Macko waited patiently for several days, hoping to hear some word from Zgorzelice or that the abbot might soften. But at last the uncertainty and waiting wore on him, and he decided to go himself to see Zych. None of what had happened was his doing, yet he wanted to know whether Zych held any grudge against him as well, for he was certain the abbot’s resentment from now on would weigh on both Zbyszko and himself.
Still, he meant to do everything in his power to lessen that offense, so as he rode he thought and planned what he would say to everyone at Zgorzelice to reduce the anger and keep the old neighborly friendship. But his thoughts would not come together, and he was glad to find only Jagienka at home. She greeted him as always—kissing his hand, speaking warmly, though a little sadly.
“Your father at home?” he asked.
“He’s home. They’ve only just left with the abbot for a hunt. They should be back any moment.”
She led him into the room. They sat in silence for a while, then she spoke first.
“Are you lonely at Bogdaniec by yourself?”
“Lonely,” Macko answered. “So you know Zbyszko has gone?”
Jagienka sighed softly.
“I know. I learned the same day, and I thought… he might stop by, say a kind word at least. But he didn’t.”
“How could he?” Macko said. “The abbot would have torn him in two, and your father wouldn’t have wanted to see him either.”
She shook her head.
“Ah! I wouldn’t have let anyone harm him.”
Macko’s heart was hardened, but her words moved him. He drew the girl to him and said:
“God be with you, my girl. You’re sad, and so am I. Let me tell you: neither the abbot nor your own father loves you more than I do. I wish I had died from that wound you healed, if only he were marrying you instead of another.”
A moment of grief and longing came over Jagienka—when a person can hide nothing—and she said:
“I will never see him again, and if I do, it will be with Jurandówna. I’d rather cry my eyes out first.”
She lifted the ends of her apron and covered her eyes, which had filled with tears.
Macko said:
“Don’t. He left, yes, he left, but by God’s grace he won’t come back with Jurandówna.”
“What—won’t come back?” Jagienka said from under the apron.
“Because Jurand won’t give him the girl.”
Jagienka suddenly uncovered her face and turned to him, speaking quickly:
“He told me! But is it true?”
“True as God in heaven.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Some vow or something, and vows can’t be broken. He took a liking to Zbyszko, especially since Zbyszko promised to help him with revenge, but even that didn’t help. Duchess Anna’s matchmaking was useless. Neither pleas, nor persuasion, nor commands—Jurand wouldn’t listen. He said he couldn’t. So the reason must be real, and he’s a hard man who doesn’t change what he says. Don’t lose hope, girl, take heart. The boy had to go—fair enough, he swore those peacock crests in church. And the girl covered him with her kerchief to show she wanted him for a husband—without that they wouldn’t have cut off his head—so he owes her that much, no argument. She won’t be his, God willing, but he belongs to her by right. Zych is angry at him, the abbot is surely cursing, I’m angry too—but all things considered, what else was he supposed to do? Since he owes her, he had to go. He’s a nobleman, after all. But I’ll tell you this: if the Germans don’t give him a good drubbing out there, he’ll come back just as he left—and not just to me, an old man, not just to Bogdaniec, but to you, because he was terribly fond of you.”
“Where was he fond of me!” Jagienka said.
But she moved closer to Macko and asked:
“How do you know? What? It’s probably not true.”
“How do I know?” Macko replied. “Because I saw how hard it was for him to leave. And it went like this: when it was settled that he had to go, I asked him, ‘Don’t you feel sorry to leave Jagienka?’ And he said, ‘God give her health and everything good.’ And then he started sighing like he had a blacksmith’s bellows in his belly.”
“Probably not true!” Jagienka repeated more softly. “But tell me more…”
“As God is dear to me, it’s true! The other one won’t appeal to him like you did—you know yourself there’s no sturdier or prettier girl in the whole world. He felt God’s will toward you, don’t worry—maybe even more than you felt toward him.”
“God forbid!” she exclaimed.
And realizing what she had said in haste, she covered her apple-red face with her sleeve. Macko smiled, stroked his mustache with his hand, and said:
“Hey, if only I were young! But take heart, because I already see how it will be: he’ll go, win his spurs at the Mazovian court—the border is close, and a Krzyżak isn’t hard to find. I know there are tough knights among the Germans too, and iron won’t bounce off his skin, but I figure few of them can handle him—the devil’s a deadly fighter. Look how he thrashed Cztan z Rogowa and Wilk of Brzozowa in no time, and they say those fellows are strapping and strong as bears. He’ll bring back his crests, but he won’t bring back Jurandówna—because I’ve talked to Jurand and I know how it is. So what then? Then he’ll come back here—where else would he go?”
“When will he come back?”
“Bah! If you can’t wait, I won’t blame you. But in the meantime, tell the abbot and Zych what I’ve told you. Let them ease up on Zbyszko a little, even if they’re angry.”
“How can I say that? Father is more troubled than angry, but when the abbot’s around, it’s dangerous even to mention Zbyszko. He gave me and Father an earful about that servant I sent to him.”
“What servant?”
“You know… there was a Czech here, taken prisoner by Father near Bolesławiec, a good, faithful fellow. They called him Hlawa. Father gave him to serve me—he claimed to be a Wolodyka from those parts—and I gave him a decent suit of armor and sent him to Zbyszko to serve him, guard him in trouble, and, God forbid, if anything happened, to send word… I also gave him a little purse for the road, and he swore on his soul’s salvation to serve Zbyszko faithfully till death.”
“My girl, God bless you! And your father didn’t object?”
“Object? At first Father wouldn’t allow it at all, but when I fell at his feet begging, he gave in. Father’s no trouble, but when the abbot found out from his jesters, he was so angry that Father fled to the barns. Only in the evening did the abbot take pity on my tears—he even gave me some beads as a gift… But I was happy to suffer if it meant Zbyszko had a bigger retinue.”
“As God is dear to me, I don’t know whether I love him more or you—but he already took a fine retinue, and I gave him money, too, even though he didn’t want it… Well, Masuria isn’t overseas…”
Their conversation was interrupted by baying dogs, shouts, and the sound of brass horns out front. Hearing this, Jagienka said:
“Father and the abbot are back from the hunt. Let’s go out on the porch—better if the abbot sees you from a distance first, instead of suddenly in the room.”
She led Macko onto the porch. From there they saw in the snow-covered yard a crowd of people, horses, dogs, and also moose and wolves pierced with spears or shot with crossbows. The abbot, seeing Macko even before he dismounted, shot a sharp glance in his direction. But Macko doffed his cap from a distance as if nothing was amiss, while Jagienka truly didn’t notice—she was astonished to see both of her suitors in the retinue.
“Cztan and Wilk are here!” she cried. “They must have run into Father in the forest.”
Macko felt a sharp pang in his old wound at the sight of them. The thought flashed through his mind: one of them might win Jagienka, and with her Moczydoly, the abbot’s lands, forests, and money… Grief and anger seized his heart, especially when he noticed something new. Wilk of Brzozowa ran to the abbot’s stirrup to help him dismount, and the abbot, getting down, leaned amiably on the young nobleman’s shoulder.
“The abbot will patch things up with Old Wilk this way,” Macko thought, “and give him the forests and lands along with the girl.”
But Jagienka’s voice cut short his bitter thoughts. At that same moment she said:
“He’s healed up from Zbyszko’s beating, but even if they come here every day—they’ll wait in vain!”
Macko looked at her. Her face was flushed from anger and cold, and her blue eyes flashed with rage, even though she knew full well that Wilk of Brzozowa and Cztan had stood up for her at the inn and been beaten on her account.
So Macko said:
“Bah! You’ll do what the abbot commands.”
She shot back instantly:
“The abbot will do what I want.”
“Dear God!” thought Macko. “And that fool Zbyszko abandoned such a girl!”