V.
Father Wyszoniek examined Zbyszko's wounds, decided only one rib was broken, but on the first day he would not vouch for recovery, for he did not know "whether the heart had turned over in the sick man or whether the liver had torn loose." Toward evening, Sir de Lorche was seized by such weakness that he had to lie down, and the next day he could not move hand or foot without great pain in all his bones. The duchess, Danusia, and the other ladies-in-waiting watched over the sick men and brewed various ointments and remedies according to Father Wyszoniek's prescription. Zbyszko, however, had been badly beaten and from time to time spat blood, which greatly worried Father Wyszoniek. But he remained conscious, and on the second day, though still very weak, having learned from Danusia to whom he owed his life, he summoned his Czech to thank and reward him. Yet he had to think that the Czech came from Jagienka, and that without her kind heart he would have died. That thought weighed on him, for he felt he could never repay the good girl with good for good and would only be a source of sorrow and terrible grief for her. He told himself at once: "I can't split myself in two," but a kind of remorse remained in the depths of his soul, and the Czech only inflamed that inner unease.
"I swore to my young lady," he said, "on my yeoman's honor that I would guard you—so I will, without any help. It's to her, not to me, sir, that you owe your rescue."
Zbyszko did not reply, only began to breathe heavily. The Czech was silent for a moment, then spoke again:
"If you ordered me to ride to Bogdaniec, I would go. Perhaps you'd be glad to see the old master, for God knows what will become of you."
"What does Father Wyszoniek say?" asked Zbyszko.
"Father Wyszoniek says it will show at the new moon, and the new moon is four days away."
"Well, then you don't need to go to Bogdaniec. Either I'll die before my uncle gets here, or I'll recover."
"You could at least send a letter to Bogdaniec. Sanderus writes everything clearly. They'll know about you and perhaps have a Mass said."
"Leave me alone now, I'm weak. If I die, you'll return to Zgorzelice and tell them how it happened—then they'll have a Mass said. And they'll bury me here, or in Ciechanow."
"Unless in Ciechanow or Przasnysz, because in the forest only the Kurpie bury their dead, with wolves howling over them. I also heard from the servants that the prince is returning to Ciechanow with the court in two days, and then to Warsaw."
"They won't leave me here," replied Zbyszko.
He guessed right, for the duchess went that same day to the prince to ask that she be allowed to stay in the forest station with Danusia, the ladies-in-waiting, and Father Wyszoniek, who was against moving Zbyszko quickly to Przasnysz. After two days, Sir de Lorche felt much better and began to get up, but when he learned that the "ladies" were staying, he stayed as well, to accompany them on the return journey and, in case of an attack by "Saracens," to defend them from evil adventure. Where those "Saracens" would come from—that question the brave Lorrainer did not ask himself. In the distant West, Lithuanians were indeed called that, yet no danger could threaten the daughter of Kestutis, Witold's own sister and the cousin of the powerful King of Krakow, Jagiello.
But Sir de Lorche had spent too long among the Krzyżaks not to suppose, despite everything he had heard in Masovia about the baptism of Lithuania and the union of two crowns on one ruler's head, that from Lithuanians one could always expect evil. So the Krzyżaks had told him, and he had not yet entirely lost faith in their words.
But in the meantime, an incident occurred that cast a shadow between the Teutonic Knights' guests and Prince Janusz. The day before the court's departure, Brothers Godfrey and Rotgier, who had previously stayed in Ciechanow, arrived, and with them came a certain Mr. de Fourcy, as a herald of unwelcome news for the Krzyżaks. It happened that foreign guests staying with the Teutonic starosta in Lubow—namely he, Mr. de Fourcy, and also Mr. de Bergow and Mr. Majneger, both from families already meritorious in the Order—having heard tales of Jurand of Spychów, not only did not fear him but decided to lure the famous warrior into the field to see if he was truly as terrible as reported. The starosta objected, citing the peace between the Order and the Masovian duchies, but in the end, perhaps in the hope of ridding himself of a dangerous neighbor, he not only decided to turn a blind eye to the expedition but also allowed armed men-at-arms for it. The knights sent a challenge to Jurand, who eagerly accepted on condition that they dismiss the men and fight him three against three with two companions on the very border of Prussia and Spychów. But when they refused to dismiss the men-at-arms or withdraw from the Spychów lands, he attacked them, killed the men-at-arms, ran Mr. Majneger through terribly with his lance, took Mr. de Bergow captive, and threw him into the Spychów dungeons. De Fourcy alone escaped, and after wandering for three days in the Masovian forests, learning from charcoal burners that knight-brothers were staying in Ciechanow, he made his way to them to bring the complaint before the prince's majesty together with them, to ask for punishment and an order to release Mr. de Bergow.
These tidings soon soured the good relations between the prince and the guests, for not only the two arriving brothers but also Hugo de Danveld and Zygfryd de Loewe began to demand insistently from the prince that at last he render justice to the Order, free the border from the predator, and mete out punishment for all offenses in a lump sum. Hugo de Danveld in particular, who had his own old scores to settle with Jurand—the memory of which burned him with pain and shame—demanded vengeance almost threateningly.
"A complaint will go to the Grand Master," he said, "and if we do not obtain justice from Your Princely Grace, he will be able to render it himself, even if all Masovia stands behind that brigand."
But the prince, though gentle by nature, grew angry and said:
"What justice do you demand? If Jurand had attacked you first, burned villages, seized herds, and killed people, I would certainly have summoned him to court and meted out punishment. But it was your own men who attacked him. Your starosta allowed men-at-arms on the expedition—and what did Jurand do? He accepted the challenge and only demanded that the men withdraw. How can I punish him for that, or summon him to court? You provoked a fearsome man whom everyone fears, and you voluntarily brought disaster on your own heads—so what do you want? Am I to order him not to defend himself when it pleases you to attack him?"
"It was not the Order that attacked him, but guests, foreign knights," replied Hugo.
"The Order is responsible for its guests, and besides, men from the Lubow garrison were with them."
"Was the starosta supposed to hand over his guests to be slaughtered?"
At that, the prince turned to Zygfryd and said:
"Look how justice turns in your mouths, and whether your evasions do not offend God."
But the stern Zygfryd replied:
"Mr. de Bergow must be released from captivity, for men of his family have been elders in the Order and have rendered great services to the Cross."
"And the death of Majneger must be avenged," added Hugo de Danveld.
Hearing this, the prince swept his hair back on both sides, rose from the bench, and began to walk toward the Krzyżaks with a menacing face. But after a moment, he evidently remembered that they were his guests, so he restrained himself once more, placed his hand on Zygfryd's shoulder, and said:
"Listen, Starosta: you wear a cross on your cloak, so answer, according to your conscience, by that cross—was Jurand in the right, or was he not?"
"Mr. de Bergow must be released from captivity," answered Zygfryd de Loewe.
A moment of silence fell, then the prince said:
"God grant me patience."
Zygfryd continued in a sharp voice, like the cuts of a sword:
"This wrong that has befallen us in the persons of our guests is merely a new occasion for complaint. As long as the Order has been the Order, never in Palestine, nor in Transylvania, nor among the still-pagan Lithuanians, has one ordinary man done us as much harm as that brigand from Spychów. Your Princely Grace! We demand justice and punishment not for one wrong, but for a thousand, not for one battle, but for fifty, not for blood shed once, but for whole years of such deeds for which heavenly fire should have burned that godless nest of malice and cruelty. Whose groans cry out for vengeance to God? Ours! Whose tears? Ours! In vain we brought complaints, in vain we cried for judgment. We were never given satisfaction!"
Hearing this, Prince Janusz began to shake his head and replied:
"Ah! Many times in the past the Krzyżaks visited Spychów, and Jurand was not your enemy until his beloved wife died on your rope. But how often have you attacked him yourselves, wanting to kill him, as now, because he challenged and defeated your knights? How many times have you set assassins on him, or shot at him with crossbows in the forest? He did attack you, true, because vengeance burned him—but did you, or the knights who dwell in your lands, not attack peaceful people in Masovia, seize herds, burn villages, murder men, women, and children? And when I complained to the Master, he answered me from Malbork: 'Ordinary border mischief!' Leave me alone! It is not for you to complain—you who seized me myself, unarmed, in peacetime, on my own land—and if it were not for fear of the King of Krakow's anger, I might still be languishing in your dungeons. That is how you repaid me, who come from the line of your benefactors. Leave me alone, for it is not for you to speak of justice!"
Hearing this, the Krzyżaks glanced at each other impatiently, for they were pained and ashamed that the prince had mentioned the incident near Zlotoryja before Mr. de Fourcy. So Hugo de Danveld, wanting to put an end to further talk on the matter, said:
"With Your Princely Grace, a mistake occurred, which we corrected not out of fear of the King of Krakow but for the sake of justice. And for border mischief, our Master cannot answer, for as many kingdoms as there are in the world, everywhere on the borders unruly spirits make mischief."
"So you yourself say that, yet you call for judgment on Jurand. What do you want?"
"Justice and punishment."
The prince clenched his bony fists and repeated:
"God grant me patience!"
"Let Your Princely Majesty also remember," continued Danveld, "that our wrongdoers harm only secular people not belonging to the German race, while yours raise their hands against the German Order, thereby offending the Savior himself. And what torments and punishments are enough for the wrongdoers of the Cross?"
"Listen!" said the prince. "Do not wage war with God, for you cannot deceive Him."
And placing his hands on the Krzyżak's shoulders, he shook him strongly. The knight was immediately disconcerted and began in a gentler voice:
"If it is true that the guests first attacked Jurand and did not send away the men, I will not approve of that. But did Jurand really accept the challenge?"
Having said this, he began to look at Mr. de Fourcy, winking at him covertly as if to give him to understand that he should deny it. But the latter, whether unable or unwilling to do so, replied:
"He wanted us to send away the men and then fight him three against three."
"Are you certain?"
"On my honor! De Bergow and I agreed, but Majneger did not consent."
Then the prince interrupted:
"Starosta of Szczytno! You know better than others that Jurand does not fail a challenge."
Here he turned to all and said:
"If any of you wishes to challenge him to a fight on foot or on horseback, I give permission. If Jurand is killed or captured, Mr. de Bergow will be released from captivity without ransom. Do not ask more of me, for you will not succeed."
But after these words, a deep silence fell. Hugo de Danveld, Zygfryd de Loewe, Brother Rotgier, and Brother Godfrey—as brave as they were—knew the terrible lord of Spychów too well for any of them to take up a fight to the death with him. Only a foreigner from distant parts, such as de Lorche or de Fourcy, might have done so, but de Lorche was not present at the conversation, and Mr. de Fourcy was still full of inner terror.
"I saw him once," he muttered quietly, "and I do not wish to see him again."
Zygfryd de Loewe said:
"Monastic knights are not permitted to fight in single combat unless with special permission from the Master and the Grand Marshal. But we are not here to ask permission for a fight; we demand that de Bergow be released from captivity and that Jurand be punished by death."
"You do not make the laws in this land."