ And our resentment grew, for it is not true! Both kingdoms have baptized Lithuania, and everyone there professes the Lord Christ, though not everyone knows how, because the people are still ignorant and therefore bow to idols. Many a one says to himself: ‘The prince ordered me to be baptized, so I was baptized; he ordered me to bow to Christ, so I bow; but why should I begrudge the old pagan devils a crumb of curd cheese, or not throw them a roasted turnip, or not pour them a drop of beer foam? If I don’t do that, my horses will die, or my cows will get sick, or their milk will turn bloody, or there will be hindrance at harvest time.’ And many do so, which brings them under suspicion. But they do it out of ignorance. They need instruction in the holy faith there, not destruction by fire and sword.”
“What wonders, what wonders!” exclaimed one of the nobles.
“I have witnessed no small number of great wonders, and I can say: the people are good, but everything about them is peculiar. They are shaggy, and hardly any prince has his hair dressed; they live on roasted turnips, preferring them to all other food, saying that courage grows from them. In their huts they live together with their livestock and snakes. They hold married women in low regard, but greatly respect maidens and attribute great power to them.”
“And are the women pretty there?” asked gossip Eyertreter.
“Ask Zbyszko about that,” replied Macko of Bogdaniec.
Zbyszko laughed, making the bench beneath him shake.
“There are beautiful ones!” he said. “Wasn’t Rynga beautiful?”
“Who is this Rynga?”
“What? Haven’t you heard of Rynga?” asked Macko.
“We haven’t heard a word.”
“She’s the sister of Prince Witold and the wife of Henryk, Prince of Masovia.”
“Which Prince Henryk? There was one Prince of Masovia who was the Bishop-elect of Płock, but he died.”
“That was the very same. A dispensation was to come for him from Rome, but death gave him a dispensation first, for having broken his vows, he evidently did not please God much with his deed. I was sent with a letter from Jasko z Oleśnicy to Prince Witold when Prince Henryk, the Bishop-elect of Płock, arrived from the king at Ritterswerder. The war had already wearied Witold precisely because he could not take Vilnius, and our king had grown tired of his own brothers and their debauchery. So seeing greater energy and sense in Witold than in his own brothers, the king sent to him to abandon the Teutonic Knights and incline to obedience, for which the rule of Lithuania was to be given to him. And Witold, always eager for change, listened to the mission gladly. There were feasts and jousts. Prince Henryk, the Bishop-elect of Płock, though other bishops do not approve of it, showed his strength in the lists. And all the princes of Masovia are strong from birth—as is known, even the women and girls of that family easily break horseshoes. So once Prince Henryk threw three knights from their saddles, another time five—and among ours he threw me, and Zbyszko’s horse sat back on its haunches during the charge. And he took all the prizes from the hands of the beautiful Rynga, before whom he knelt in full armor. And they fell in love with each other, though her brother Witold restrained her. It was a great offense to God, for Prince Henryk had taken vows and then broke his earlier vows. Witold did not want to oppose it, so as not to alienate the king’s envoy.”
“Bah!” Zbyszko suddenly interrupted. “That’s true! But afterwards people said that Princess Rynga, realizing it was not fitting for her to be married to a bishop-elect, poisoned her husband.”
“Come now!” replied Macko. “And beautiful Rynga is a widow, so she might summon you to her service.”
“She would summon me in vain, for I have chosen another lady for myself, whom I will serve until death, and then I will find a wife.”
“First find your knightly belt.”
“Oh! Won’t there be jousts after the queen’s confinement? And before or after, the king will knight many. I’ll stand up to anyone. The prince wouldn’t have thrown me either if my horse hadn’t sat back.”
“There will be better men than you here.”
At this the landowners from around Krakow began to shout:
“By the dear God! Before the queen there will appear not the likes of you, but knights the most famous in the world. Zawisza z Garbowa will joust, and Farurey, and Dobko Złodziej of Biskupice, and Jasko Naszan, and Abdank of Góra, and Andrzej of Brochocice, and Krystyn of Ostrowa, and Jakub of Kobylany. Where can you measure up to them, men whom no one in this country, nor at the Bohemian court, nor at the Hungarian court can match? What is this, you claim to be better than them?”
After a moment they asked:
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” replied Zbyszko.
“Then anyone can crush you between his fingers.”
“We’ll see.”
But Macko said:
“I heard that the king generously rewards knights returning from the Lithuanian war. Tell me, you who are from here—is that true?”
“By God, it’s true!” replied one of the nobles. “The king’s generosity is known throughout the world, but these days it won’t be easy to get to him, because Krakow is swarming with guests arriving for the christening at the royal court, wishing to pay honor or homage to our lord. The King of Hungary is to come; the Roman Emperor will come, they say; and various princes, and counts and knights in abundance, for everyone expects not to leave with empty hands. So in such a throng it won’t be easy to gain access, but if you can find access and throw yourself at the king’s feet, he will generously provide for a deserving man.”
“Then I will do so, for I have served well, and if there is war, I’ll go again. I took some booty there, and something from Prince Witold as a reward, so I have no hardship, but in old age, when strength leaves the bones, a man would like a quiet corner.”
“The king gladly saw those who returned from Lithuania under Jasko z Oleśnicy—and now they all eat richly.”
“You see! And I still hadn’t returned then—I kept fighting. For you should know that the reconciliation between the king and Prince Witold was taken out on the Germans. The prince cunningly gathered hostages, and then—ha!—at the Germans! He destroyed their castles, burned them, killed knights, laid low many people. The Germans wanted revenge, together with Świdrygiełło, who had fled to them. Another great expedition took place. Master Konrad himself marched against them with many men. They besieged Vilnius, tried to destroy the castles from terrible towers, tried to take them by treachery—but they achieved nothing! And on the return march so many fell that not even half came out. We went out into the field even against Ulrich von Jungingen, the master’s brother, who is the Vogt of Sambia. But the Vogt was afraid of the prince and fled in tears, and that flight brought peace, and the city is being rebuilt. One pious monk foretold that from that time, as long as the world stands, Vilnius will never see an armed Teutonic Knight beneath its walls. And if that be so, whose hands made it?”
Having said this, Macko of Bogdaniec stretched out his hands before him—broad and exceedingly powerful—and the others began to nod their heads and assent:
“Yes, yes, that’s true! So!”
But further conversation was interrupted by a noise coming through the windows, from which the parchment panes had been removed, for the night had fallen warm and calm. In the distance were heard clanking, human voices, horses snorting, and songs. The company was surprised, for the hour was late and the moon had risen high in the sky. The German host ran out to the inn yard, but before the guests could drain their last mugs, he returned, shouting:
“Some court is arriving!”
A moment later a servant appeared in the doorway, in a blue tunic and a red folded cap on his head. He stopped, looked at the people present, and, seeing the host, said:
“Clear the tables and light the lamps; Duchess Anna Danuta will stop here to rest.”
With that he turned around. A stir arose in the inn; the host began to call the servants, and the guests looked at each other in astonishment.
“Duchess Anna Danuta,” said one of the burghers, “she is the daughter of Kestutis, the wife of Janusz of Masovia. She has already been in Krakow for two weeks, but she went to Zator to visit Prince Wacław, and now she is certainly returning.”
“Gossip Gamroth,” said the second burgher, “let’s go to the hay in the barn; this company is too lofty for us.”
“That they are traveling by night doesn’t surprise me,” said Macko, “because it’s hot during the day, but why, with the monastery right at hand, do they stop at an inn?”
Then he turned to Zbyszko:
“The own sister of beautiful Rynga—do you understand?”
And Zbyszko replied:
“And there must be plenty of Masovian maidens with her. Hey!”