Zbyszko hadn’t carried out his threat and hadn’t left, but after another week his health returned completely and he could no longer lie in bed. Macko said it was time to go to Zgorzelice and thank Jagienka for her care, so one day, after steaming himself in the bathhouse, he decided to go without delay. He ordered fine garments taken from the chest to replace his everyday clothes, then set about dressing his hair. It wasn’t an easy task—not only because of Zbyszko’s thick mane, which fell like a horse’s tail down to his shoulder blades. In daily life, knights wore their hair in mushroom-shaped knots, which had the advantage that helmets pressed less during campaigns. But for special occasions, weddings, or visits to houses with maidens, they arranged it in beautifully curled coils, often rubbed with egg white for shine and hold. That was how Zbyszko wanted his hair done.
Two women summoned from the servants’ quarters, unaccustomed to such work, couldn’t handle it. His hair, dried and unruly after the bath, refused to lie flat and bristled like a poorly thatched cottage roof. Neither the ornate buffalo-horn combs taken from the Frisians nor even the currycomb one of the women fetched from the stable helped. Zbyszko began to grow impatient and angry when suddenly Macko entered the room with Jagienka, who had arrived unexpectedly in the meantime.
“Praised be Jesus Christ!” the girl said.
“Forever and ever!” replied Zbyszko with a beaming face. “Oh, how strange! We were just about to go to Zgorzelice, and here you are.”
His eyes sparkled with joy, for whenever he saw her, his soul brightened as if he were watching the sunrise.
Jagienka caught sight of the flustered women with combs in their hands, the currycomb lying on the bench beside Zbyszko, and his tousled head. She began to laugh.
“Hey, what a mop, what a mop!” she exclaimed, showing her beautiful white teeth from under her coral lips. “You’d be put in a hemp field or a cherry orchard to scare the birds!”
He frowned and said, “We wanted to go to Zgorzelice, but there we couldn’t offend a guest. Here you can mock me as much as you like—though you always do it gladly.”
“Me, gladly?” the girl asked. “Oh, dear God! I came to invite you to supper. I’m not laughing at you, only at those women. If it were me, I’d have managed in no time.”
“You wouldn’t have done any better.”
“And who does Jaśko’s hair?”
“Jasiek is your brother,” Zbyszko replied.
“Exactly!”
But old, experienced Macko decided to help him out. “In proper homes,” he said, “when a knight’s page’s hair grows back after a trimming, his sister dresses it. Later, his wife does it for him. And it’s also custom that if a knight has no sister or wife, noble maidens—even complete strangers—serve him that way.”
“Is that truly the custom?” Jagienka asked, lowering her eyes.
“Not only in manor houses but in castles, even at the king’s court,” Macko answered.
Then he turned to the women. “Since you’re useless, get back to the servants’ quarters!”
“And let them bring me some warm water,” the girl added.
Macko left with the women, ostensibly to make sure the errand wasn’t delayed, and after a moment sent in the warm water. When it was left in the room, the young people were alone.
Jagienka first dipped a naleczka into the water and wet Zbyszko’s hair thoroughly. Once the strands stopped bristling and fell heavy with moisture, she took the comb and sat down on the bench beside the young man to continue her work.
They sat close together, both extraordinarily beautiful and desperately in love, but troubled and silent. Jagienka began arranging his golden hair, and Zbyszko felt the nearness of her raised shoulders and her hands. He trembled from head to foot, holding back with all his willpower so as not to seize her around the waist and press her with all his strength to his chest.
In the silence, their quickened breaths were audible.
“Are you ill?” the girl asked after a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the young knight answered.
“Because you’re breathing so strangely.”
“You’re breathing too...”
Silence fell again. Jagienka’s cheeks bloomed like roses—she felt that Zbyszko hadn’t taken his eyes off her face for an instant. To cover her own embarrassment, she asked again, “Why are you staring?”
“Does it bother you?”
“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking.”
“Jagienka...”
“What?”
Zbyszko drew in a breath, sighed, moved his lips as if about to speak at length, but apparently his courage still failed him, so he only repeated, “Jagienka...”
“What?”
“Because... I’m afraid to say something...”
“Don’t be afraid. I’m just a plain girl, not a dragon.”
“No, you’re not a dragon! But Uncle Macko says he wants to take you!...”
“He does want to, but not for himself.”
She fell silent, as if frightened by her own words.
“By the dear God! My Jaguś... And what do you say, Jaguś?” Zbyszko cried.
But her eyes suddenly filled with tears, her beautiful lips began to tremble, and her voice became so quiet that Zbyszko could barely hear her when she said, “Father and the abbot wanted... And I—well, you know!...”
At these words, joy burst into his heart like a sudden flame. He seized the girl, lifted her like a feather, and shouted in rapture, “Jaguś! Jaguś! My gold! My sun! Hey, hey!”
He shouted so loudly that old Macko, thinking something extraordinary had happened, rushed into the room. When he saw Jagienka in Zbyszko’s arms, he was stunned that everything had gone so unexpectedly fast, and he called out, “In the name of the Father and the Son! Calm down, lad!”
Zbyszko hurried to him and set Jagienka on her feet. They both tried to kneel, but before they could, the old man caught them in his bony arms and pressed them against his chest with all his strength.
“Praised be!” he said. “I knew it would end this way, but still, I’m overjoyed! God bless you! It will be easier to die... A girl like the purest gold... Fit for God and man! Truly! Let what will come, now that I’ve lived to see such comfort... God tested me, but God has also consoled me. We must go to Zgorzelice. Tell Jaśko. Ah, if only old Zych were alive! And the abbot... But I’ll stand for you both—for to tell the truth, I love you both so much it’s almost shameful to say.”
Hard-hearted as he was, he was so moved that something caught in his throat. He kissed Zbyszko once more, then Jagienka on both cheeks, and choked out, half through tears, “Honey, not a girl!” Then he went to the stables to order the horses saddled.
Once outside, he staggered with joy into the sunflowers growing before the house and stared at their dark centers surrounded by yellow petals, like a drunkard.
“Well, well,” he muttered, “there’s a pile of you—but God willing, there will be more of the Grady of Bogdaniec.”
Then, walking toward the stable, he began to mutter and count off: “Bogdaniec, the abbot’s estates, Spychów, Moczydoly... God always knows what He’s doing. And when the time comes for Old Wilk, it would be worth buying Brzozowa too... Fine meadows!”
Meanwhile, Jagienka and Zbyszko also came out before the house, joyful, happy, shining like the sun.
“Uncle!” Zbyszko called from a distance.
Macko turned to them, spread his arms, and began to call out as if in the forest, “Hop! Hop! Come!”
END OF PART TEN.