III.
But this time, too, a fight did not come between them. Nicholas of Długolas, having learned from Jędrek z Kropiwnicy what the quarrel was about, took their word that they would not fight without the knowledge of the prince and the komturs. He threatened to close the gates if they resisted. Zbyszko was eager to see Danusia as soon as possible, so he did not dare to object. De Lorche, who fought willingly when necessary but was not a bloodthirsty man, swore without difficulty on his knightly honor that he would await the prince's permission. He feared that acting otherwise might offend the prince. The Lorrainer, having heard songs of tournaments, loved splendid gatherings and lavish ceremonies. He wanted to fight precisely before the court, dignitaries, and ladies, for he believed that in this way his victory would gain greater renown and more easily earn him golden spurs. Moreover, the country and its people intrigued him, so the delay suited him—especially since Nicholas of Długolas, who had spent years in captivity among the Niemcy and could easily converse with foreigners, told wonders about the prince's hunts for various beasts unknown in Western lands. So at midnight they set out together with Zbyszko toward Przasnysz, with their armed retinues and men carrying lanterns to protect against wolves. In winter, wolves gathered in countless packs and could be dangerous even to a dozen or so riders, no matter how well armed. On this side of Ciechanow, forests were plentiful, and not far beyond Przasnysz they turned into the vast Puszcza Kurpieska, which connected to the east with the impenetrable forests of Podlasie and farther Lithuania. In recent times, Lithuanian raiders had often swept down through these forests into Masovia, though they avoided the fearsome Kurpie. In 1337, they had reached as far as Ciechanow and destroyed the town. De Lorche listened with the greatest curiosity to the story of the old guide, Macko of Turobojów, for he burned with a desire to measure himself against the Lithuanians. Like other Western knights, he considered them Saracens. After all, he had come to these parts on a crusade, and on the way he had believed that even war with the Masovians—as a half-pagan people—would grant full indulgence. He could hardly believe his eyes when, entering Masovia, he saw churches in the towns, crosses on the towers, clergymen, knights with holy emblems on their armor, and a people who were indeed vigorous, hot-tempered, prone to quarrels and fights, but Christian and no more savage than the Niemcy among whom the young knight had traveled. So when he was told that this nation had professed Christ for centuries, he did not know what to think of the Krzyżacy. And when he learned that Lithuania had also been baptized by the late Queen of Krakow, his astonishment—and at the same time his concern—knew no bounds.
So he began to question Macko of Turobojów whether in those forests toward which they were heading there were at least dragons, to which people had to sacrifice maidens and with which one could do battle. But Macko's answer on that point, too, was a complete disappointment.
"In the forests there are various worthy beasts, such as wolves, aurochs, bison, and bears, which give enough work," replied the Mazur. "Perhaps there are also unclean spirits in the swamps, but I haven't heard of dragons, and even if there were, we certainly wouldn't give them maidens, but would go after them in a crowd. Bah, if there were, the Kurpie would have long been wearing belts made of their hides!"
"What kind of people are they, and couldn't one fight with them?" asked de Lorche.
"One can fight with them, but it's unhealthy," replied Macko, "and besides, it's not fitting for a knight, for they are a peasant people."
"The Swiss are also peasants. Do these profess Christ?"
"There is no other faith in Masovia, and these are our people and the prince's. You saw the archers at the castle. They are Kurpie themselves, for there are no better archers in the world."
"The English and Scots, whom I saw at the Burgundian court…"
"I saw them in Malbork too," interrupted the Mazur. "Sturdy fellows, but may God never let them stand against the Kurpie!"
Among the Kurpie, a child of seven won't get anything to eat until he shoots down food from the top of a pine tree with an arrow.
"What are you talking about?" Zbyszko asked suddenly, the word "Kurpie" having reached his ears several times.
"About Kurpie and English archers. This knight says that the English, and also the Scots, excel all others."
"I saw them too at Vilnius. Oho! I heard their arrowheads near my ears. There were also knights from all countries there who declared they would eat us without salt, but after trying once or twice, they lost their appetite for it."
Macko laughed and repeated Zbyszko's words to Sir de Lorche.
"They spoke of it at various courts," replied the Lorrainer. "They praised the tenacity of your knights, but reproached them for defending pagans against the cross."
"We defended a people who wanted to be baptized against attacks and injustice. The Niemcy want to keep them in paganism to have a pretext for war."
"God will judge that," said de Lorche.
"Perhaps before long," replied Macko of Turobojów.
But the Lorrainer, having heard that Zbyszko had been at Vilnius, began to question Macko about him, for the news of the battles and knightly duels fought there had already spread far and wide across the world. In particular that duel, to which four Polish knights and four French knights had challenged each other, stirred the imagination of Western warriors. So de Lorche began to look at Zbyszko with greater respect, as a man who had taken part in such famous fights, and he rejoiced in his heart that his opponent would be no ordinary man.
So they rode on in apparent harmony, exchanging courtesies at stops and treating each other to wine, of which de Lorche had plentiful supplies in his wagons. But when, from the conversation between him and Macko of Turobojów, it turned out that Ulryka de Elner was in fact not a maiden but a forty-year-old married woman with six children, Zbyszko's pride was all the more stirred that this strange foreigner dared not only to compare a crone with Danusia, but also to demand precedence for her. Nevertheless, he thought that perhaps the man was not in his right mind, and a dark cell and rods would be more fitting for him than traveling the world—and this thought held back an immediate outburst of anger.
"Don't you think," he said to Macko, "that an evil spirit has addled his wits? Perhaps the devil is sitting in his head like a worm in a nut, ready to jump on one of us at night. We must be on our guard…"
Hearing this, Macko of Turobojów denied it, but began to look at the Lorrainer with some unease, and finally said: "Sometimes it happens that there are a hundred or more of them in a possessed person, and if it's too cramped, they gladly seek lodging in other people. The worst devil is the one sent by a crone."
Then he turned suddenly to the knight: "Praised be Jesus Christ!"
"And I praise Him," replied de Lorche with some surprise.
Macko was completely reassured. "Well, you see," he said, "if an evil spirit were in him, he would have foamed at the mouth or been thrown to the ground, for I accosted him suddenly. We can ride on."
And so they rode on peacefully. From Ciechanow to Przasnysz was not very far; in summer, a messenger on a good horse could cover the distance between the two towns in two hours. But they traveled much slower because of the night, the stops, and the snowdrifts in the forests. Since they had left well after midnight, they did not reach the prince's hunting lodge, which lay beyond Przasnysz on the edge of the forests, until daybreak. The lodge stood almost against the wilderness, large, low, wooden, yet with windowpanes made of glass discs. In front of the lodge one could see a well sweep and two sheds for horses, and around the lodge swarmed hastily built huts of pine branches and tents of hides. In the just-graying day, campfires blazed brightly before the tents, and around them stood beaters in sheepskin coats with the wool turned outward, in fox, wolf, and bear jackets. To Sir de Lorche it seemed that he was seeing wild beasts on two legs before the fire, for most of these people were wearing caps made from animal heads.
Some stood leaning on spears, others on crossbows, some were busy rolling up huge rope nets, others were turning over the coals mighty quarters of bison and elk, apparently intended for the morning meal. The glow of the flames fell on the snow, illuminating at the same time these wild figures, partly obscured by the smoke of the fires, the mist of breaths, and the steam rising from the roasting meats. Behind them one could see the pink-tinted trunks of enormous pines and new crowds of people, the multitude of whom amazed the Lorrainer, unaccustomed to the sight of such hunting gatherings.
"Your princes," he said, "go hunting as if on military campaigns."
"Indeed," replied Macko of Turobojów, "they lack neither hunting gear nor men. These are the prince's beaters, but there are also others who come here for trade from the forest dens."
"What shall we do?" interrupted Zbyszko. "They are still asleep at the lodge."
"Well, we'll wait until they wake up," replied Macko. "We're not going to knock on the door and wake the prince, our lord."
Having said this, he led them to a fire, where the Kurpie spread out bison and bear skins for them, and then eagerly began to offer them steaming meat. Hearing a foreign tongue, they started to crowd around to look at the Niemcy. Soon word spread through Zbyszko's men that he was a knight "from beyond the sea," and then it became so crowded around that the lord of Turoboje had to use his authority to protect the foreigner from excessive curiosity. De Lorche also noticed women in the crowd, mostly also dressed in skins, but rosy-cheeked like apples and remarkably comely, so he began to ask whether they also took part in the hunt.
Macko explained that the women were not part of the hunt but came along with the beaters out of womanly curiosity, or as if to a fair, to buy town goods and sell forest riches. And so it was indeed. That prince's lodge was like a hub around which, even in the prince's absence, two elements gathered: the urban and the forest. The Kurpie did not like to leave the wilderness, for they felt out of place without the rustle of trees overhead, so the people of Przasnysz brought to that forest edge their famous beers, flour ground in town windmills or on water mills on the Węgierka, salt scarce in the wilderness and eagerly sought, ironware, straps, and other such fruits of human industry. In exchange, they took skins, valuable furs, dried mushrooms, nuts, herbs useful for illnesses, or lumps of amber, which were not too difficult to find among the Kurpie. For this reason, around the prince's lodge there seethed something like a constant market, which intensified during the prince's hunts, when both duty and curiosity lured the inhabitants from the depths of the forest.
De Lorche listened to Macko's stories, watching with interest the figures of the beaters, who, living in healthy, resinous air and feeding mainly on meat—as did most peasants of the time—often amazed foreign travelers with their height and strength. Zbyszko, sitting by the fire, kept looking at the doors and windows of the lodge, barely able to stay in place. Only one window was lit, evidently from the kitchen, as smoke seeped through the gaps between the not very tightly fitted panes. The others were dark, gleaming only from the daylight, which grew whiter by the moment and silvered the snow-covered wilderness behind the lodge more and more. In the small door cut into the side wall of the building, servants in the prince's livery occasionally appeared and ran with buckets or pails on yokes to the wells for water. When asked if everyone was still asleep, they replied that the court, tired from yesterday's hunt, was still resting, but that food was already being prepared for the morning meal before setting out.
And indeed, through the kitchen window the smell of fats and saffron began to emerge, spreading far among the campfires. Finally the main door creaked open, revealing the interior of a brightly lit hall, and onto the porch came a man in whom Zbyszko, at first glance, recognized one of the minstrels he had once seen among the duchess's retinue in Krakow. At that sight, without waiting for Macko of Turobojów or de Lorche, Zbyszko sprang toward the lodge with such speed that the astonished Lorrainer asked: "What has happened to that young knight?"
"Nothing has happened," replied Macko of Turobojów. "He is merely in love with one of the duchess's ladies-in-waiting and would like to see her as soon as possible."
"Ah!" replied de Lorche, placing both hands on his heart. And raising his eyes upward, he began to sigh again and again so sorrowfully that Macko shrugged his shoulders and said to himself: "Would he sigh like that for his old woman? Perhaps he really is not in his right mind?"