However, in the fifth year, when extraordinary order had been established in all the villages, when the banner with the Blunt Horseshoe had been flying over the completed watchtower for several months, and Jagienka had safely given birth to a fourth son, whom they named Jurand — Old Macko once said to Zbyszko:
“Everything prospers, and if the Lord Jesus would grant one more thing happily, I would die content.”
Zbyszko looked at him with a questioning gaze and after a moment asked: “You must be talking about war with the Krzyżacy, for what more could you need?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve said before,” replied Macko, “that as long as Master Konrad lives, there will be no war.”
“Is he to live forever?”
“But neither am I eternal, and that’s why I’m thinking of something else.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, better not to announce it. In the meantime, I’m setting out for Spychow, and perhaps I’ll visit the princes in Płock and Czersk.”
Zbyszko was not greatly surprised by this answer, for during the last few years Old Macko had several times traveled to Spychow, so he merely asked: “Will you be gone long?”
“Longer than usual, for I’ll stop in Płock.”
And so, a week later, Macko set out, taking several wagons and good armor, “in case I have to fight in the lists.” Before leaving, he announced that he might be gone longer than usual, and indeed he was gone longer, for six months no news was heard of him. Zbyszko began to worry and finally sent a messenger to Spychow, but the man met Macko beyond Sieradz and returned with him.
The old knight returned somewhat gloomy, but after questioning Zbyszko thoroughly about everything that had happened during his absence — and satisfied that all was well — he brightened a little and was the first to speak of his expedition.
“You know I was in Malbork,” he said.
“In Malbork?”
“Where else?”
Zbyszko looked at him for a moment with astonished eyes, then suddenly slapped his thigh and said: “Oh, by God! And I had completely forgotten!”
“You were allowed to forget, for you have fulfilled your vows,” replied Macko, “but God forbid that I should shirk my oath and my own honor. It is not our custom to abandon something — and so help me Holy Cross, as long as there is breath in my nostrils, I will not abandon it.”
Here Macko’s face darkened and became as grim and determined as Zbyszko had only seen it in former years, at Witold’s and Skirwoillo’s, when battle with the Krzyżacy was imminent.
“Well, what then?” he asked. “Did he stand against you?”
“He did not stand against me, for he did not appear.”
“And why?”
“He became Grand Komtur.”
“Kuno Lichtenstein became Grand Komtur?”
“Bah! They may even elect him Grand Master. Who knows! But even now he considers himself equal to princes. They say he rules everything, and all the Order’s affairs are on his head, and the Master does nothing without him. Where would such a man stand on beaten ground! You’d only make yourself a laughingstock.”
“They laughed at you?” asked Zbyszko, whose eyes suddenly flashed with anger.
“Duchess Alexandra in Płock laughed. ‘Go,’ she says, ‘and summon the Roman Emperor!’ To him (meaning Lichtenstein), as we know, Zawisza Czarny, Powała, and Paszko of Biskupice also sent challenges, and even such men he gave no answer, because he cannot. It’s not that he lacks heart, but that he is a monk and (she says) his office is so great and honorable that such things are not on his mind — and that he would lose more honor by accepting than by ignoring the challenges. That’s what the lady said.”
“I was dreadfully troubled, but I said that I must go to Malbork anyway, to tell God and men: ‘What was in my power, I did.’ So I asked the lady to devise some errand for me and give me a letter to Malbork, for I knew that otherwise I would not carry my head out of that wolf’s den. And in my soul I thought: he didn’t want to appoint a meeting for Zawisza, or Powała, or Paszko, but if I grab him by the face in front of the Master himself, all the Komturs, and the guests, and tear out his mustache and beard — then surely he will stand.”
“Good for you!” cried Zbyszko enthusiastically.
“What?” said the old knight. “There’s a remedy for everything, as long as you keep your head on your shoulders. But here the Lord Jesus denied me grace, for I did not find him in Malbork. They said he had gone as an envoy to Witold. I didn’t know then what to do: wait or ride after him. I feared we’d miss each other. But since I had an acquaintance from old times with the Master and the Grand Treasurer, I confided in them the reason for my coming, and they cried out that it could not be.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason that the Duchess of Płock explained. And the Master also said: ‘What would you think of me if I stood against every knight from Masovia or Poland?’ Well — and he was right, for he would have been dead long ago. So both he and the Treasurer marveled — and they told it at supper. And I tell you, it was like blowing into a beehive! Especially among the guests, a crowd immediately rose: ‘Kuno,’ they cried, ‘cannot, but we can!’ So I chose three of them, wanting to fight them in turn, but the Master, after much pleading, allowed me only to fight one, whose surname was also Lichtenstein and who was Kuno’s kinsman.”
“And what happened?” cried Zbyszko.
“Well, I brought back his armor plates, but so completely cracked that no one would give a single mark for them.”
“God’s sake, you’ve fulfilled your oath!”
“At first I was glad, for I thought so myself, but then I thought: ‘No — it’s not the same.’ And now I have no peace at all, for what if it’s not the same?”
“You know me too, that in such matters I spare neither myself nor anyone, but if it had happened to me, I would consider it enough. And I tell you this, that even the best expert on knightly honor would surely say no different.”
“You think so?” asked Macko.
“Just think: you swore death to Lichtenstein — and you did kill a Lichtenstein.”
“Perhaps,” said the old knight.
“Come on! Tell me: was he young or old? And how was it? On horseback or on foot?”
“He was about thirty-five years old and had a beard down to his belt, and it was on horseback. God helped me to reach him with my lance, but then it came to swords. And then, I tell you, blood gushed from his mouth so that his whole beard was like one icicle.”
“And you often complained that you were getting old?”
“Because when I mount a horse or stand spread-legged on the ground, I hold myself strong, but I can no longer jump into the saddle in full armor.”
“But Kuno himself wouldn’t have stood against you.”
The old man waved his hand contemptuously, to indicate that with Kuno it would have been much easier — then they went to look at the captured armor plates, which Macko had taken only as a sign of victory, for besides they were too shattered and therefore worthless. Only the thigh-pieces and greaves were untouched and of very fine workmanship.
“Nevertheless, I would rather they had been Kuno’s,” said Macko gloomily.
“The Lord God knows what is better. Kuno, if he becomes Master, will never be caught except perhaps in some great battle.”
“I’ve been listening to what people say,” replied Macko. “Some say that after Konrad it will be Kuno, and others that it will be Konrad’s brother Ulrich.”
“I would prefer it to be Ulrich,” said Zbyszko.
“Me too, and do you know why? Kuno has greater and more cunning intelligence, while Ulrich is more hot-tempered. He is a true knight who keeps his honor, but he trembles for war with us. They also say that as soon as he becomes Master, there will be such a storm as the world has never seen. And Konrad is said to have fainting fits coming often. Once he swooned in front of me. Hey! Perhaps we’ll live to see it!”
“God grant it! And are there any new disagreements with the Kingdom?”
“There are old and new ones. A Krzyżak is always a Krzyżak. Even if he knows he’d better not mess with you, he’ll still go after what’s yours, because he can’t do otherwise.”
“Yet they think the Order is stronger than all kingdoms.”
“Not all, but many, and among them Ulrich. For in truth it’s a terrible power.”
“And do you remember what Zyndram of Maszków said?”
“I remember. And there it gets worse every year. A brother wouldn’t receive a brother the way they received me there when no Krzyżak was looking. Everyone there has had enough of them.”
“Then it won’t be long to wait!”
“Not long, or maybe long,” said Macko.
And after a moment’s reflection he added: “And in the meantime we must toil — and increase our estates, so that we may appear honorably in the field.”