VII

VII.

Macko and Zbyszko held each other in their arms for a long time, for they had always loved one another, and in recent years their shared adventures and misfortunes had made that love even stronger. From the first glance at his nephew, the old knight guessed that Danusia was no longer in this world, so he asked nothing. He merely clasped the young man to his breast, trying through the force of that embrace to show him that he had not become a complete orphan, that there was still a close, living soul ready to share his sorrow.

Only when grief and pain had flowed away considerably in tears did Macko ask, after a long silence:

"Did they take her from you again, or did she die in your arms?"

"She died in my arms, just outside Spychów," replied the young man.

And he began to tell how it had all happened, interrupting his account with weeping and sighs. Macko listened attentively, sighed as well, and at last began to question him again:

"Is Jurand still alive?"

"I left Jurand alive, but he has not long for this world, and I surely shall not see him again."

"Then perhaps it would have been better not to leave."

"How could I leave you here?"

"A few weeks sooner or later—it makes no difference!"

But Zbyszko looked at him keenly and said:

"You must have been ailing here all the same? You look like Piotrowin."

"For though the sun warms the world above, it is always cold in a dungeon, and the damp there is terrible, for the reason that there is water all around the castle. I thought I should turn to mold altogether. There is nothing to breathe, either, and from all of it my wound opened again—the one, you know... the one in Bogdaniec where the splinter came out after the beaver's fat was applied."

"I remember," said Zbyszko, "for we went after that beaver with Jagienka. And so those sons of bitches kept you in a dungeon?"

Macko shook his head and answered:

"To tell you honestly, they were not glad to see me, and things had already gone badly with me. There is great fury here against Witold and the Samogitians, but even greater against those among us who help them. I argued in vain why we had gone among the Samogitians. They would have cut off my head, and if they did not do so, it was only because they grudged the ransom, for as you know, money is dearer to them even than revenge. And secondly, they wanted to have proof in hand that the King of Poland sends aid to the pagans. For that the Samogitians, poor wretches, are begging for baptism, if only not from their hands, we know—we who were there—but the Krzyżacy pretend not to know, and they complain of them to every court, and along with them, of our king as well."

Here Macko lost his breath, so that he had to fall silent for a moment, and only after he had caught it again did he continue:

"And I might have perished in that dungeon. Arnold von Baden did intercede for me, it is true, though he too was after the ransom. But he has no authority among them at all, and they call him a bear. By good fortune, de Lorche learned of it from Arnold and raised a terrible hue and cry at once. I do not know whether he told you of it, for he likes to hide his good deeds... They hold him in some esteem here, for one de Lorche once held high office in the Order, and this one is of distinguished lineage and wealthy. So he told them that he himself was our captive, and that if they took my life here, or if I perished of hunger and damp, you would cut off his head. He threatened the Chapter that you would spread it about among the western courts how the Krzyżacy deal with belted knights. So they took fright and moved me to the infirmary, where both the air and the food are better."

"I will not take a single grzywna from de Lorche, so help me God."

"It is pleasant to take from a friend, but it is only right to let a friend off," said Macko, "and since, as I hear, an agreement has been reached with the king for the exchange of prisoners, you need not pay for me either."

"Ha! And our knightly word?" asked Zbyszko. "An agreement is an agreement, but Arnold could charge us with dishonor."

Hearing this, Macko grew troubled, thought a while, and said:

"But something might be bargained off."

"We set our own price. Are we worth less now?"

Macko grew even more troubled, but in his eyes there showed wonder and, as it were, an even greater love for Zbyszko.

"Ah! He knows how to guard his honor!... He was born that way," he muttered to himself.

And he began to sigh. Zbyszko thought it was from regret over the grzywny they were to pay von Baden, so he said:

"You know! There is money enough in any case, if only our lot were not so hard."

"God will change it for you!" said the old knight with emotion. "I have not long left in this world."

"Do not say that! You will be well, if only the wind blows over you."

"The wind? The wind bends a young tree but breaks an old one."

"Come now! Your bones are not rotten yet, and you are far from old age. Do not grieve!"

"If you were cheerful, I would laugh too. All the same, I have another cause for sorrow, and truth to tell, not only I, but all of us."

"What is it?" asked Zbyszko.

"Do you remember how I scolded you in Skirwoillo's camp for praising the Krzyżacy might?"

"In the field, to be sure, our nation is tough, but up close—it is only now that I have had a good look at these sons of bitches here..."

Here Macko, as if in fear that someone might overhear him, lowered his voice:

"And now I see that you were right, not I. God's hand protect us—what power, what might! Our knights' hands are itching and they want to march against the Niemcy as soon as may be, and they do not know that all nations and all kings support the Krzyżacy, that they have more money, better training, stronger castles, and more worthy war equipment. God's hand protect us!... Both among us and here they say that a great war must come and will come, but when it comes, may God have mercy on our kingdom and our nation!"

Here he clasped his gray head in his hands, rested his elbows on his knees, and fell silent.

Then Zbyszko said:

"There, you see. In single combat more than one of ours is tougher than they are, but as for a great war, you have judged it yourself."

"Oh, I have judged it! And God willing, those royal envoys will judge it too, especially the knight from Maszkowice."

"I saw how he grew gloomy. He is a great war leader, and they say no one in the world understands war as he does."

"If that is true, then perhaps there will be no war."

"If the Krzyżacy see that they are stronger, then there will be. And I will tell you honestly: let the cart or the crossing come at last, for we can no longer live like this..."

And in turn Zbyszko, as if crushed by his own misfortune and the common one, bowed his head, and Macko said:

"It is a pity about this noble kingdom, and I fear God may punish us for too much arrogance. Do you remember how the knights before the cathedral at Wawel, before Mass, back when they were to cut off your head and did not—how they challenged Timur the Lame himself, who is lord of forty kingdoms and who made mountains out of human heads... The Krzyżacy are not enough for them! They would challenge all nations at once—and in that there may be an offense against God."

And at that memory Zbyszko clutched at his fair hair, for a terrible sorrow seized him unawares, and he cried out:

"And who saved me from the executioner then, if not she! O Jesus! My Danuśka!... O Jesus!..."

And he began to tear at his hair, and then to bite his fists, with which he tried to stifle his sobbing, so violently did his heart howl within him from the sudden pain.

"Boy! Keep God in your heart!... Be quiet!" cried Macko. "What will you gain? Restrain yourself, be quiet!..."

But Zbyszko could not calm himself for a long time, and he came to his senses only when Macko, who was in truth still ill, grew so weak that he staggered on his feet and fell onto a bench in complete darkness of mind. Then the young man laid him on the pallet, revived him with wine that the castle komtur had sent, and watched over him until the old knight fell asleep.

The next day they woke late, refreshed and rested.

"Well," said Macko, "it seems my time has not yet come, and I think that if only the field wind blows over me, I will manage to sit a horse."

"The envoys will stay a few more days," answered Zbyszko, "for people keep coming to them with requests for prisoners who were caught plundering in Masovia or Greater Poland. But we can leave whenever you wish and whenever you feel strong enough."

At that moment Hlawa entered.

"Do you know what the envoys are doing?" the old knight asked him.

"They are visiting the High Castle and the church," replied the Czech. "The castle komtur himself is showing them around, and afterward they will go to the great refectory for dinner, to which the master is to invite your lordships as well."

"And what have you been doing since morning?"

"I was watching the German mercenary infantry that the captains were drilling, and comparing them with our Czechs."

"And you remember the Czechs?"

"The knight Zych ze Zgorzelic took me captive when I was a stripling, but I remember well, for from childhood I was curious about such things."

"Well, and what of it?"

"Why, nothing! The Krzyżacy infantry is stout enough and properly drilled, but they are oxen, and our Czechs are wolves. If it ever came to it, your lordships surely know: oxen do not eat wolves, but wolves are terribly fond of beef."

"That is true," said Macko, who evidently knew something of the matter. "Whoever brushes against your people bounces off like a hedgehog."

"In battle one mounted knight is worth ten foot soldiers," said Zbyszko.

"But only infantry can take Marienburg," answered the squire.

And there the talk about infantry ended, for Macko, following the drift of his thoughts, said:

"Listen, Hlawa: today, after I have eaten and feel my strength, we shall ride."

"And where to?" asked the Czech.

"To Masovia, of course. To Spychów," said Zbyszko.

"And shall we stay there?..."

At that Macko looked at Zbyszko with a questioning gaze, for until now there had been no talk between them of what they would do next. The young man perhaps had a decision ready, but he clearly did not want to sadden his uncle with it, so he said evasively:

"First you must get well."

"And then what?"

"Then? You will return to Bogdaniec. I know how you love Bogdaniec."

"And you?"

"I love it too."

"I am not saying you should not go to Jurand," said Macko slowly, "for if he dies, he ought to be buried decently. But mark what I say, for being young, you do not match me in sense. This Spychów is some unhappy land. Whatever good has befallen you—it was elsewhere, and there nothing but heavy sorrows and troubles."

"You speak the truth," said Zbyszko, "but Danusia's poor remains are there..."

"Be quiet!" cried Macko, in fear that the same sudden pain as yesterday would seize Zbyszko.

But on the young man's face there appeared only tenderness and sorrow.

"There will be time to decide," he said after a moment. "In any case, you must rest in Plock."

"Your lordship will not lack care there," put in Hlawa.

"True!" said Zbyszko. "You know that Jagienka is there? She is a lady-in-waiting to Princess Ziemowitowa. Why, but of course you know, for you yourself brought her there. She was in Spychów too. It is even strange to me that you said nothing about her at Skirwoillo's."

"Not only was she in Spychów, but without her Jurand would either still be groping his way with a staff or would have died somewhere by the roadside. I brought her to Plock according to the abbot's bequest, and I did not mention her to you because even if I had, it would have been the same. You, poor fellow, were paying heed to nothing then."

"She loves you greatly," said Zbyszko. "Praise God that no letters were needed, but she received letters from the princess on your behalf, and through the princess from the Krzyżacy envoys."

"May God bless the girl for it, for there is none better in the world!" said Macko.

Their further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Zyndram of Maszkowice and Powala of Taczew, who, having heard of Macko's fainting fit the day before, had come to visit him today.

"Praised be Jesus Christ!" said Zyndram as he crossed the threshold. "How are you today?"

"God repay you! Slowly! Zbyszko says that if only the wind blows over me, I shall be quite well."

"Why should you not be?... You will be! All will be well," put in Powala.

"I have rested properly too!" replied Macko. "Not like your lordships, who, as I hear, rose early."

"First the local people came to us to name prisoners," said Zyndram, "and then we inspected the Krzyżacy estate: the Przedzamcze and both castles."

"A mighty estate and mighty castles!" muttered Macko gloomily.

"Mighty indeed. On the church there are Arabian ornaments, which the Krzyżacy said they had learned from the Saracens in Sicily, and in the castles there are remarkable chambers with pillars standing singly or in clusters. You will see the great refectory yourselves. The fortifications too are terribly strong, such as you will find nowhere else. Neither cannonball nor stone, even the largest, can bite through such walls. By faith, it is a pleasure to look at..."

Zyndram spoke so cheerfully that Macko looked at him in surprise and asked:

"And their wealth, their order, their armies and guests—did you see them?"

"They showed us everything, ostensibly out of hospitality, but in truth so that our hearts would fail us."

"Well, and what of it?"

"Why, God willing, when war comes, we will drive them out, every last one, beyond the mountains and seas—back where they came from."

And Macko, forgetting his illness at that moment, fairly sprang to his feet in astonishment.

"What do you mean, sir?" he said. "They say you have a keen mind... For I felt sick when I looked upon their power... For God's sake! On what do you base that?"

Here he turned to his nephew:

"Zbyszko, have that wine they sent us brought out. Sit down, your lordships, and speak, for no physician could devise a better medicine for my ailment."

Zbyszko, greatly intrigued as well, set out the jug of wine himself, with cups beside it, and then they sat around the table, and the lord of Maszkowice began to speak thus:

"Fortifications are nothing, for what human hands raise, human hands can destroy. Do you know what holds bricks together?—lime! And do you know what holds men together?—love!"

"God's wounds! Honey flows from your mouth, sir," exclaimed Macko.

And Zyndram rejoiced in his heart at that praise and continued:

"Among the people here—one has a brother in our chains, another a son, another a kinsman, another a son-in-law, or someone. The border komturs order them to go raiding against us—so many fall, and many our men capture. But since the people here have already learned of the agreement between the king and the master, they came to us from early morning to give the names of prisoners, which our scribe wrote down. First there was a cooper here, a wealthy burgher, a Niemiec with a house in Marienburg, who said at the end: 'If I could serve your king and kingdom in anything, I would give not only my property but my head.' I sent him away, thinking him a Judas. But then came a secular priest from near Oliva, asking for his brother, and he said: 'Is it true, sir, that you will march to war against our Prussian lords? For know that here the whole nation, when it says, "Thy kingdom come," thinks of your king.' Then there were two noblemen's sons who sit on fief lands near Sztum; there were merchants from Gdansk, there were craftsmen, there was one who casts bells in Kwidzyn, there was a crowd of various people—and all said the same thing."

Here the lord of Maszkowice broke off, rose, checked whether anyone was eavesdropping behind the door, and having returned, finished in a somewhat lowered voice:

"I questioned them long about everything. In all Prussia they hate the Krzyżacy—clergy and nobility and burghers and peasants. And not only does the nation that speaks our tongue or Prussian hate them, but even the Niemcy. Whoever must serve, serves—but the plague is dearer to everyone than a Krzyżak. That is what it is..."

"Bah, but what does that have to do with Krzyżacy might?" said Macko uneasily.

And Zyndram stroked his mighty forehead with his palm, thought a moment as if seeking a comparison, and at last smiled and asked:

"Have you ever fought in the lists?"

"Surely, and more than once," replied Macko.

"Then what do you think? Will a knight not be knocked from his horse at the first clash, even the strongest one, if his saddle girth and stirrup straps have been cut through?"

"Indeed he will!"

"Well, then you see: the Order is such a knight."

"By God!" exclaimed Zbyszko. "You could not read anything better in a book."

And Macko was moved and said in a somewhat trembling voice:

"God repay you. For your head, sir, an armorer must surely make a helmet to measure, for a ready-made one is nowhere to be found."

This text is in the public domain. License details on the author's page: Henryk Sienkiewicz.