II.
Princess Anna was not overly surprised by the arrival of Jurand of Spychow. It happened often that amid his constant pursuits, attacks, and fights with neighboring German knights, a sudden longing for Danushka would seize him. Then he would appear unexpectedly, either in Warsaw or Ciechanow, or wherever the court of Prince Janusz happened to be staying. At the sight of the child, he always erupted in terrible grief. Danushka, as the years passed, grew so much like her mother that each time he felt he was seeing his late wife—the very woman he had once met at Princess Anna’s in Warsaw. People thought that this grief would finally soften his iron heart, which had been given only to vengeance. The princess often urged him to abandon his bloody Spychow and remain at court with Danushka. The prince himself, valuing his valor and importance, and also wanting to avoid the troubles caused by constant border incidents, offered him the office of sword-bearer. Always in vain. It was precisely the sight of Danushka that reopened his old wounds. After a few days he lost his appetite for food, sleep, and conversation. His heart would begin to seethe and flood with blood, and finally he would disappear from court and return to his Spychow marshes, to drown his grief and anger in blood. People then said: “Woe to the Niemcy! They are nobody’s sheep, but for Jurand they are sheep, because he is a wolf to them.”
And so, after some time, reports spread—of captured volunteer guests who had been traveling the border trail to the Krzyżak, of burned strongholds, of seized peasants, or of mortal combats from which the fearsome Jurand always emerged victorious.
Given the rapacious nature of the Masurians and the German knights who held lands and strongholds adjacent to Masovia on behalf of the Order, even in times of greatest peace between the Masovian princes and the Order, the clamor of battle never ceased on the border. Even to fell trees in the forest or to harvest crops, the inhabitants went armed with crossbows or spears. People lived in uncertainty about tomorrow, in constant military readiness, and in hardness of heart. No one was content with mere defense; they repaid robbery with robbery, fire with fire, attack with attack. And it happened that when the Krzyżak crept silently through the forest borders to seize a stronghold, capture peasants or herds, the Masurians did the same at the same time. Often they met and fought to the death, though sometimes only the leaders would challenge each other to a mortal duel, after which the victor took the retinue of his defeated opponent. Therefore, when complaints against Jurand came to the Warsaw court, the prince countered with complaints about attacks committed elsewhere by German knights. In this way, as both sides demanded justice and neither would or could render it, all robberies, burnings, and attacks went completely unpunished.
But Jurand, dwelling in his muddy, reed-grown Spychow and burning with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, became so burdensome to his foreign neighbors that eventually their fear outweighed their ferocity. The fields bordering Spychow lay fallow, the forests grew over with wild hops and hazel, the meadows with reeds. More than one German knight, accustomed to the law of the fist in his homeland, tried to settle near Spychow, but each after a time preferred to abandon his fief, herds, and peasants rather than live under the shadow of that relentless man. The knights often conspired together to launch a joint expedition against Spychow, but every one ended in defeat. They tried various methods. Once they brought in a renowned knight from the Main region, a victor in all battles, to challenge Jurand to a duel on marked ground. But when they stood in the lists, the Niemcy’s heart failed him as if by sorcery at the sight of the fearsome Masurian, and he turned his horse to flee. Jurand then pierced his unarmored buttocks with a lance, thus depriving him of honor and daylight. From then on, even greater terror seized the neighbors, and any Niemcy who spotted the smoke from Spychow from afar would immediately cross himself and begin praying to his patron in heaven, for the belief had taken root that Jurand had sold his soul to unclean forces for vengeance.
They also told terrible things about Spychow: that through the marshy bogs, among the slumbering, duckweed-covered and water-pepper-choked quagmires, the road leading to it was so narrow that two men on horseback could not ride side by side; that on both sides of the road lay the bones of Niemcy, and at night the heads of the drowned walked about on spider-legs, moaning, howling, and pulling men together with their horses into the depths. It was repeated that in the stronghold itself, the palisade was adorned with human skulls. The only truth in all this was that in grated pits dug under the manor house in Spychow, several or a dozen prisoners always groaned, and that the name of Jurand was more terrible than all those fictions about skeletons and drowned men.
Zbyszko, learning of his arrival, hurried to him immediately, but he went as the father of Danushka with some anxiety in his heart. That he had chosen Danushka as the lady of his thoughts and had made a vow to her—no one could forbid him that. But later the princess had performed the betrothal ceremony with Danushka. What would Jurand say to that? Would he agree or not? And what would happen if, as a father, he cried out that he would never allow it? These questions filled Zbyszko’s soul with fear, for Danushka already mattered more to him than anything in the world. He was heartened only by the thought that Jurand would credit him for the attack on Lichtenstein as a merit, not a fault—for he had done it out of vengeance for Danushka’s mother and nearly lost his own head.
Meanwhile, he began to question the courtier who had come to Amylej for him.
“And where are you taking me?” he asked. “To the castle?”
“Certainly to the castle. Jurand has taken quarters together with the princess’s court.”
“Tell me also, what kind of man is he? So I know how to talk to him…”
“What can I tell you! He is a man completely unlike others. They say he was cheerful once, until his blood curdled in his liver.”
“And is he clever?”
“He is cunning—he fleeces others but won’t be fleeced. Hey! He has only one eye, for the Niemcy shot out the other with a crossbow, but with that one eye he sees through a man to the bottom. No one can get the better of him… He only loves the princess, our lady, because he married one of her ladies-in-waiting, and now the girl grows up with us.”
Zbyszko breathed easier. “So you say he will not oppose the princess’s will.”
“I know what you want to find out, and I’ll tell you what I heard. The princess spoke with him about your betrothal, for it would have been improper to conceal it. But what he said in reply is not known.”
Conversing thus, they reached the gate. The captain of the royal archers, the same one who had previously led Zbyszko to his death, now nodded to him in a friendly manner. So they passed the guards, found themselves in the courtyard, and then entered the right wing of the annex occupied by the princess.
The courtier, meeting a servant before the door, asked: “And where is Jurand of Spychow?”
“In the Crooked Chamber, with his daughter.”
“There, then,” said the courtier, pointing at the door.
Zbyszko crossed himself, raised the curtain in the open doorway, and entered with a beating heart. But he did not immediately spot Jurand and Danushka, for the chamber was not only “crooked” but also dim. Only after a moment did he see the bright little head of the girl sitting on her father’s lap. They had not heard him enter, so he stopped by the curtain, cleared his throat, and finally spoke: “Praised be.”
“For ever and ever,” answered Jurand, rising.
At that moment Danushka jumped toward the young knight and, grabbing his hand, began to call: “Zbyszko! Daddy’s come!”
Zbyszko kissed her hands, then stood up, approached Jurand together with her, and said: “I have come to pay my respects. Do you know who I am?” And he bowed slightly, making a motion with his hands as if to grasp him by the feet. But Jurand seized his hand, turned him toward the light, and began to examine him in silence.
Zbyszko had already calmed down a little, so he raised his curious gaze to Jurand and saw before him a man of enormous stature, with flaxen hair and likewise flaxen mustache, a pockmarked face, and one eye the color of iron. It seemed to him that the eye wanted to bore through him completely, so that confusion began to overtake him again. Finally, not knowing what to say but wanting to say something to break the awkward silence, he asked: “So you are Jurand of Spychow, Danushka’s father?”
But the other merely pointed to the bench of the oak chair on which he himself had sat, and without replying a word, continued to scrutinize him.
Zbyszko finally grew impatient. “You know,” he said, “it feels awkward to sit like this, as if at a trial.”
Only then did Jurand speak: “You wanted to strike Lichtenstein?”
“Indeed!” replied Zbyszko.
In the eye of the lord of Spychow a strange light flashed, and his fearsome face brightened a little. After a moment he looked at Danushka and asked again: “And was it for her?”
“For whom else? Uncle must have told you that I vowed to gather Peacock Crests from the heads of the Krzyżak for her. But it won’t be three—at least as many as the fingers on both hands. In that I will also help you in your vengeance, for it is for Danushka’s mother.”
“Woe to them!” replied Jurand.
And again silence fell. Zbyszko, however, realizing that by showing his hatred of the Niemcy he struck a chord in Jurand’s heart, said: “I will not forgive them for my own, even though they nearly cut off my head!” There he turned to Danushka and added: “She saved me.”
“I know,” said Jurand.
“And you are not angry about that?”
“Since you made a vow to her, serve her, for that is knightly custom.”
Zbyszko hesitated a bit, but after a moment began speaking with visible anxiety: “Consider this… she covered my head with a wimple. All the knights heard, and the Franciscan who was with me with the cross heard her say: ‘He is mine!’ And surely, no one else’s until death, so help me God.”
Having said this, he knelt again, and wishing to show that he knew knightly custom, kissed with great reverence both shoes of Danushka, who was sitting on the armrest of the chair. Then he stood up, turned to Jurand, and asked: “Have you seen another like her?… eh?…”
And Jurand suddenly clasped his terrible, man-killing hands over his head, and closing his eyelids, replied hollowly: “I have seen one, but the Niemcy killed her!”
“Then listen,” said Zbyszko with fervor, “one wrong and one vengeance are ours. And our people from Bogdaniec—their horses got stuck in the mire, and the scoundrels shot them down with crossbows… You will find no one better than me for your work… This is nothing new to me! Ask Uncle. With lances or axes, with long or short swords, it’s all the same to me! And did Uncle tell you about those Frisians? I will cut down Krzyżak for you like sheep. And as for the girl, I vow to you on my knees that I will fight for her even against the devil himself, and I will not abandon her for any lands, herds, or goods. Even if they gave me a castle with glass windows without her, I would leave the castle and follow her to the ends of the earth.”
Jurand sat for a while with his head in his hands, but finally roused himself as if from a dream and said with sorrow and sadness: “You have pleased me, lad, but I will not give her to you, for she is not fated for you, poor wretch!”
Zbyszko, hearing this, was struck dumb and began to stare at Jurand with round eyes, unable to utter a word.
But Danushka came to his aid. She liked Zbyszko very much, and it pleased her to be considered not a “sprite” but a “full-grown maiden.” She liked both the betrothal and the sweet treats that her young knight brought her every day. So now, when she understood that all this was to be taken from her, she slid quickly off the armrest of the chair, hid her head on her father’s knees, and began to call: “Daddy, daddy, I’ll cry!”
He, obviously loving her above all, gently placed his hand on her head. In his face there was neither ferocity nor anger, only sadness.
Zbyszko meanwhile recovered and said: “How so? Do you want to oppose God’s will?”
And to that Jurand: “If it is God’s will, you will get her, but I cannot give my consent. Indeed, I would gladly consent, but it is not possible…”
Having said this, he picked up Danushka, and taking her in his arms, headed for the door. When Zbyszko wanted to block his way, he stopped for a moment and said: “I will not be angry with you for your knightly service, but do not ask me further, for I can tell you nothing.” And he left.