And so war finally broke out, at first not rich in battles, but in the initial moments unfavorable for the Poles. Before the Polish forces could arrive, the Teutonic Knights captured Bobrowniki, razed Złotoryja to the ground, and again seized the unfortunate Dobrzyń Land, which had been recovered with such difficulty not long ago. But Czech and Hungarian mediation temporarily quelled the war storm. A truce followed, during which Wacław, the Czech king, was to judge the disputes between Poland and the Order.
Nevertheless, troops continued to be gathered and moved toward each other during the winter and spring months. And when the bribed Czech king issued a verdict in favor of the Order, war had to break out anew.
Meanwhile, summer arrived, and with it came the “nations” under Witold. After the crossing at Czerwińsk, both armies and the banners of the Masovian dukes united. On the other side, a hundred thousand Germans clad in iron encamped at Świecie. The king wanted to cross the Drwęca and take the short road to Malbork, but when the crossing proved impossible, he turned back from Korzętnik toward Działdowo, and after crushing the Teutonic castle of Dąbrówno, that is, Gilgenburg, he encamped there.
Both he and the Polish and Lithuanian dignitaries knew that a decisive battle must soon take place, yet no one thought it would come sooner than in a few days. It was assumed that the Master, having blocked the king’s path, would want to rest his troops so that they would stand unwearied and fresh for the mortal struggle. Meanwhile, the royal army stopped for the night in Dąbrówno. The capture of this fortress, though without orders and even against the will of the war council, filled the hearts of the king and Witold with hope, for the castle was powerful, surrounded by a lake, with thick walls and a numerous garrison. Yet the Polish knights took it almost in the blink of an eye, with such unbridled zeal that before the entire camp arrived, only ruins and ashes remained of the town and castle, among which Witold’s wild warriors and the Tatars under Saladyn were cutting down the remnants of the German knechts defending themselves in despair.
The fire, however, did not last long, for it was extinguished by a brief but enormous downpour. The entire night from the fourteenth to the fifteenth of July was strangely changeable and stormy. The gale drove one tempest after another. At times the whole sky seemed ablaze with lightning, and thunder rolled with a terrible roar from east to west. Frequent thunderbolts filled the air with the smell of sulfur, then the roar of rain drowned out all other sounds. And then the wind scattered the clouds, and among their shreds one could see stars and a bright great moon. Only after midnight did it calm down somewhat, so that at least fires could be lit. And at that moment thousands of them blazed in the immense Polish-Lithuanian camp. The warriors dried their soaked garments by them and sang battle songs.
The king also kept vigil, for a war council was sitting in a house located at the very edge of the camps, where he had taken shelter from the storm. Before this council, an account was given of the capture of Gilgenburg. Since the Sieradz banner had taken part in the assault, its leader, Jakób of Koniecpol, was summoned along with others to justify why they had stormed the city without orders and had not ceased the assault, even though the king had sent his deputy and several subordinate servants to restrain them.
For this reason, the voivode, uncertain whether he would face a reprimand or even punishment, took with him a dozen or so of the foremost knights, including old Macko and Zbyszko, as witnesses that the deputy had only reached them when they were already on the castle walls and in the midst of the fiercest battle with the garrison. And as for the fact that he had attacked the castle: “It is difficult,” he said, “to ask about everything when the armies extend for several miles. Being sent ahead, I understood that it was my duty to crush obstacles before the army and strike the enemy wherever I encountered him.”
So having heard these words, the king, Prince Witold, and the lords, who in their hearts were pleased with what had happened, not only did not reproach the voivode and the men of Sieradz for their deed, but even praised their courage, saying that “they had so quickly taken the castle and its valiant garrison.”
Then Macko and Zbyszko could feast their eyes on the greatest heads in the Kingdom, for besides the king and the Masovian dukes, there were present the two commanders of all the troops: Witold, who led the Lithuanians, Samogitians, Ruthenians, Bessarabians, Wallachians, and Tatars — and Zyndram of Maszków, of the coat of arms “the same as the sun,” the sword-bearer of Krakow, the chief director of the Polish forces, surpassing all in knowledge of military affairs.
Besides them, there were in that council great warriors and statesmen: the castellan of Krakow, Krystyn of Ostrów; the voivode of Krakow, Jaśko of Tarnów; the voivode of Poznań, Sędziwój of Ostroróg; the voivode of Sandomierz, Mikołaj of Michałowice; the provost of St. Florian’s, also the vice-chancellor Mikołaj Trąba; the marshal of the Kingdom, Zbigniew of Brzezie; Piotr Szafraniec, the chamberlain of Krakow; and finally Ziemowit, son of Ziemowit, duke of Plock, one among them young but strangely “well-versed in war,” whose opinion the great king himself highly valued.
And in the adjacent spacious room waited, to be on hand and to serve with counsel if asked, the greatest knights, whose fame resounded widely in Poland and abroad. So Macko and Zbyszko saw there Zawisza Czarny, Sulimczyk and his brother Farurej, Skarbek Abdank of Góry, Dobko of Oleśnica (who on one occasion had unseated twelve German knights from their saddles in a tournament at Toruń), the giant Paszko Złodziej of Biskupice, Powała of Taczew (who was a friendly acquaintance to them), Krón of Koziegłowy, Marcin z Wrocimowic (who bore the great banner of the entire Kingdom), Florian Jelitczyk of Korytnica, the terrible in hand-to-hand combat Lis of Targowisko, and Staszek of Charbimowice (who could jump over two tall horses in full armor).
There were also many other renowned “fore-banner” knights from various lands and from Masovia, so called because they took their places in the front rank of battle. But acquaintances, especially Powała, greeted Macko and Zbyszko gladly and immediately began to talk with them about old times and adventures.
“Hey!” said Powała to Zbyszko. “You indeed have heavy accounts with the Teutonic Knights, but I trust that now you will pay them back for all times.”
“I will pay, even with blood, as we all will pay!” replied Zbyszko.
“And do you know that your Kuno Lichtenstein is now the Grand Komtur?” said Paszko Złodziej of Biskupice.
“I know, and my uncle knows as well.”
“May God let me meet him,” interrupted Macko, “for I have a personal matter with him.”
“Bah! We also challenged him,” replied Powała, “but he answered that his office does not allow him to fight. Well, now perhaps he will allow it.”
To this Zawisza, who always spoke with great gravity, said: “He will belong to the one to whom God assigns him.”
But Zbyszko, out of mere curiosity, immediately brought his uncle’s case before Zawisza’s judgment and asked whether the vow had not been satisfied by the fact that Macko had fought with Lichtenstein’s relative, who had offered himself as a substitute, and had killed him. And everyone cried out that it was satisfied. Only the stubborn Macko himself, though pleased with the verdict, said: “Bah, I would be more certain of salvation if I had met Kuno himself.”
And then they began to talk about the capture of Gilgenburg and the future great battle, which they expected soon, for the Master had nothing else to do but block the king’s path.
But while they were racking their brains over how many days might pass before the encounter, a thin and tall knight approached them, dressed in red cloth, with a matching cap on his head, and spreading his arms, said in a soft, almost effeminate voice: “Greetings to you, Sir Zbyszko of Bogdaniec.”
“De Lorche!” cried Zbyszko. “You are here!”
And he seized him in an embrace, for a grateful memory of him remained, and when they had kissed each other like the closest friends, he began to ask joyfully: “You here? On our side?”
“Many Geldrian knights may be on the other side,” replied de Lorche, “but I owe service to my lord, Prince Janusz, from Długolas.”
“So you are the heir after old Mikołaj z Długolasu?”
“Yes. For after the death of Mikołaj z Długolasu and his son, who was killed at Bobrowniki, Długolas fell to the beautiful Jagienka, and for five years now she has been my wife and lady.”
“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Zbyszko. “Tell me, how did that come about?”
But de Lorche, having greeted old Macko, said: “Your former squire, Głowacz, told me that I would find you here, and now he is waiting in my tent and overseeing supper. It is indeed far, at the other end of the camp, but one can ride quickly — so come with me.”
Then, turning to Powała, whom he had met in earlier times in Plock, he added: “And you, noble sir. It will be happiness and honor for me.”
“Good,” replied Powała. “It’s pleasant to chat with acquaintances, and along the way we’ll also look at the camp.”
So they went out to mount and ride. Before that, however, de Lorche’s servant threw cloaks over their shoulders, which he had evidently brought on purpose. He, approaching Zbyszko, kissed his hand and said: “Humble greeting and honor to you, lord. I am your former servant, but in the darkness you cannot recognize me. Do you remember Sanderus?”
“By God!” cried Zbyszko.
And for a moment there revived in him the memories of past sorrows, pains, and former misery, just as a couple of weeks earlier, when after the joining of the royal army with the banners of the Masovian dukes, he had met after a long separation his former squire Hlawa.
So he said: “Sanderus! Hey! I remember both those old times and you! What have you been doing since then and where have you been? Do you no longer carry relics?”
“No, lord. Until last spring in Długolas, but since my late father practiced the warrior’s craft, therefore, when war broke out, the brass on church bells immediately became distasteful to me, and a desire for iron and steel awakened.”
“What do I hear!” exclaimed Zbyszko, who somehow could not imagine Sanderus standing with a sword, a spear, or an axe in battle.
The latter, however, said, offering him the stirrup: “A year ago, by order of the bishop of Plock, I went to the Prussian lands, by which I rendered a considerable service, but I will tell that later. Now mount your horse, Your Grace, for that Czech count whom you call Hlawa is waiting for you with supper in my lord’s tents.”
So Zbyszko mounted his horse and, drawing near to Lord Lorche, rode alongside to talk freely with him, for he was curious about his story.
“I am terribly glad,” he said, “that you are on our side, but it seems strange to me, for you served with the Teutonic Knights.”
“Those who take pay serve,” replied de Lorche, “and I took none. No. I came among the Teutonic Knights only for the purpose of seeking adventures and winning the knight’s belt, which, as you know, I received from the hands of a Polish prince. And having spent many years in these lands, I learned which side was right, and since I had married here and settled, how could I stand against you? I am already local, and look how well I have learned your language. Bah! I have even forgotten my own a little.”
“And your estate in Gelderland? For I have heard that you are related to its ruler and heir to many castles and domains.”
“I ceded my inheritance to my relative Fulkon de Lorche, who paid me for it. Five years ago I was in Gelderland and brought great wealth from there, with which I bought myself lands in Masovia.”
“And how did you marry Jagienka z Długolasu?”
“Ah!” said de Lorche. “Who can fathom a woman? She always mocked me, until, having had enough, I declared to her that I would go to Asia for war out of grief and never return. She unexpectedly burst into tears and said: ‘Then I will become a nun.’ I fell at her feet for those words, and two weeks later the bishop of Plock blessed us in church.”
“And do you have children?” asked Zbyszko.
“After the war, Jagienka intends to go to the tomb of your Queen Jadwiga to beg her for a blessing,” replied de Lorche with a sigh.
“Good. They say it is a sure method, and that in these matters there is no better intercessor than our holy queen. The decisive battle will occur in a few days, and then there will be peace.”
“Yes.”
“But the Teutonic Knights will surely regard you as a traitor.”
“No!” said de Lorche. “You know how I observe knightly honor. Sanderus traveled with commissions from the bishop of Plock to Malbork, so I sent by him a letter to Master Ulrich, in which I renounced his service and set forth the reasons why I stand on your side.”
“Ha! Sanderus!” exclaimed Zbyszko. “He told me that brass on bells became distasteful to him and that a desire for iron awakened in him, which seems strange to me, for he always had a hare’s heart.”
And Lord de Lorche replied: “Sanderus has as much to do with steel or iron as he has with shaving me and my squires.”