The old yeoman had been right: Zbyszko and Jagienka did enjoy each other’s company, and even missed one another when apart. Under the pretext of visiting the ailing Macko, Jagienka frequently came to Bogdaniec, either with her father or alone, and Zbyszko, out of pure gratitude, dropped by Zgorzelice from time to time. As the days passed, a close intimacy and friendship grew between them. They grew fond of each other and would gladly “take counsel” together, meaning they discussed everything that concerned them.
There was also a mutual admiration in this friendship, for young and handsome Zbyszko—already renowned in war, a participant in tournaments, and a visitor to royal halls—appeared to the girl, next to men like Cztan of Rogow or the Wilk of Brzozowa, a true courtly knight, almost a prince. He, in turn, was sometimes amazed by the girl’s beauty. He remained faithful in his thoughts to his Danusia, yet sometimes, when he unexpectedly looked at Jagienka—whether in the forest or at home—he would involuntarily say to himself: “Hey, what a doe!”
Jagienka, by nature proud, quick to mock, and even provocative, gradually became more and more humble with him, like a maidservant who watches only for ways to serve and please. He understood her great goodwill, was grateful for it, and found it increasingly pleasant to be with her. In the end, especially from the time Macko began drinking bear fat, they saw each other almost daily, and after the splinter had worked its way out of the wound, they set off together to hunt beaver, for fresh beaver fat, which was greatly needed for healing.
They took their crossbows, mounted their horses, and set out, first to Moczydoly, which were to be Jagienka’s dowry, then to the forest, where they left their horses with a servant and went on foot, because it was difficult to ride through the thicket and marshes. Along the way, Jagienka pointed beyond a vast, reed-covered meadow at a blue ribbon of land and said:
“Those are the forests of Cztan of Rogow.”
“The one who’d gladly take you?”
She began to laugh. “He would take me, if only I let him!”
“You can easily defend yourself against him, with Wilk to help you, who, as I hear, bares his teeth at the other. I’m even surprised they haven’t challenged each other to mortal combat yet.”
“Father told them when they went to war: ‘If you fight, I don’t want to see either of you again.’ So what could they do? When they’re in Zgorzelice, they hiss at each other, but then they drink together at the inn in Krześnia until they fall under the benches.”
“Stupid louts.”
“Why?”
“When Zych was away, one of them should have attacked Zgorzelice and taken you by force. What could Zych have done if he returned to find you already married?”
Jagienka’s blue eyes flashed. “So you think I’d have let myself be taken? Are there no men in Zgorzelice, and don’t I know how to handle a spear or a crossbow? Let them try. I’d have driven each one home, and I might even have raided Rogów or Brzozowa myself. Father knew they could go to war safely.”
She furrowed her lovely brows and shook her crossbow so menacingly that Zbyszko laughed. “Well, you should be a knight, not a girl.”
She calmed down and replied, “Cztan protected me from Wilk, and Wilk from Cztan. Besides, I was under the abbot’s protection, and it’s better not to tangle with the abbot.”
“Oh indeed!” said Zbyszko. “Everyone here is afraid of the abbot! But I, so help me Saint George, tell you the truth: I would not fear the abbot, nor Zych, nor the beaters of Zgorzelice, nor you—I would take you.”
Jagienka stopped in her tracks, raised her eyes to him, and asked in a strange, soft, drawling voice: “You would take me?”
Her lips parted, and she waited for his answer, flushed like the dawn. But he was still thinking about what he would have done in Cztan’s or Wilk’s place, for after a moment he shook his golden head and continued: “What’s a girl to do fighting with men, when she needs to marry? If a third one doesn’t come along, you’ll have to choose one of them, right?”
“Don’t tell me that,” the girl answered sadly.
“Why? I haven’t been around here for a long time, so I don’t know if there’s anyone around Zgorzelice who would suit you better.”
“Oh! Let it be.”
They walked on in silence, pushing through the thicket, which was even denser because the bushes and trees were covered with wild hops. Zbyszko went ahead, tearing apart the green tendrils, breaking branches here and there, while Jagienka followed behind, a crossbow on her back, like some hunting goddess.
“There’s a deep stream beyond this thicket,” she said, “but I know a place where there’s a ford.”
“I have boots up to my knees, so we’ll cross dry,” Zbyszko replied.
Soon they reached the stream. Jagienka, who knew the Moczydoly woods well, easily found the ford, but the stream had swollen with the rains, and the water was quite deep. Without asking, Zbyszko picked her up in his arms.
“I could have crossed anyway,” said Jagienka.
“Hold onto my neck,” Zbyszko replied.
He walked slowly through the spreading water, testing with his foot at each step whether he might step into a deep place, while she pressed close to him as ordered. When they were near the opposite bank, she said, “Zbyszko!”
“Yes?”
“I will not marry Cztan, nor Wilk.”
He carried her across, set her down carefully on the gravel, and replied, somewhat agitated, “May God give you the best! He won’t have any harm from it.”
It was not far to Odstajane Pond. Jagienka now walked ahead, turning around from time to time and putting her finger to her lips to signal Zbyszko to be quiet. They walked among clumps of osiers and gray willows over wet, low ground. From the right, they heard the calls of birds, which surprised Zbyszko, as it was already the season of migration.
“There’s a hot spring there,” whispered Jagienka, “where ducks winter. But in the pond, the water only freezes along the edge in severe frost. Look how it steams.”
Zbyszko looked through the osiers and saw a cloud of mist before him: Odstajane Pond. Jagienka again put her finger to her lips, and soon they reached it. She was the first to climb silently onto a thick, old willow that leaned completely over the water. Zbyszko followed her example, and for a long time they lay quietly, seeing nothing because of the mist, only hearing the plaintive cries of lapwings above their heads.
Finally a wind blew, rustling the osiers and the yellowing willow leaves, and revealed the sunken surface of the pond, slightly rippled and empty.
“Not visible?” whispered Zbyszko.
“Not visible. Quiet!”
The wind died down, and a complete silence set in. Then one head appeared black on the water’s surface, then another, and finally, much closer, a large beaver slid into the water from the bank, a freshly cut branch in its mouth, and began to swim among the duckweed and marsh marigold, lifting its snout and towing the branch before it. Zbyszko, lying on the trunk below Jagienka, saw her elbows move silently and her head lean forward. She was aiming at the beast, which, suspecting no danger, was swimming no farther than half a bowshot away toward the clear water.
The crossbow string twanged, and Jagienka’s voice called out, “Got it! Got it!”
Zbyszko scrambled up and looked through the branches. The beaver was diving and surfacing, tumbling over and showing, at times, its belly, lighter than its back.
“He got it good! He’ll calm down soon,” said Jagienka.
She was right. The animal’s movements grew weaker, and soon it floated to the surface, belly up.
“I’ll go get him,” said Zbyszko.
“Don’t. There’s mud several men deep here near the shore. Anyone who doesn’t know how to handle it will surely drown.”
“Then how will we get him?”
“He’ll be in Bogdaniec by evening, don’t worry about that. It’s time for us to go home.”
“But you shot him well!”
“Bah! Not the first one.”
“Other girls are afraid even to look at a crossbow, but with one like you, you could walk in the forest for a lifetime.”
Jagienka smiled with joy at the praise but said nothing, and they went back through the osiers. Zbyszko asked about beaver lodges, and she told him how many beavers there were in Moczydoly, how many in Zgorzelice, and how they built along the hills and paths.
Suddenly she slapped her hand on her hip. “Oh! I forgot the bolts on the willow. Wait!”
Before he could answer that he would go for them himself, she darted back like a roe deer and disappeared from his sight. Zbyszko waited and waited, until he began to wonder why she was taking so long. “Maybe she dropped the bolts and is looking for them,” he said to himself. “I’ll go see if something happened to her.”
He had barely taken a few steps when she appeared before him, crossbow in hand, with a laughing, rosy face and the beaver on her back.
“By God!” cried Zbyszko. “How did you fish him out?”
“How? I waded into the water, that’s it! It’s not my first time, and I didn’t want to let you go, because whoever doesn’t know how to swim there will be pulled down by the mud.”
“And I was waiting here like a fool! You’re a sly girl.”
“Well, so what? Was I supposed to undress in front of you, or what?”
“So you didn’t forget the bolts after all?”
“No, I just wanted to lead you away from the shore.”
“Ha, as if I would have followed you! That would be something to wonder at! Hey!”
“Quiet.”
After a moment, wanting to change the subject, she said, “Wring out my braid, because it’s soaking my back terribly.”
Zbyszko grabbed the braid near her head and began to twist it with his other hand, saying, “It’s best to let it down, then the wind will dry it quickly.”
But she didn’t want to do that because of the thicket they had to push through. Zbyszko now took the beaver on his back, and Jagienka, walking ahead, said, “Macko will get well soon now. For wounds, there’s nothing better than bear fat internally and beaver fat externally. In about two weeks, he’ll be mounting his horse.”
“God grant it!” replied Zbyszko. “I’m waiting for that like salvation, because I can’t very well leave a sick man, and it’s hard for me to stay.”
“Is it hard for you to stay here?” asked Jagienka. “Why?”
“Didn’t Zych tell you about Danusia?”
“He said something—I know, she covered you with a kerchief. I know. He also told me that every knight makes some kind of vow to serve his lady. But he said it’s nothing, such service—because some men, even married ones, also serve some lady. And this Danusia, Zbyszko, who is she? Tell me. Who is this Danusia?”
She drew closer, raised her eyes, and looked with great anxiety into his face. He, not paying the slightest attention to her fearful voice and look, said, “She is my lady, but also my dearest love. I don’t tell this to anyone, but I’ll tell you, as if to a sister, because we’ve known each other since we were small. I would go for her across the ninth river and across the ninth sea, to the Germans and to the Tatars, for there is no other like her in the whole world. Let my uncle stay in Bogdaniec—I will wander forth to her. What is Bogdaniec to me without her? What are my goods, my herds, the abbot’s riches? I will mount my horse and go to the ends of the earth, and so help me God, I will fulfill what I vowed to her, unless I fall first.”
“I didn’t know,” Jagienka replied dully.
Zbyszko then told her how he had met Danusia in Tyniec, how he had made his vow to her immediately, and everything that had followed: his imprisonment, the rescue Danusia had given him, Jurand’s refusal, their farewell, his longing, and finally his joy that after Macko’s recovery he would be able to go to his beloved girl and fulfill what he had promised. His story was interrupted only by the sight of the servant with the horses, who was waiting at the edge of the forest.
Jagienka immediately mounted her horse and began to take her leave of Zbyszko.
“Let the servant ride with the beaver behind you. I’ll turn back to Zgorzelice.”
“Aren’t you going to Bogdaniec? Zych is there.”
“No. Father was supposed to return and ordered me to.”
“Well, then God reward you for the beaver.”
“Go with God.”
And after a moment, Jagienka was left alone. Riding through the heather toward home, she looked back at Zbyszko for a while. When he finally disappeared behind the trees, she covered her eyes with her hand, as if shielding them from the sun’s glare. But soon, from beneath her hand, large tears began to flow down her cheeks and fall, one after another like peas, onto the saddle and the horse’s mane.