"What are you saying?"
"Hang yourself! Why let them put you on trial? You'll amuse the king!" repeated Jamont.
"Hang yourself!" cried the young yeoman. "They baptized you, but the pagan skin's still on you—you don't even understand that it's a sin for a Christian to do such a thing."
The kniaz shrugged. "It's not like you did it willingly. They'll cut your head off anyway."
It crossed Zbyszko's mind that for such words he ought to challenge the young nobleman to a fight afoot or on horseback, with swords or axes, but he stifled the urge, remembering he had no time left for that. So he bowed his head sadly and let himself be handed over in silence to the commander of the palace archers.
Meanwhile, in the hall, everyone's attention turned elsewhere. Danusia, seeing what was happening, had been so frightened at first that her breath caught in her chest. Her little face went white as linen, her eyes round with terror, and she stared at the king motionless, like a wax figure in a church. But when she finally heard that her Zbyszko was to have his head cut off, when they took him and led him out of the room, then an immense grief seized her; her lips and brows began to tremble; neither fear of the king nor biting her lips helped—and suddenly she burst into such pitiful tears that all faces turned toward her, and the king himself said:
"What is this?"
"Gracious king!" cried Princess Anna. "This is the daughter of Jurand of Spychów, to whom that unfortunate young knight made a vow. He vowed to tear three peacock feathers from helmets for her—and when he saw such a peacock feather on that commander's helmet, he thought God Himself had sent it to him. He did it not out of malice, my lord, but out of foolishness, so be merciful to him and do not punish him, for which we beg you on our knees."
Having said this, she rose and, taking Danusia by the hand, ran with her to the king, who, seeing them, began to back away. But they both knelt before him, and Danusia, wrapping her little arms around the king's legs, began to cry:
"Pardon Zbyszko, king! Pardon Zbyszko!"
And in her emotion, mixed with fear, she buried her bright little head in the folds of the king's gray robe, kissing his knees and trembling like a leaf. Princess Anna Ziemowitowa knelt on the other side and, clasping her hands, looked imploringly at the king, whose face showed great embarrassment. He did indeed retreat with his chair, but he did not push Danusia away by force; he only waved both hands as if shooing flies.
"Leave me be!" he cried. "He is guilty, he has dishonored the whole kingdom! Let them cut off his head!"
But the little hands clenched ever more piteously:
"Pardon Zbyszko, king! Pardon Zbyszko!"
Then the voices of knights rang out:
"Jurand of Spychów, a famous knight, a terror to the Germans."
"And that youth has already done great service at Vilnius," added Powala.
But the king defended himself further, though moved by the sight of Danusia:
"Leave me be! He did not offend me, and I cannot pardon him. Let the envoy of the Zakon pardon him, then I will pardon him too; if not, let them cut off his head."
"Pardon him, Kuno!" said Zawisza Czarny Sulimczyk. "The Grand Master himself will not reproach you for it!"
"Pardon him, lord!" cried both duchesses.
"Pardon him, pardon him," repeated the knights' voices.
Kuno half-closed his eyelids and sat with raised brow, as if savoring the fact that both duchesses and such distinguished knights were appealing to him. Suddenly he changed in the blink of an eye: he lowered his head, crossed his hands on his chest, from proud became humble, and spoke in a low voice:
"Christ, our Savior, forgave the thief on the cross and His enemies..."
"A worthy knight speaks!" said Bishop Wysz.
"Worthy! Worthy!"
"...How then could I not forgive," Kuno continued, "I who am not only a Christian but a monk? Therefore I forgive him with all my soul and heart, as a servant of Christ and a monk!"
"Glory to him!" thundered Powala of Taczew.
"Glory!" repeated the others.
"But," said the Krzyżak, "I am an envoy here among you and bear within me the majesty of the entire Zakon, which is Christ's Zakon. Therefore, whoever wronged me as an envoy, wronged the Zakon, and whoever insulted the Zakon, insulted Christ Himself, and such an injury I cannot forgive before God and men—and if your law forgives it, let all Christian lords know of it."
After these words, a dead silence fell. After a moment, only here and there came the grinding of teeth, heavy breaths of suppressed fury, and Danusia's sobbing.
By evening, all hearts had turned toward Zbyszko. The very knights who that morning would have been ready at a single sign from the king to cut him to pieces with their swords now racked their brains for a way to help him. The duchesses decided to go to the queen to beg her to persuade von Lichtenstein to drop the complaint entirely, or, if necessary, to write to the Grand Master of the Zakon asking him to order Kuno to abandon the accusation. The course seemed sure, for Jadwiga was surrounded by such extraordinary reverence that the Grand Master would draw upon himself the Pope's anger and the censure of all Christian princes if he refused her such a thing. Nor was it likely, for Konrad von Jungingen was a peaceful man and much gentler than his predecessors. Unfortunately, Bishop Wysz of Krakow, who was also the queen's chief physician, strictly forbade mentioning even a single word of the whole matter to her. "She never likes to hear of death sentences," he said, "and even if it were a common thief, she takes it to heart at once, let alone when it concerns the life of a young man who might rightfully expect her mercy. But any agitation could easily bring her to serious illness, and her health means more to the entire kingdom than ten knights' heads." He finally announced that if anyone dared, against his will, to trouble the queen, he would bring the king's terrible anger down upon that person and in addition lay an ecclesiastical curse on them.
Both duchesses were frightened by this announcement and decided to remain silent before the queen, and instead to beg the king until he showed some favor. The entire court and all the knights were now on Zbyszko's side. Powala of Taczew declared that he would speak the plain truth, but he would give testimony favorable to the youth and present the whole affair as boyish impulsiveness. Nonetheless, everyone foresaw, and Castellan Jaśko z Tęczyna openly declared, that if the Krzyżak dug in his heels, the harsh law must take its course.
So the knights' hearts seethed all the more against von Lichtenstein, and more than one thought, or even said openly:
"He is an envoy and cannot be challenged in the lists, but when he returns to Malbork, God forbid he die a natural death."
And these were not empty threats, for knights who wore the belt were not allowed to utter a single word lightly; whoever announced something had to achieve it or die. The formidable Powala proved to be the most adamant, for he had a beloved daughter the age of Danusia in Taczew, and as a result Danusia's tears had completely melted his heart.
Indeed, that very day he visited Zbyszko in the dungeon, told him to be of good cheer, and related the pleadings of both duchesses and Danusia's tears. Zbyszko, learning that the girl had thrown herself at the king's feet for him, was moved to tears by the deed, and not knowing how to express his gratitude and longing, said, wiping his eyelids with the back of his hand:
"Hey! May God bless her, and may He allow me as soon as possible to fight some battle on foot or on horseback for her! I promised her too few Germans—I should have vowed as many as there are years in her age. If only Lord Jesus delivers me from this plight, I won't be stingy with her!..."
And he lifted his eyes full of gratitude upward.
"First, promise something to a church," replied the lord of Taczew, "for if your promise pleases God, you will surely be free soon. And second, listen: your uncle has gone to von Lichtenstein, and I will go afterward. It will be no disgrace for you to apologize for your offense, for you are guilty—and you will be apologizing not to any von Lichtenstein, but to an envoy. Are you ready?"
"Since such a knight as your lordship says it is fitting—I will do it! But if he wants me to apologize the way he demanded on the road from Tyniec, then let them cut off my head. My uncle will stay behind and repay him when his embassy is over..."
"We'll see what he says to Macko," said Powala.
And Macko had indeed been to the German, but he came out as gloomy as night and went straight to the king, to whom the castellan himself had brought him. The king received him graciously, for he had already calmed down completely, and when Macko knelt, he told him to rise at once, asking what he wanted.
"Gracious lord," said Macko. "There was a crime, so there must be punishment, otherwise there would be no law in the world. But there is also my fault, for not only did I not curb the natural hotheadedness of this youth, I praised it. That's how I raised him, and then from childhood war raised him. It's my fault, gracious king, for I often told him: strike first, then see whom you've cut down. That served well in war, but ill at court! But the boy is pure gold, the last of his line—and I feel terrible pity for him..."
"He dishonored me, he dishonored the kingdom," said the king. "Am I to smear him with honey for that?"
And Macko fell silent, for at the mention of Zbyszko, grief suddenly gripped his throat, and only after a long while did he begin to speak, his voice still shaken and broken:
"I didn't know I loved him so much—and now it's shown, now that trouble has come. But I am old, and he is the last of the line. If he goes, we go. Gracious king and lord, have mercy on our line!"
Here Macko knelt again and, stretching out his war-worn hands, spoke with tears:
"We defended Vilnius; God gave us decent spoils—to whom shall I leave them? The Krzyżak wants punishment, lord—let there be punishment, but allow me to give my head instead. What is life to me without Zbyszko! He is young, let him redeem the land. The Krzyżak won't even ask whose head falls, as long as one falls. No dishonor will come to the line from it. It's hard for a man to go to death, but on reflection, better that one man perish than the whole line..."
And so saying, he embraced the king's legs, while the king began to blink his eyes, which was a sign of emotion in him, and finally said:
"It will not happen that I have a belted knight's head cut off innocently! It will not happen, it will not!..."
"And there would be no justice in it," added the castellan. "The law presses the guilty, but it is no dragon that doesn't care whose blood it laps. And you must consider that dishonor would indeed fall on your line, for if your nephew agreed to what you say, then both he and his descendants would be held infamous by all..."
To that Macko said:
"He wouldn't agree. But if it happened without his knowledge, he would avenge me afterwards, just as I will avenge him..."
"Ha!" said Tęczyński. "Get the Krzyżak to drop the complaint."
"I've already been to him."
"And?" asked the king, craning his neck. "What did he say?"
"He told me this: 'You should have begged for forgiveness on the Tyniec road—you didn't want to, so now I don't want to either.'"
"And why didn't you want to?"
"Because he ordered us to dismount and apologize on foot."
The king tucked his hair behind his ears and was about to answer when a courtier entered announcing that the Knight von Lichtenstein requested an audience.
Hearing this, Jagiello glanced at Jaśko z Tęczyna, then at Macko, but he bade them remain, perhaps hoping that on this occasion he might smooth the matter over with his royal authority.
Meanwhile, the Krzyżak entered, bowed to the king, and said:
"Gracious lord! Here is a written complaint about the insult I suffered in your kingdom."
"Complain to him," answered the king, pointing to Jaśko z Tęczyna.
The Krzyżak said, looking straight into the king's face:
"I do not know your laws or your courts; I only know that the envoy of the Zakon can complain only before the king himself."
Jagiello's little eyes flickered with impatience, but he reached out, took the complaint, and gave it to Tęczyński.
He unfolded it and began to read, but as he read, his face grew more and more worried and sad.
"Lord," he said at last, "you press so hard for the life of this youth, as if he were a threat to your entire Zakon. Do you Krzyżacy already fear even children?"