PART TWO.
At the merchant Amylej's, Macko and Zbyszko deliberated over what to do. The old knight expected a speedy death. Since the Franciscan Father Cypek, who understood wounds, also predicted it, he wanted to return to Bogdaniec in order to be buried beside his fathers in the cemetery at Ostrów.
Not all of those "fathers" lay there, however. This had once been a numerous yeoman clan. During wars they rallied with the cry "Grady!" Their coat of arms, since they considered themselves better than other yeomen who were not always entitled to a crest, was the Blunt Horseshoe. In the year 1331, at the Battle of Płowce, German crossbowmen shot down seventy-four warriors from Bogdaniec on a marsh. Only one survived: Wojciech, nicknamed Tur, to whom King Władysław Łokietek, after the rout of the Germans, confirmed by special charter both the crest and the Bogdaniec lands. Their bones had since bleached on the fields of Płowce. But Wojciech returned to his home hearth only to witness the complete ruin of his clan.
For while the men of Bogdaniec were dying under German arrows, robber knights from nearby Silesia attacked their nest, burned the settlement to the ground, slaughtered the people or carried them into captivity in order to sell them in distant German lands. Wojciech remained alone—the heir to vast but empty lands that had previously belonged to the entire yeoman clan. Five years later he married, and later had two sons: Jasko and Macko. He was killed by an aurochs while hunting in the forest.
The sons grew under the care of their mother, Kachna of Spalenica. In two expeditions she avenged the old wrongs upon the Silesian Germans; in the third she fell. But before that she had built, with the hands of captives, a small stronghold in Bogdaniec. Because of this, Jasko and Macko, though from ancient yeoman lands always called yeomen, became men of consequence. Jasko, upon reaching manhood, took in marriage Jagienka of Mocarzewo, with whom he had Zbyszko. Macko remained unmarried, looking after the estate and his nephew whenever war campaigns allowed.
But when during the civil war between the Grzymalici and the Nałęcze the small stronghold in Bogdaniec was burned a second time and the peasants scattered, the solitary Macko tried in vain to raise it anew. After suffering hardships for many years, he finally left the land to a kinsman abbot and himself, with the still-young Zbyszko, set out for Lithuania against the Germans.
He never lost sight of Bogdaniec, however. He had set out for Lithuania precisely in order to enrich himself with spoils, return in time, buy back the land, populate it with captives, rebuild the stronghold, and settle Zbyszko there. Now, after the young man's fortunate rescue, he thought of that and deliberated with him at the merchant Amylej's.
They had enough means to buy back the land. From the spoils, from the ransoms that captured knights paid them, and from Witold's gifts, they had amassed considerable reserves. Particularly profitable had been that fight to the death with two Frisian knights. The very armor they took from them constituted in those days a true fortune. Besides the armor, they had taken wagons, horses, people, garments, money, and all their rich war equipment. The merchant Amylej now bought up many of those spoils, including two lengths of splendid Flemish cloth that the prudent and wealthy Frisians had carried in their wagons. Macko also sold a costly captured suit of armor, thinking that in the face of approaching death it would be of no further use to him. The armorer who bought it resold it the next day to Marcin of Wrocimowic of the Półkoza crest at a considerable profit, for Milanese-made armor was at that time valued above all others in the world.
Zbyszko sorely regretted that armor.
"If God restores your health," he said to his uncle, "where will you find another like it?"
"Where I found this one—on some German," Macko replied. "But I won't escape death. The iron split between my ribs and a splinter remained inside. I felt it and tried to pull it out with my fingers, but I only pushed it deeper. Now there's no remedy."
"If you could drink a pot or two of bear's fat—"
"Well! Father Cybek also says that would be good, because perhaps the sliver might slip out. But where am I to get it here? In Bogdaniec you'd just take an ax and squat under a beehive overnight!"
"Then we must go to Bogdaniec! Only don't die on the way."
Old Macko looked at his nephew with some tenderness.
"I know where you'd rather go—to Prince Janusz's court, or to Jurand of Spychów to raid the Chełmno Germans."
"I won't deny it. I'd gladly travel with the Duchess's court to Warsaw or Ciechanow, just to be with Danushka as long as possible. I can't manage without her now, for she is not only my lady but also my love. I am so glad to see her that when I think of her, a longing takes hold of me. I would follow her to the end of the world. But now my first duty is to you. You did not abandon me, so I will not abandon you. If it's to Bogdaniec, then to Bogdaniec!"
"You're a good lad," said Macko.
"God would punish me if I were otherwise toward you. See, they're already loading the wagons. I had one lined with hay for you. Amylej's wife also gave a fine quilt, but I don't know if you'll be able to lie on it from the heat. We'll travel slowly, together with the Duchess and her court, so you won't lack care. Later they'll turn back to Mazovia, and we'll go home—and God help us!"
"May I live just long enough to raise the stronghold anew," said Macko, "for I know that after my death you won't think much about Bogdaniec..."
"Why wouldn't I think of it?"
"Because your head will be full of fights and love."
"Weren't you full of war? I've already figured out exactly what I must do. First of all, we'll build a stronghold from sturdy oak and have it ditched properly."
"Is that what you're thinking?" asked Macko with interest. "Well, and when the stronghold is up? Speak!"
"When the stronghold is up, I'll go to the prince's court in Warsaw or Ciechanow."
"After my death?"
"If you die soon, then after your death, but I'll give you a proper burial first. If the Lord Jesus grants you health, you'll stay in Bogdaniec. The Duchess promised that I'll receive the knight's belt from the prince there. Otherwise Lichtenstein wouldn't want to fight me."
"Then you'll set out for Malbork?"
"For Malbork, or even to the end of the world, as long as I get Lichtenstein."
"I won't blame you for that. Your death or his!"
"I'll bring you his gauntlets and belt to Bogdaniec, don't worry!"
"Just beware of treachery. They're quick to betray."
"I'll bow to Prince Janusz, asking him to send for a safe-conduct to the Grand Master. There's peace now. I'll travel with the safe-conduct to Malbork, and there's always a crowd of knights there. You know? First Lichtenstein, then I'll look for those who have peacock feathers on their helmets—and challenge them one by one. By God! If the Lord Jesus grants victory, I'll fulfill my vow at the same time."
As he spoke, Zbyszko smiled at his own thoughts. His face looked like a boy announcing what knightly deeds he would accomplish when he grew up.
"Hey!" said Macko, shaking his head. "If you defeated three knights from famous houses, you'd not only fulfill your vow, but what equipment you'd take from them!"
"What's three?" cried Zbyszko. "I told myself in prison that I wouldn't be stingy with Danushka. As many as the fingers on my hands—not three."
Macko shrugged.
"Be surprised or don't believe me," said Zbyszko, "but I'll go from Malbork to Jurand of Spychów. How can I not pay my respects to him when he's Danushka's father? And we'll raid Chełmno Germans together. You yourself said there's no greater werewolf for Germans in all Mazovia."
"And if he doesn't give you Danushka?"
"Why wouldn't he? He seeks his revenge, I seek mine. Could he find anyone better? Besides, if the Duchess allowed the betrothal, he won't oppose it."
"One thing I see," said Macko, "you'll take all the people from Bogdaniec to have your own retinue, as befits a knight, and the land will be left without hands. As long as I live, I won't allow it, but after my death, I see you'll take them."
"God will provide me with a retinue. And besides, Janko of Tulcza is a kinsman, so he won't stint."
Just then the door opened. As if to prove that God was providing Zbyszko with a retinue, two men entered. They were swarthy, stocky, dressed in yellow caftans like those of Jews, red skullcaps, and impossibly wide trousers. They stopped in the doorway and began pressing their fingers to their foreheads, mouths, and chests, meanwhile bowing all the way to the ground.
"What sort of changelings are these?" asked Macko. "Who are you?"
"Your slaves," replied the newcomers in broken Polish.
"How is that? From where? Who sent you here?"
"Lord Zawisza sent us as a gift to the young knight, to be his slaves."
"Oh, by God! Two more fellows!" cried Macko joyfully. "What nation are you?"
"We are Turks."
"Turks?" repeated Zbyszko. "I'll have two Turks in my retinue. Have you ever seen Turks?"
He leaped toward them, turning them around with his hands and examining them like strange creatures from overseas. Macko said:
"I've never seen them, but I've heard that the lord of Garbow has Turks in his service, captured while fighting on the Danube for the Roman Emperor Sigismund. How is it? You're heathen scoundrels?"
"The master had us baptized," said one of the captives.
"And you had no means to ransom yourselves?"
"We're from far away, from the Asian shore, all the way from Brussa."
Zbyszko, who always eagerly listened to any war stories, especially about the deeds of the famous Zawisza of Garbow, began questioning them how they had been taken captive. But there was nothing extraordinary in the captives' tale: Zawisza had attacked several dozen of them three years earlier in a defile, partly killed, partly captured, and later gave many away. Zbyszko and Macko's hearts overflowed with joy at such a notable gift, especially since in those days men were hard to come by and possessing them was true wealth.
Meanwhile, after a while, Zawisza himself arrived, accompanied by Powała and Paszko the Thief of Biskupice. Since they had all worked to save Zbyszko and were glad they had succeeded, each brought him some farewell gift and keepsake. The generous lord of Taczewa gave him a horse caparison, wide and rich, trimmed on the chest with gold fringe; Paszko gave a Hungarian sword worth ten grzywnas. Then came Lis of Targowiska, Farurej, and Krzon of Kozigłów, along with Marcin of Wrocimowic, and finally Zyndram of Maszkowice arrived—all with full hands.
Zbyszko greeted them with a swelling heart, doubly happy—both for the gifts and because the most famous knights in the Kingdom were showing him friendship. They questioned him about his departure and Macko's health, advising, as experienced men even if young, various ointments and antidotes that miraculously healed wounds.
But Macko only commended Zbyszko to them; he himself was preparing for the next world. It was difficult to live with a sliver of iron under the ribs. He also complained that he constantly coughed up blood and could not eat. A quart of shelled nuts, two lengths of sausage, a dish of scrambled eggs—that was his entire daily fare. Father Cybek had bled him several times, thinking that would draw the fever from his heart and restore his appetite—but even that did not help.
Nevertheless, he was so delighted with the gifts for his nephew that he felt healthier at that moment. When the merchant Amylej ordered a small barrel of wine brought into the room to honor such distinguished guests, he sat down with them to drink. They began to talk about Zbyszko's rescue and his betrothal to Danushka. The knights had no doubt that Jurand of Spychów would not want to oppose the Duchess's will, especially since Zbyszko would avenge the memory of her mother and win the promised peacock feathers.
"However, regarding Lichtenstein," said Zawisza, "I don't know if he'll want to face you, since he is a Krzyżak and also one of the district commanders in the Order. What's more, people from his retinue said that if he lives long enough, he could even become Grand Master in time."
"If he refuses a fight, he'll lose honor," said Lis of Targowiska.
"No," replied Zawisza, "because he is not a secular knight, and Krzyżacy are not permitted to engage in single combat."
"But often they do."
"That's because the laws in the Order have become corrupted. They take various vows and are notorious for breaking them constantly, to the scandal of all Christendom. But a Krzyżak—especially a commander—can refuse a fight to the death."
"Well, then you'll have to get him in war."
"They say there'll be no war," said Zbyszko, "because the Krzyżacy are now afraid of our nation."
To this Zyndram of Maszkowice said: "This peace won't last long. There can be no agreement with a wolf, because he must live on someone else's."
"Meanwhile, we may have to grapple with Timur the Lame," said Powała. "Prince Witold suffered a defeat from Edyga—that's certain."
"Certain. And Voivode Spytko didn't return," repeated Paszko the Thief of Biskupice.
"And many Lithuanian princes were left on the field."
"The late Queen predicted it would be so," said the lord of Taczewa.
"Well, then we might have to march against Timur."
The conversation turned to the Lithuanian campaign against the Tatars. There was no longer any doubt that Prince Witold, a leader more impulsive than skilled, had suffered a terrible defeat at the Worskla, where a multitude of Lithuanian and Ruthenian boyars perished, along with a handful of Polish auxiliary knights and even some Krzyżacy. Those gathered at Amylej's lamented especially the fate of young Spytko of Melsztyn, the greatest lord in the kingdom, who had gone on the campaign as a volunteer and after the battle disappeared without a trace. They praised to the skies his truly knightly conduct: having received a protective cap from the enemy commander, he refused to wear it during the battle, preferring a glorious death to a life granted by the grace of a pagan ruler. There was still no certainty whether he had died or been taken captive. In any case, he had enough to ransom himself from captivity, for his wealth was immense, and in addition King Władysław had granted him all of Podolia as a fief.
But the defeat of the Lithuanians could also be dangerous for the entire realm of Jagiello, for no one knew whether the Tatars, emboldened by their victory over Witold, would not fall upon the lands and towns belonging to the Grand Duchy. If so, the Kingdom would also be drawn into the war. Many knights who, like Zawisza, Farurej, Dobko, and even Powała, were accustomed to seeking adventures and battles at foreign courts, deliberately did not leave Krakow, unsure what the near future would bring. If Tamerlane, lord of twenty-seven kingdoms, set the entire Mongol world in motion, the danger could be terrible. There were people who predicted this would happen.
"If need be, we'll measure ourselves against the Lame One himself. It won't go as easily for him with our nation as with all those he has destroyed and conquered. And besides, other Christian princes will come to our aid."
To this Zyndram of Maszkowice, who burned with particular hatred for the Order, replied bitterly:
"The princes—I don't know, but the Krzyżacy are ready to ally with the Tatars and strike us from the other side."
"Then there will be war!" cried Zbyszko. "Against the Krzyżacy!"
But the other knights began to disagree. The Krzyżacy knew no fear of God and cared only for their own advantage, but they would not help pagans against a Christian nation. Besides, Timur was somewhere far away in Asia waging war, and the Tatar commander Edyga had lost so many men in the battle that he himself apparently feared his own victory. Prince Witold was resourceful and had surely fortified the towns well. Moreover, although the Lithuanians had not succeeded this time, defeating Tatars was nothing new for them.
"It is not with Tatars that we must fight to the death, but with the Germans," said Zyndram of Maszkowice. "And if we do not destroy them, destruction will come from them."
Then he turned to Zbyszko:
"And first of all, Mazovia will perish. You'll always find work there—don't worry!"
"Hey! If only my uncle were well, I'd set out there at once."
"God help you!" said Powała, raising his cup. "To your health and Danushka's!"
"And to the destruction of the Germans!" added Zyndram of Maszkowice.
They began to bid him farewell. Meanwhile, a courtier of the Duchess entered with a falcon on his arm. Bowing to the assembled knights, he turned to Zbyszko with a strange smile.
"The Duchess commands me to tell you," he said, "that she will stay overnight yet in Krakow and will set out on the journey tomorrow morning."
"That's fine," said Zbyszko, "but why? Has someone fallen ill?"
"No. The Duchess has a guest from Mazovia."
"Has the Prince himself come?"
"Not the Prince, but Jurand of Spychów," replied the courtier.
Hearing this, Zbyszko became terribly flustered, and his heart began to pound in his chest just as it had when the death sentence was read to him.