Zbyszko caught up with Zych and Jagienka, who were riding to Krześnia with the abbot and his clerics. He joined them, wanting to prove to the abbot that he feared neither Wilk of Brzozowa nor Cztan of Rogów and had no intention of hiding from them.
Jagienka’s beauty struck him again at first glance. He had seen her many times in Zgorzelice and Bogdaniec, dressed up nicely for company, but never like this, not as she was for church. She wore a dress of red cloth lined with ermine, red gloves, and an ermine cap embroidered with gold on her head, from under which two braids fell onto her shoulders. She did not ride astride like a man, but on a high saddle with a backrest and a footrest; her feet were barely visible beneath the long skirt arranged in even folds. Zych, who allowed the girl to dress at home in a sheepskin coat and cowhide boots, wanted everyone before the church to know she was not the daughter of some common squire but a lady from a powerful knightly house. To that end, her horse was led by two youths dressed below in tight garments and above in puffy robes, as pages usually wore. Four courtiers rode behind, along with the abbot’s clerics, with swords and lutes at their belts. Zbyszko greatly admired the whole retinue, especially Jagienka, who looked like a picture, and the abbot, who in his red robes with enormous sleeves seemed to Zbyszko like some traveling prince. The most modestly dressed of them all was Zych himself, who cared about splendor for others but only about cheerfulness and song for himself.
They rode abreast: the abbot, Jagienka, Zbyszko, and Zych. At first the abbot ordered his minstrels to sing devotional songs, but later, having had enough of them, he began to talk with Zbyszko, who was looking with a smile at his mighty sword, no smaller than two-handed German blades.
When Krześnia was already in sight, the abbot felt his belt, turned it forward so he could easily grasp the sword hilt, and said: “Old Wilk of Brzozowa will surely come with a good retinue.”
“Surely,” confirmed Zych, “but the servants were saying he’s fallen ill.”
“And one of my clerics heard that he intends to attack us in front of the inn, after church.”
“He wouldn’t do that without a declaration, especially after Holy Mass.”
“May God grant him reflection. I seek war with no one and bear injuries patiently.” Here he looked back at his minstrels and said: “Do not draw your swords, and remember that you are servants of the Church. Only if they draw first, then strike them.”
Zbyszko, riding beside Jagienka, questioned her about the matters that mainly concerned him. “We’ll surely find Cztan and the Young Wolf in Krześnia,” he said. “You’ll point them out to me from a distance, so I know who they are.”
“Alright, Zbyszko,” replied Jagienka.
“They probably meet before church and after. What do they do then?”
“They court me as best they can.”
“They won’t court you today, you understand?”
And she replied again, almost with humility: “Alright, Zbyszko.”
The sound of wooden clappers interrupted their further conversation, for there were no bells yet in Krześnia. After a moment they arrived. From the crowds waiting for mass before the church, the Young Wolf and Cztan of Rogów immediately emerged. But Zbyszko anticipated them. He jumped off his horse before they could run up, grasped Jagienka by the waist, lifted her from the saddle, then took her hand and, looking at them defiantly, led her into the church.
In the church porch, a new disappointment awaited them. Both hurried to the holy water font, and both, having dipped their hands, extended them to the girl. But Zbyszko did the same, and she touched his fingers, then crossed herself and entered the church with him. At that, not only the Young Wolf but also Cztan of Rogów—though he had a shallow mind—realized that all this was done deliberately. Such wild anger seized them that their hair stood on end. They retained just enough presence of mind that in their rage, fearing God’s punishment, they did not want to enter the church. Instead, Wilk rushed out of the porch and ran like a madman through the cemetery among the trees, not knowing where. Cztan ran after him, also not knowing for what purpose.
They stopped only at the corner of the fence, where large stones lay prepared for the foundation of the bell tower that was to be built in Krześnia. There Wilk, wanting to vent the anger that boiled in his chest up to his throat, grabbed one of the boulders and began to shake it with all his might. Seeing this, Cztan also grabbed it, and after a moment they both began to roll it furiously across the whole cemetery, all the way to the church gate.
People watched them in astonishment, thinking they had made some vow and wanted to contribute to the building of the bell tower. But the effort relieved them considerably, so that both came to their senses. They stood pale from exertion, panting, and looking at each other uncertainly.
The first to break the silence was Cztan of Rogów. “So what now?” he asked.
“What about it?” replied Wilk.
“Shall we attack him right away?”
“How will you attack in church?”
“Not in church, only after mass.”
“He’s with Zych and the abbot. And have you forgotten what Zych said, that if a fight breaks out, he’ll drive both of them from Zgorzelice? If not for that, I’d have broken your ribs long ago.”
“Or I yours!” retorted Cztan, clenching his mighty fists.
Their eyes began to glint menacingly, but soon both realized that now they needed agreement more than ever. They had fought each other many times before, but always made up after a fight, because although their love for Jagienka divided them, they could not live without each other and always longed for one another. Now, however, they had a common enemy, and both felt he was a terrifically dangerous foe.
After a moment, Cztan asked: “What to do? Should we send a challenge to Bogdaniec?”
Wilk, who was cleverer, still did not know for the moment what to do. Fortunately, the clappers came to his aid, sounding again as a sign that the service was beginning. So he said: “What to do? Go to mass, and then it will be as God wills.”
Cztan of Rogów was pleased with this sensible answer. “Perhaps Lord Jesus will inspire us,” he said.
“And bless us,” added Wilk. “In righteousness.”
And they went into the church, and having devoutly heard mass, they took heart. They did not lose their heads even when Jagienka, after mass in the porch, again accepted holy water from Zbyszko’s hand. At the cemetery by the gate, they bowed low before Zych, Jagienka, and even the abbot, though he was an enemy of Old Wilk of Brzozowa. They looked at Zbyszko askance, but neither growled, though their hearts howled in their chests with pain, anger, and jealousy, because never had Jagienka seemed so wondrous to them, so like a queen.
Only when the splendid retinue rode back, and when the cheerful song of the traveling clerics reached them from a distance, did Cztan begin to wipe sweat from his bristly cheeks and snort like a horse, while Wilk spoke, grinding his teeth: “To the inn! To the inn! Woe is me!”
Then, remembering what had relieved them before, they grabbed the boulder again and rolled it furiously back to its former place.
Zbyszko, meanwhile, rode beside Jagienka, listening to the song of the abbot’s minstrels, but when they had ridden five or six stajes, he suddenly stopped his horse and said: “Ah, I meant to give an offering for mass for my uncle’s health, and I forgot. I’ll go back.”
“Don’t go back!” cried Jagienka. “We’ll send it from Zgorzelice.”
“I’ll go back, and you don’t wait for me. God be with you!”
“God be with you!” said the abbot. “Go.”
And his face brightened, and when Zbyszko disappeared from sight, he nudged Zych discreetly and said: “Do you understand?”
“What should I understand?”
“He’ll fight in Krześnia with Wilk and Cztan, as sure as amen in the Lord’s Prayer. But that’s what I wanted and that’s what I led to.”
“They’re tough lads, and they’ll wound him. And then what?”
“What do you mean, then what? If he fights for Jagienka, how can he then think about that Jurandówna? From now on, Jagienka will be his lady, not that other one. That’s what I want, because he’s my kinsman and he turned out well!”
“But what about his vow?”
“I’ll absolve it on the spot! Haven’t you heard that I already promised?”
“Your head can handle everything,” replied Zych.
The abbot rejoiced at the praise, then moved closer to Jagienka and asked: “Why are you so troubled?”
She leaned in her saddle, and seizing the abbot’s hand, raised it to her lips: “Godfather, perhaps you could send a couple of minstrels to Krześnia.”
“What for? They’ll just drink in the inn and that’s all.”
“But maybe they could prevent a fight.”
The abbot looked sharply into her eyes and suddenly said roughly: “And even if they kill him there!”
“Then let them kill me too!” cried Jagienka.
And the bitterness that had accumulated with sorrow in her breast since her conversation with Zbyszko now poured out in a sudden flood of tears. Seeing this, the abbot put his arm around the girl, almost covering her entirely with his huge sleeve, and began to speak: “Don’t be afraid of anything, my daughter. A quarrel may happen, but they are also nobles, so they won’t attack him in a mob. They’ll challenge him to the field in knightly fashion, and he’ll manage even if he has to fight both at once. As for Jurandówna, whom you’ve heard about, I’ll tell you only this: he will never take her.”
“If he prefers the other, then I don’t care about him either!” answered Jagienka through tears.
“Then why are you sniffling?”
“Because I’m afraid for him.”
“Oh, women’s logic!” said the abbot, laughing. Then, bending to Jagienka’s ear, he began to say: “Consider, girl, that even if he marries you, he will still often have to fight, for that is what a nobleman does.” Here he bent even lower and added: “And he will marry you—and soon, as God is in heaven!”
“As if he would!” replied Jagienka. But at the same time, she began to smile through her tears and look at the abbot as if she wanted to ask him how he knew.
Meanwhile, Zbyszko, having returned to Krześnia, went straight to the priest, for he truly wanted to give an offering for mass for Macko’s health. After settling that matter, he went straight to the inn, where he expected to find the Young Wolf of Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogów. And indeed, he found both of them, and besides, the place was full of people: nobles, lesser nobles, peasants, and a few jesters showing various German tricks. At first, however, he could not make out anyone, because the inn’s windows made of ox-bladder let in little light. Only when a local servant threw a pine splinter on the hearth did he see in the corner, behind the beer kegs, the hairy face of Cztan and the grim, fierce face of Wilk of Brzozowa.
Then he began to walk slowly toward them, pushing people aside, and when he reached them, he struck the table with his fist, so that it thundered throughout the inn. They immediately rose and began to quickly adjust their leather belts, but before they could grasp their hilts, Zbyszko threw his gauntlet on the table and, speaking through his nose as knights were wont to do when issuing a challenge, spoke the following unexpected words: “If any of you two, or any other knightly man present in this room, denies that the most beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the world is Lady Danuta Jurandówna of Spychów, I challenge him to combat on horseback or on foot, until first kneeling or last breath.”
Wilk and Cztan were astonished, as the abbot would have been had he heard something similar. For a moment they could not speak. “What maiden is this?” They were concerned about Jagienka, not her. And if this wildcat was not after Jagienka, what did he want from them? Why had he angered them before church? Why had he come and why was he picking a quarrel? These questions churned in their heads like porridge, and they opened their mouths wide. Cztan stared with eyes as if he had before him not a man but some German marvel.
But the sharper Wilk, who knew a little of knightly customs and knew that knights often vowed service to one woman and married another, thought that it might be so in this case, and that since such an opportunity to defend Jagienka presented itself, he should seize it at once. So he stepped out from behind the table, and approaching Zbyszko with a menacing face, asked: “What, you dog, is it not Jagienka Zychówna who is the most beautiful?”
Behind him stepped out Cztan, and people began to crowd around them, for it was already known to all that this would not end in nothing.