And Zbyszko replied:
“So help me God and the Holy Cross, a vow I will repeat in church before the priest.”
“It is praiseworthy to fight against the fierce enemy of our people, but I pity you, for you are young and may easily die.”
Then Maćko z Bogdańca drew closer. Until now, as a man of older times, he had only shrugged his shoulders, but now he deemed it appropriate to speak.
“As for that, don’t worry, gracious lady. Death in battle can happen to anyone, and for a yeoman, whether old or young, it is even praiseworthy. But this lad is no stranger to war. Though he lacks years, he has already fought more than once, on horseback and on foot, with lance and axe, with long sword and short, with pavise and without. It is a new custom for a knight to vow to a girl he fancies, but I do not fault Zbyszko for promising her three peacock feathers. He has already plucked Teutonic Knights; let him pluck more, and if a few heads crack from that plucking, it will only add to his glory.”
“I see this is no trifling matter with a mere boy,” said the Duchess.
And then to Danusia: “Sit in my place, as the most important person here today. Only don’t laugh, for it does not suit.”
Danusia sat in the lady’s place. She tried to look serious, but her blue eyes laughed at the kneeling Zbyszko, and she could not keep from wiggling her feet with joy.
“Give him your gloves,” said the Duchess.
Danusia pulled off her gloves and handed them to Zbyszko. He received them with great reverence, pressed them to his lips, and said:
“I will pin them to my helmet, and woe to anyone who reaches for them!”
Then he kissed Danusia’s hands, and after her hands, her feet, and rose. And then his previous solemnity left him, and great joy filled his heart that from now on he would be considered a grown man before this entire court. So, shaking Danusia’s gloves, he began to cry out, half-cheerfully, half-fiercely:
“Come on, you scoundrels with peacock feathers, come on!”
But at that moment, the same monk who had come earlier entered the inn, along with two older ones. Monastery servants followed them carrying wicker baskets filled with jugs of wine and various hastily gathered treats. The two older monks began to greet the Duchess and again reproach her for not having stayed at the abbey. She explained once more that since she and her entire court had slept during the day, they traveled by night for the coolness, so she needed no rest, and not wanting to disturb either the venerable abbot or the worthy monks, she preferred to stop at the inn to stretch her legs.
After many courteous words, it was finally settled that after matins and the morning Mass, the Duchess and her court would accept breakfast and rest at the monastery. The gracious monks also invited the Krakow landowners along with the Mazovians, and Maćko z Bogdańca, who had intended to go to the abbey anyway, to deposit there the wealth gained in war or received as gifts from the generous Witold, designated to redeem Bogdaniec from its pledge. But young Zbyszko did not hear the invitation, for he had rushed to his and his uncle’s wagons, standing under the servants’ guard, to dress and present himself to the Duchess and Danusia in more suitable clothing. Taking chests from the wagon, he had them carried to the servants’ room and began to change. First, he hastily combed his hair and tucked it into a silk hairnet tied with amber beads, with real pearls at the front. Then he put on a white silk tunic embroidered with golden griffins, ornamented with a border at the bottom; over it he fastened a double gilded belt, from which hung a short sword set in silver and ivory. Then Zbyszko pulled on splendid trousers, one leg striped lengthwise in green and red, the other in violet and yellow, both ending at the top with a colorful checkered pattern. Finally, putting on purple shoes with long toes, handsome and polished, he went to the common room.
Indeed, when he appeared in the doorway, his appearance made a strong impression on everyone. Seeing now what a handsome knight had vowed to dear Danusia, the Duchess rejoiced even more. Danusia darted toward him at first like a doe. But whether it was the youth’s beauty or the admiring exclamations of the courtiers, she stopped before reaching him, halted a step away, suddenly lowered her eyes, clasped her hands, and began twisting her fingers, flushed and confused.
But the others drew near behind her: the lady herself, the courtiers and ladies, the minstrels and monks, for everyone wanted to see him better. The Mazovian maidens looked at him as if at a rainbow, each now regretting that he had not chosen her. The older ones admired the costliness of his attire, so that a circle of the curious formed around him. Zbyszko stood in the center with a conceited smile on his youthful face, turning slightly in place so that they could observe him better.
“Who is that?” asked one of the monks.
“He is a young knight, the nephew of this yeoman here,” replied the Duchess, pointing to Macko. “He has just made a vow to Danusia.”
And the monks showed no surprise, for such a vow bound no one to anything.
Meanwhile, the monastery servants took wine and treats from the wicker baskets, and from the servants’ room, maid-servants began to bring out dishes full of steaming scrambled eggs, surrounded by sausages that spread a strong, appetizing smell of pork fat through the whole room. At this sight, everyone’s appetite surged, and they moved toward the tables.
No one, however, sat before the Duchess. She took her place in the center and ordered Zbyszko and Danusia to sit opposite her.
After the dishes were cleared, the monastery servants began to pour sweet, fragrant wine—generously for the men, sparingly for the ladies. But Zbyszko’s chivalry showed itself especially when they brought in full bowlfuls of nuts sent from the monastery. There were hazelnuts and, rare at that time because imported from afar, walnuts. The feasters attacked them with great eagerness, so that for a while only the crack of shells being crushed in jaws could be heard. But anyone who thought Zbyszko thought only of himself would be mistaken, for he preferred to show both the Duchess and Danusia his knightly strength and restraint rather than demean himself in their eyes by greed for the rare treats. So, taking handful after handful of nuts, whether hazelnuts or walnuts, he did not put them between his teeth as others did, but clenched his iron fingers, crushed them, and then handed Danusia the kernels picked from the shells. He even invented a game for her: after extracting the kernels, he would bring his fist to his mouth and suddenly blow the shells with his powerful breath all the way to the ceiling. Danusia laughed so hard that the Duchess, afraid the girl would choke, had to order him to stop this play. But seeing the girl’s delight, she asked:
“Well, Danuśka, is it good to have your own knight?”
“Oh, yes!” replied the girl.
The bell rang for matins.
“We’ll go on foot, for the glory of God,” said the Duchess.
And taking Danusia by the hand, she left the inn first, followed by the entire court.
The night had already paled. In the eastern sky, a faint brightness was visible, green at the top, pink at the bottom, and beneath it a narrow golden ribbon that widened before their eyes. From the west, the moon seemed to retreat before that brightness. The dawn grew ever pinker, ever brighter. The world awoke, wet from abundant dew, joyful and rested.
“God has given us fair weather, but the heat will be terrible,” said the ducal courtiers.
“No matter,” reassured them the lord of Długolas. “We’ll sleep at the abbey and reach Krakow by evening.”
“Most likely another feast.”
“There are feasts there every day now, and after the queen’s illness and the jousts, there will be even greater ones.”
“We’ll see how Danusia’s knight shows himself.”
“Eh, they seem to be tough fellows...”
“Perhaps they’ll join our court, for they seem to be conferring among themselves.”
And they were indeed conferring, for the elder Macko was not too pleased with what had happened. Walking at the end of the procession and deliberately stopping to talk more freely, they spoke.
“Truth be told, this is of no use to you. I’ll manage to get close to the king somehow, perhaps with this court, and maybe we’ll get something. I would terribly like to have some little castle or stronghold... Well, we’ll see. Bogdaniec we’ll redeem from its pledge in any case, for what our fathers held, we too shall hold. But where are the serfs? What the abbot settled, he will take back—and land without serfs is worth nothing. So mark what I say: vow or don’t vow to whomever you wish, but go with the lord of Melsztyn to Prince Witold against the Tatars. If they announce an expedition, don’t wait for the tourneys—go, for there may be profit there. You know how generous Prince Witold is, and he already knows you. If you do well, he will reward you richly. And above all, if God grants it, you can take slaves without measure. The Tatars are as numerous as ants in the world. In the event of victory, there might be a full score per man.”
Here Macko, greedy for land and labor, began to dream:
“By God! To drive in some fifty men and settle them in Bogdaniec! A patch of forest could be cleared. We would both grow rich. And you must know, nowhere will you get as many as you can there!”
But Zbyszko shook his head.
“Oh, sure! I’ll round up grooms who live on horse carcasses, unused to the land! What use are they in Bogdaniec? Besides, I vowed three German crests! Where will I find them among the Tatars?”
“You vowed because you’re foolish, but such vows are worth nothing.”
“And my yeoman’s and knightly honor—what of it?”
“And what about Rynga?”
“Rynga poisoned the prince, and the hermit absolved me.”
“Then the abbot in Tyniec will absolve you. An abbot is better than a hermit.”
“But I don’t want to.”
Macko stopped and asked with visible anger:
“So what will happen?”
“Go to Witold yourselves, for I will not go.”
“You knave! And who will bow to the king? Don’t you care about my old bones?”
“A tree would have to fall on your bones to break them yet. And even if I did pity you, I don’t want to go to Witold.”
“What will you do then? Become a falconer or a minstrel at the Mazovian court?”
“Is a falconer such a bad thing? Since you’d rather grumble than listen to me, then grumble.”
“Where will you go? Do you care nothing for Bogdaniec? Will you plow it with your claws? Without serfs?”
“That’s not true! You cleverly figured out the Tatars. But you saw what the Rus said—that you find as many Tatars as lie dead on the field, and no one catches a slave because you can’t overtake a Tatar in the steppe. What will I chase him on? On those heavy stallions we took from the Teutonic Knights? Look at that! And what loot will I get? Mangy sheepskins and nothing more. A fine rich man I’d be coming back to Bogdaniec! They’d call me a count for sure!”
Macko fell silent, for there was much truth in Zbyszko’s words, and only after a while he said:
“But Prince Witold would reward you.”
“Well, you know: he gives too much to one, nothing to another.”
“Then say where you’re going.”
“To Jurand ze Spychowa.”
Macko turned the belt on his leather jerkin in anger and said:
“May you go blind!”
“Listen,” replied Zbyszko calmly. “I talked with Mikołaj z Długolasu, and he says that Jurand is seeking vengeance on the Teutonic Knights for his wife. I will go and help him. First, you yourselves said I’m no stranger to fighting Teutonic Knights, for I know both them and the ways against them. Second, I’m more likely to get those peacock feathers near the border. And third, you know that a peacock feather is worn on the head by no mere knave, so if Lord Jesus increases the number of feathers, He will increase the loot as well. Finally, the slaves there are not Tatars. Settling such a one in the forest is no great loss to God.”
“Have you lost your mind, man? There’s no war now, and God knows when there will be!”
“Oh, my foot! Have the bears made peace with the beekeepers so they don’t raid the hives or eat the honey? Ha, ha! Is it news to you that even when great armies aren’t fighting, and though the king and the Grand Master put their seals on parchment, there’s always an awful mess on the border? If they steal each other’s cattle and herds, for one cow’s head, several villages get burned and castles besieged. And the abduction of boys and girls? And merchants on the roads? Recall the times past that you yourself told me about. Was it bad for that Nałęcz who caught forty knights riding to the Teutonic Knights, imprisoned them in a dungeon, and didn’t release them until the Grand Master sent him a full wagon of grzywnas? Jurand ze Spychowa does nothing else, and work is always ready near the border.”
For a while they walked in silence. Meanwhile, it had grown completely bright, and the clear rays of the sun lit up the crags on which the abbey was built.
“God can grant success anywhere,” said Macko at last in a pacified voice. “Pray that He blesses you.”
“Surely, all is in His mercy!”
“And think of Bogdaniec, for you won’t convince me that you want to go to Jurand ze Spychowa for Bogdaniec’s sake, not for that duckling’s sake.”
“Don’t say that, or I’ll get angry. I like her, I don’t deny it. Have you met a prettier one?”
“What do I care about her looks? Take her when she grows up, if she’s the daughter of a mighty count.”
And Zbyszko’s face lit up with a young, good-natured smile.
“That may be. No other lady, no other wife! When your bones grow brittle, you’ll still be cradling my children and hers.”
At that, Macko in turn smiled and replied, now completely appeased:
“Grady! Grady!... And may they be as plentiful as hailstones. Grant us this, Jesus.”