IV.

Master Konrad, however, died only a year later. Jaśko of Zgorzelice, Jagienka's brother, was the first to hear the news in Sieradz — both of his death and of the election of Ulryk von Jungingen — and he was also the first to bring it to Bogdańca, where, as in every noble manor, it shook souls and hearts to the core. "Times are coming such as we have never known before," Old Macko said solemnly. Jagienka immediately gathered all the children before Zbyszko and began taking her leave of him as if he were to set out the very next day.

Macko and Zbyszko knew that war does not flare up as quickly as a fire in a hearth, yet they believed it would come — and began to prepare. They chose horses and armor, drilled their squires in the art of war, along with the servants and village reeves living under German law who were obliged to ride on campaign, and the poorer gentry — the władykowie — who eagerly rallied to the wealthier lords. The same was happening at every other manor. Hammers rang in forges everywhere, old hauberks were scoured, bows and leather straps were greased in tallow sheds, wagons were repaired, and stores of groats and smoked meat were laid in. At the churches on Sundays and feast days, men asked for news and grew sad when word came of peace, for each carried deep in his soul the conviction that once and for all they must finish with that terrible enemy of the whole race — that the kingdom would never flourish in power, peace, and labor until, as Saint Bridget said, the Krzyżacy's teeth were pulled and their right hand cut off.

In Krześnia, men turned especially to Macko and Zbyszko as those who knew the Order and understood war with the Niemcy. They asked them not only for news but also for advice on how best to fight the Niemcy — how they usually battled, in what ways they were superior to Poles and in what ways inferior, and whether after shattering a lance it was easier to break their armor with an ax or with a sword.

And indeed they knew these things well, so the knights listened with great attention, all the more because everyone believed this war would not be easy — that they would have to measure themselves against the finest chivalry of every land, and that it would not be enough to beat the enemy here and there, but they must do the job thoroughly, to the last, or perish utterly. So the władykowie said among themselves: "If it must be, then it must be — their death or ours." And the generation that carried in its soul the foreboding of future greatness did not lose heart; on the contrary, their spirit grew with each passing day. But they approached the task without vain boasting or bragging, rather with a stubborn focus and a gravity prepared for death.

"Death is written for us or for them."

But meanwhile time passed and dragged on, and there was no war. There was talk of disagreements between King Władysław and the Order — and again about the Dobrzyń Land, though it had been ransomed years before — and about border disputes, about some Drezdenko, which many heard of for the first time in their lives, and over which both sides supposedly quarreled. But still no war. Some even began to doubt whether it would come at all, for there had always been disputes, yet they usually ended in assemblies, negotiations, and the sending of embassies. Now word spread that some Krzyżacy envoys had come to Kraków, and Polish envoys had gone to Malbork. People began to speak of mediation by the kings of Bohemia and Hungary, and even by the Pope himself. Far from Kraków, no one knew anything for certain, so various — often strange and improbable — rumors passed among the people, but there was no war.

Finally even Old Macko himself, who in his lifetime had seen many threats of war and many negotiations, did not know what to think. So he went to Kraków to gather more certain news. He stayed only a short time — by the sixth day he was back, and with a much brighter face. When the curious gentry surrounded him in Krześnia as usual, he answered their many questions with a question of his own:

"Have you sharpened your lance heads and axes?"

"What? Go on! By God's wounds! What news? Whom did you see?" they shouted from all sides.

"Whom did I see? Zyndram of Maszkowice! And what news? That we'll likely have to saddle our horses straightaway."

"By God! How so? Tell us!"

"Have you heard about Drezdenko?"

"Of course we've heard. But it's a little castle like many others, and there's probably no more land there than you have in Bogdańca... That's a poor reason for war, isn't it?"

"True, it's poor; there have been greater causes, and yet nothing came of them."

"And do you know the parable that Zyndram of Maszkowice told me about Drezdenko?"

"Tell us quickly, or our caps will burn off our heads!"

"He said this: 'A blind man walked on the highway and tripped over a stone. He tripped because he was blind, but still the stone was the cause.' Now Drezdenko is such a stone."

"How so? The Order still stands."

"Don't you understand? Then let me put it differently: When a vessel is too full, a single drop will make it overflow."

Such great fervor seized the knights that Macko had to restrain them, for they wanted to mount their horses at once and ride to Sieradz.

"Be ready," he told them, "but wait patiently. They won't forget about us either."

So they remained ready, but they waited long — so long that some began to doubt again. But Macko did not doubt. Just as the arrival of birds signals the coming of spring, so he, as an experienced man, could deduce from various signs that war was approaching — and a great one.

First, hunting was ordered in all the royal forests and wildernesses, on a scale so vast that the oldest men could not recall its like. Thousands of beaters were gathered for drives in which whole herds of aurochs, bison, deer, wild boar, and all manner of smaller game fell. The forests smoked for weeks and months, and in the smoke salted meats were cured, then sent to the province capitals and from there to the depot in Plock. It was obvious that provisions were being laid in for great armies.

Macko knew well what to think of it, for Witold had ordered the same kind of hunting before every major campaign in Lithuania. But there were other signs too. Peasants began fleeing in whole crowds from under the Niemcy's rule into the Kingdom and into Mazovia. In the area around Bogdańca, it was mainly subjects of German knights from Silesia who arrived, but it was known that the same was happening everywhere, especially in Mazovia. Czech, who was managing the estate at Spychów in Mazovia, sent from there a dozen or so Masurians who had taken refuge with him from Prussia. These men asked to be allowed to take part in the war as foot soldiers, for they wanted to avenge their wrongs on the Krzyżacy, whom they hated with all their souls. They also reported that some border villages in Prussia had been almost completely abandoned, as the peasants had moved with their wives and children to the Mazovian duchies. The Krzyżacy hanged captured fugitives, but nothing could stop the wretched people anymore, and many preferred death to life under the terrible Teutonic yoke. Then beggars from Prussia began to swarm throughout the country. They all made their way to Kraków. They came from Gdańsk, from Malbork, from Torun, from as far as Königsberg, from every city and every commandery. Among them were not only beggars but also clerks, organists, various monastic servants, and even clerics and priests. It was suspected that they were carrying news of everything happening in Prussia — the war preparations, the fortifications of castles, the garrisons, the mercenary troops, and the guests. Indeed, it was whispered that the voivodes in the province capitals, and in Kraków the city councilors, shut themselves up with them for hours, listening and recording their information. Some returned stealthily to Prussia, then appeared again in the Kingdom. News came from Kraków that the king and his councilors knew every movement of the Krzyżacy through them.

The opposite was happening in Malbork. A certain cleric who had fled from that region stopped at the estate of the heirs of Koniecpol and told them that Master Ulryk and the other Krzyżacy did not trouble themselves with news from Poland, being certain that with a single blow of arms they would conquer and overthrow the entire kingdom for all eternity, "so that no trace of it would remain." He also repeated the Master's words spoken at a feast in Malbork: "The more of them there are, the cheaper furs will be in Prussia." So they prepared for war in joy and intoxication, confident in their own strength and in the help that all kingdoms, even the most distant, would send them.

But despite all these warlike signs, preparations, and efforts, the war did not come as quickly as people wished. The young heir of Bogdańca was also growing restless at home. Everything had been ready for a long time; his soul yearned for glory and battle, so every day of delay weighed heavily on him — and he often reproached his uncle for it, as if war or peace depended on him.

"But you promised for sure that it would come," he said, "and still nothing!"

To which Macko replied:

"You're clever, but not very! Don't you see what's happening?"

"And what if the king agrees at the last hour? They say he doesn't want war."

"Because he doesn't, but who else but he cried out: 'I would not be king if I allowed Drezdenko to be taken' — and the Niemcy took Drezdenko and still hold it. Ha! The king does not want Christian bloodshed, but the councilors, whose minds are sharp, feeling the greater Polish strength, are pressing the Niemcy to the wall. And I'll say this: if there were no Drezdenko, something else would have been found."

"Because as I've heard, Master Konrad took Drezdenko, and he was surely afraid of the king."

"He was afraid, because he knew Poland's power better than the others, but even he could not curb the Order's greed. In Kraków they told me this: Old von Ost, the lord of Drezdenko, at the time when the Krzyżacy were seizing the New March, bowed to the king as a vassal, because the land had been Polish for ages and he wanted to belong to the kingdom. But the Krzyżacy invited him to Malbork, plied him with wine, and got him to sign a deed of gift. That was when the king's patience finally ran out."

"By God, it could well have run out!" cried Zbyszko.

But Macko said:

"But it's as Zyndram of Maszkowice said: Drezdenko is only the stone over which the blind man tripped."

"And if the Niemcy give back Drezdenko, what then?"

"Then another stone will be found. But a Krzyżak will not give back what he's once swallowed unless you cut open his belly — which may God grant we do soon."

"No!" cried Zbyszko, heartened. "Konrad might have given it back, but Ulryk won't. He's a true knight, without any blemish, but terribly hot-tempered."

Thus they talked among themselves, while events rolled on like stones kicked on a mountain path by a passerby, gathering ever greater speed toward the abyss.

Suddenly a report thundered across the whole country that the Krzyżacy had attacked and seized Santok — an ancient Polish stronghold pawned to the Johannites. The new Master, Ulryk — who, when Polish envoys came to offer congratulations on his election, had purposely ridden out of Malbork, and who from the very start of his rule had ordered that in dealings with the king and Poland, German be used instead of Latin — finally showed what he was. The Kraków councilors, who had quietly been pushing for war, understood that he was pushing for it loudly — not just loudly but blindly and with such insolence as no master had ever shown toward the Polish nation, even when their power was truly greater and the Kingdom smaller than now.

Yet the less hot-headed and more cunning dignitaries of the Order, who knew Witold, sought to win him over with gifts and flattery so excessive that the like could only be found in those times when temples and altars were raised to Roman emperors in their lifetimes. "There are two benefactors of the Order," the Krzyżacy envoys said, bowing before this viceroy of Jagiello, "first God, and second Witold; therefore every wish and every word of Witold is sacred to the Krzyżacy."

And they begged him to arbitrate in the matter of Drezdenko, thinking that if he, as a subject of the king, undertook to judge his own overlord, he would thereby offend him — and their good relations would break off, if not forever, then at least for a long time. But since the councilors knew everything that was happening and being planned in Malbork, the king also chose Witold as arbiter.

And the Order regretted that choice. The Teutonic dignitaries, who thought they knew the Grand Duke, did not know him well enough yet, for Witold not only awarded Drezdenko to the Poles, but also, knowing and foreseeing where the matter must end, he stirred up Samogitia again, and showing the Order an ever more threatening face, began to support it with men, arms, and grain sent from the fertile lands of Poland.

When that happened, everyone throughout all the lands of the vast kingdom understood that the decisive hour had struck. And it struck.

One day in Bogdańca, as Old Macko, Zbyszko, and Jagienka sat before the gate of the castle, enjoying the wonderful weather and warmth, an unknown man appeared suddenly on a lathered horse, threw something like a wreath woven from osier and willow twigs at the knights' feet, shouted "Wici! Wici!" — and galloped on.

They leaped to their feet, deeply stirred. Macko's face grew grim and solemn. Zbyszko jumped to send the squire with the wicker token onward, then returned with fire in his eyes and cried:

"War! At last God has granted it! War!"

"And such a war as we've never seen before!" Macko added seriously.

Then he shouted to the servants, who gathered around the masters in an instant:

"Blow the horns from the watchtower to the four corners of the earth! And some of you ride to the villages for the reeves. Bring the horses from the stables and harness the wagons. Quickly!"

His voice had not yet died away when the servants scattered in all directions to carry out the orders, which were not difficult, for everything had long been ready: men, wagons, horses, weapons, armor, supplies — all that remained was to mount and ride.

But before that, Zbyszko asked Macko:

"Won't you stay at home?"

"Me? What's got into your head?"

"Because by law you could — you're a man advanced in years, and there would be some protection for Jagienka and the children."

"Well, listen: I've waited for this hour until my hair turned white."

And one need only look at his cold, resolute face to know that no persuasion would avail. Besides, despite his seventh decade, the man was still as hale as an oak, his arms moved easily in their joints, and the ax in them fairly hummed. He could no longer leap onto a horse in full armor without stirrups, but many younger knights, especially among the western ones, could not do that either. On the other hand, he possessed vast knightly experience, and there was no more seasoned warrior in the entire district.

Jagienka apparently was not afraid to remain alone, for when she heard her husband's words, she stood up, kissed his hand, and said:

"Don't worry about me, dear Zbyszko. The castle is stout, and you know I'm not too timid, and that neither crossbow nor spear is strange to me. It's no time to think of us when the Kingdom must be saved. God will be our guardian here."

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears that rolled in large drops down her lovely lily-like face. Pointing to the little group of children, she continued in a trembling voice:

"Ah! If it weren't for these little ones, I'd lie at your feet until you took me to this war!"

"Jaguś!" cried Zbyszko, catching her in his arms.

And she threw her arms around his neck and repeated, pressing herself to him with all her might:

"Just come back to me, my golden one, my only one, my dearest!"

"And thank God every day that He gave you such a woman!" added Macko in a gruff voice.

An hour later the banner was lowered from the watchtower as a sign of the lords' absence. Zbyszko and Macko allowed Jagienka, together with the children, to accompany them as far as Sieradz, so after a hearty meal they all set out together with their people and the whole train of wagons.

The day was bright and windless. The forests stood silent and still. The herds in the fields and fallows were also enjoying their midday rest, chewing their fodder slowly and as if in thought. But because the air was dry, clouds of golden dust rose here and there along the roads, and above those clouds sparkled what seemed like immense fires glinting in the sun. Zbyszko pointed them out to his wife and children, saying:

"Do you know what glitters there above the dust? The points of lances and spears. The wici have reached everywhere, and from all sides the people are marching against the Niemcy."

And so it was. Not far beyond the border of Bogdańca they met Jagienka's brother, young Jaśka of Zgorzelice, who, as a fairly wealthy lord, was marching with three lances and led twenty men.

Soon after, at a crossroads, the bushy face of Cztan of Rogów emerged from the dust clouds. He was no friend of the Bogdańca folk, but now he shouted from afar, "At the bastard dogs!" and bowing to them kindly, galloped on in a gray cloud. They also met old Wilk of Brzozowa. His head trembled with age, but he too was marching, to avenge the death of his son, whom the Niemcy had killed in Silesia.

And as they drew nearer to Sieradz, the clouds of dust along the roads grew ever more frequent. When the city towers appeared in the distance, the whole highway teemed with reeves and armed men, all streaming toward the assembly point. Seeing that numerous people — hearty and sturdy, stubborn in battle, and more enduring than any others of hardships, rains, cold, and every toil — Old Macko's heart grew strong, and he foretold certain victory.

This text is in the public domain.