PART TEN.
I.
They lingered a while in Płock to settle the inheritance and the abbot’s will, then, supplied with the proper documents, set off again, resting little along the way, which was easy and safe, since the heat had dried the marshes, narrowed the rivers, and the roads ran through a peaceful country inhabited by a frank and hospitable people. From Sieradz, however, cautious Macko sent a lad ahead to Zgorzelice to announce their coming, and Jagienka’s as well. As a result, Jasko, Jagienka’s brother, rode out to meet them halfway and, at the head of armed farmhands, escorted them home.
There was no shortage of joy, greetings, and shouts at this meeting. Jasko still looked like Jagienka’s double, but he had already outgrown her. The boy was a fine specimen: lively and cheerful, like the late Zych, from whom he’d inherited a constant urge to sing, and quick as a spark. He already felt his age and strength and considered himself a grown man, for he ruled his lads like a proper commander, and they carried out his every order in a flash, clearly in awe of his authority and power.
Macko and Jagienka marveled at this, while he, in turn, was greatly amused by his sister’s beauty and courtly manner, which he hadn’t seen in a long time.
He added that he’d been about to set out to find her, and that they would hardly have found him at home, since he needed to see the world, rub shoulders with people, gain knightly training, and find opportunities here and there to joust with wandering knights.
“Knowing the world and people’s customs is a good thing,” Macko replied, “because it teaches you how to behave in any situation, what to say, and it sharpens your natural wits. But as for jousting, better I tell you that you’re still too young for that, than have some foreign knight tell you so and not miss the chance to laugh at you.”
“He’d weep after that laugh,” Jasko answered, “and if not him, then his wife and children.”
He gazed ahead with terrible arrogance, as if to say to all the wandering knights in the world: “Prepare to die!” But the old knight from Bogdaniec asked:
“Did Cztan and Wilk leave you in peace here? They used to eye Jagienka.”
“Bah! Wilk was killed in Silesia. He wanted to capture a German castle there and did capture it, but a log from the walls crushed him, so he gave up the ghost after two days.”
“That’s a shame. His father also used to raid the Niemcy in Silesia, who oppress our people there, and took spoils from them… Storming castles is the worst, because there neither armor nor knightly training helps. God grant that Prince Witold won’t have to storm castles, but only crush the Krzyżaks in the field… And Cztan? What news of him?”
Jasko began to laugh.
“Cztan got married! He took the daughter of a yeoman from Wysoki Brzeg, famous for her beauty. Hey! Not only is the girl pretty, but she’s also resourceful, because more than one man would rather step out of Cztan’s way, and she beats him over his shaggy snout and leads him by the nostrils like a bear on a chain.”
Hearing this, the old knight cheered up.
“Look at her! All women are the same! Jagienka, you’ll be like that too! Thank God there was no trouble with those brawlers, because, to tell the truth, I’m surprised they didn’t take out their spite on Bogdaniec.”
“Cztan wanted to, but Wilk, who was smarter, wouldn’t let him. He came to us in Zgorzelice and asked: ‘What happened to Jagienka?’ I said she’d gone to the abbot’s inheritance. And he said: ‘Why didn’t Macko tell me that?’ So I answered: ‘And is Jagienka yours, that they should report to you?’ He thought a bit and said: ‘True, she’s not mine.’ And since he had a sharp mind, he must have figured out right away that he’d win you and us over if he defended Bogdaniec against Cztan. They fought at Ławica near Piaski and wounded each other, then drank themselves senseless, as always happened.”
“May his soul shine, Lord, over Wilk’s!” said Macko.
And he breathed deeply, glad that in Bogdaniec he would find no other damage than that which his long absence might have caused.
And indeed he found none; on the contrary, the livestock in the herds had increased, and from the small herd of mares there were already two-year-old foals, some by battle Frisian stallions, unusually tall and strong. The only loss was that a few prisoners had escaped, but not many, because they could only flee to Silesia, and there the German or Germanized robber knights treated captives worse than the Polish gentry. However, the old, huge house had leaned considerably toward ruin. The daub had cracked, the walls and ceilings had warped, and the larch beams, hewn two hundred or more years ago, had begun to rot. In all the rooms once inhabited by the numerous swarm of the Grady of Bogdaniec, water seeped in during heavy summer rains. The roof had holes and was covered entirely with tufts of green and red moss. The whole structure sagged and looked like a spreading but rotten mushroom.
“If there’d been care, it would still hold, because it only started to go bad recently,” Macko said to old steward Kondrat, who had managed the estate in the masters’ absence.
After a moment he added:
“I’d live here till I die, but Zbyszko deserves a castle.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! A castle?”
“Hey! What of it?”
It was the old man’s favorite idea to build a castle for Zbyszko and his future children. He knew that a noble who doesn’t live in an ordinary manor but behind a moat and palisade is “considered someone,” and it’s easier for him to get an office. Macko didn’t want much for himself, but for Zbyszko and his sons he didn’t want to settle for little, especially now that the estate had grown so much.
“If only he’d marry Jagienka,” he thought, “and with her Moczydoly and the abbot’s inheritance, no one in the region would equal us—God grant it!”
But all that depended on whether Zbyszko would return—a thing uncertain and subject to God’s grace. So Macko told himself that now he must be on the best terms with the Lord, not only avoid offending Him in any way, but win Him over however possible. With this intention, he spared neither wax nor beaver pelts nor game for the church in Krześnia, and one evening, arriving at Zgorzelice, he said to Jagienka:
“Tomorrow I’m going to Krakow, to the tomb of our holy Queen Jadwiga.”
She jumped up from the bench in fright.
“Have you received bad news?”
“No news at all, and there couldn’t be yet. But you remember when I was sick from that wound in my side—when you and Zbyszko went after beavers, you know—I vowed that if God gave me back my health, I’d go to that tomb. Everyone praised the intention then. And indeed! The Lord has plenty of holy servants, but no saint means as much as our lady, whom I don’t want to offend, and also because I care about Zbyszko.”
“True, as I live!” said Jagienka. “But you’ve only just returned from such a terrible journey…”
“So what? I’d rather do everything at once and then sit quietly at home until Zbyszko comes back. Let our queen only intercede for him with Jesus, and even ten Krzyżaks won’t get the better of him in good armor… Then I’ll build the castle with better hope.”
“But your bones are still strong.”
“Sure, I’m still hearty. I’ll tell you something else. Let Jasko, who’s eager for the road, come with me. I’m an experienced man and can keep him in check. And if some adventure happens—because the boy’s hands are itching—you know well enough that fighting is nothing new to me, on foot or horseback, with swords or axes.”
“I know! No one can protect him better than you.”
“But I think there won’t be any fighting, because while the queen was alive, Krakow was full of foreign knights wanting to see her beauty, but now they prefer to go to Malbork, where the Malmsey casks are bigger.”
“Bah! There’s a new queen now.”
Macko grimaced and waved his hand.
“I saw her—and I’ll say no more: you understand.”
After a moment he added:
“We’ll be back in three or four weeks.”
And so it happened. The old knight only made Jasko swear on knightly honor and on the head of Saint George that he wouldn’t insist on any longer journey—and they set out.
They reached Krakow without incident, for the country was peaceful, and the fear of the kingdom’s power and the fierce bravery of its knights protected it from any attacks by Germanized border princes and robber German knights. After fulfilling his vows, they gained access to the royal court through Powala of Taczew and Kniaz Jamont. Macko thought that at court and in the offices they would eagerly question him about the Krzyżaks, as a man who knew them well and had observed them closely. But after a conversation with the chancellor and the sword-bearer of Krakow, he was surprised to learn that they knew not only as much, but more about the Krzyżaks than he did. They knew everything, down to the smallest details, of what was happening both in Malbork itself and in even the most distant castles. They knew the commanderies, the number of soldiers in each, the quantity of cannon, how long it took to muster troops, and the Krzyżaks’ plans in case of war. They even knew every Komtur, whether he was hot-tempered or level-headed, and they recorded everything as carefully as if war might break out tomorrow.
The old knight’s heart rejoiced greatly at this, for he understood that in Krakow they were preparing for that war far more thoughtfully, wisely, and powerfully than in Malbork. “The Lord Jesus gave us equal or greater valor,” Macko told himself, “and certainly more sense and foresight.” And so it was at that time. He soon learned where that information came from: the inhabitants of Prussia themselves provided it—people of all estates, both Poles and Niemcy. The Order had managed to stir up such hatred against itself that everyone in Prussia awaited the coming of Jagiello’s armies like salvation.
Macko then remembered what Zyndram of Maszkowice had said once in Malbork, and began repeating to himself:
“Now there’s a head! A veritable bucket!”
And he pondered every word of his, and once he even borrowed wisdom from him, for when young Jasko started questioning him about the Krzyżaks, he said:
“They’re strong, the bastards, but what do you think? Won’t a knight fall from the saddle, no matter how strong, if his girth and stirrups are cut?”
“He’ll fall, as sure as I stand here!” replied the youth.
“Ha! You see!” Macko thundered. “That’s what I was getting at!”
“Why?”
“Because the Order is that knight!”
After a moment he added:
“You won’t hear that from just any mouth—don’t worry!”
And when the young knight couldn’t quite grasp the point, he began to explain it to him, but forgot to mention that he hadn’t thought up the comparison himself, but that it came word for word from the powerful mind of Zyndram of Maszkowice.