VI.
However, before setting out for Szczytno, the four brothers and Sir de Fourcy came to bid farewell to the Prince and the Duchess. The farewell was not particularly friendly, yet the Prince, not wanting to send guests away empty-handed according to old Polish custom, gave each of the brothers a beautiful sable pelt and a mark of silver. They accepted gladly, assuring him that as monks sworn to poverty, they would not keep the money for themselves but would distribute it to the poor, whom they would also ask to pray for the Prince's health, glory, and eternal salvation.
The Masurians smirked at these assurances, for the greed of the clergy was well known to them—and the lies of the Krzyżacy even more so. It was a common saying in Mazovia: "A Krzyżak lies as surely as a coward stinks." The Prince merely waved his hand at such thanks, and after they left, he remarked that he would sooner crawl to heaven sideways than rely on the prayers of the Krzyżacy.
But earlier, during the farewell with the Duchess, at the moment when Zygfryd de Löwe was kissing her hand, Hugo de Danveld approached Danusia, placed his hand on her head, and stroking it, said:
"We are commanded to repay evil with good and to love even our enemies, so a sister will come here and bring you, young lady, a healing Hercynian balm."
"How should I thank you, sir?" replied Danusia.
"Be a friend of the Order and its knights."
Sir de Fourcy noticed this conversation, and struck by the girl's beauty, he asked when they were already heading toward Szczytno:
"Who is that beautiful lady-in-waiting with whom you spoke before leaving?"
"Jurand's daughter!" answered the Krzyżak.
"The one you intend to seize?"
"The same. And once we seize her, Jurand is ours."
"Not everything that comes from Jurand is bad, it seems. It would be worth being the guard of such a prisoner."
"That means I think the same as you. The father is an enemy of the Order, but to the daughter you spoke honeyed words and even promised her balm."
Hugo de Danveld evidently felt the need to justify himself with a few words to Zygfryd de Löwe, who, though no better than the others, nonetheless observed strict customs and often attacked other brothers on that account.
"I promised her the balm," he said, "for that young knight who was wounded by the aurochs and to whom, as you know, she is betrothed. If they raise an outcry after the girl is seized, we will say that not only did we not wish her harm, but we even sent her remedies out of Christian charity."
"Good," he said to de Löwe. "We only need to send someone reliable."
"I will send a devout woman, completely devoted to the Order. I will command her to watch and listen. When our men, supposedly from Jurand, arrive, they will find ready coordination…"
"Such men will be hard to select," said Brother Rotgier.
"No. The people here speak the same language. There are also in the city—indeed even among the mercenaries in the garrison—men who fled from Mazovia pursued by the law: bandits, thieves—true—but knowing no fear and ready for anything. To these I will promise great rewards if they succeed, and a rope if they fail."
"Bah! What if they betray us?"
"They won't betray us, because each of them has long deserved to be broken on the wheel in Mazovia, and a sentence hangs over each. We just need to give them decent clothes so they are taken for Jurand's rightful servants—and the main thing: a letter with Jurand's seal."
"We must foresee everything," said Brother Rotgier. "After the last battle, Jurand may want to see the Prince to complain about us and justify himself. Being in Ciechanowa, he will visit his daughter at the forest lodge. It may therefore happen that our men, coming for Jurandówna, will run into Jurand himself."
"The men I will choose are rogues through and through. They will know that if they encounter Jurand, they will end up on hooks. It's their concern to avoid meeting him."
"Yet it may happen that they are captured."
"Then we will deny them and the letter. Who will prove that we sent them? In the end, there will be no kidnapping, no outcry, and if the Masurians quarter a few gallows birds, it will do no harm to the Order."
Brother Gotfried spoke up: "I don't understand this policy of yours, nor this fear of yours that it might come out that the girl was kidnapped on our orders. Once we have her in our hands, we must still send someone to Jurand and tell him: 'Your daughter is with us—if you want her to regain her freedom, surrender Sir de Bergow and yourself for her…' How else? But then it will be known that we ordered the girl to be seized."
"True!" said Sir de Fourcy, to whom the whole affair did not quite appeal. "Why hide what must come out?"
And Hugo de Danveld began to laugh, and turning to Brother Gotfried, asked:
"How long have you been wearing the white cloak?"
"It will be six years on the first Sunday after Trinity."
"If you wear it another six, you will understand the Order's affairs better. Jurand knows us better than you do. We will tell him this: 'Your daughter is guarded by Brother Szomberg, and if you utter a word, remember Witold's children.'"
"And later?"
"Later Sir de Bergow will be free, and the Order will also be rid of Jurand."
"No!" exclaimed Brother Rotgier. "Everything is so wisely conceived that God should bless our undertaking."
"God blesses all deeds that aim at the good of the Order," said the grim Zygfryd de Löwe.
And they rode on in silence, while ahead of them, at a distance of two or three crossbow shots, their retinues went to clear the road, which had become covered with snow, for a heavy snowfall had fallen during the night. A thick layer of snow lay on the trees; the day was cloudy but warm, so that steam rose from the horses. Flocks of crows flew from the forests toward human settlements, filling the air with gloomy cawing.
Sir de Fourcy remained a little behind the Krzyżacy and rode deep in thought. For several years he had been a guest of the Order, taking part in expeditions to Samogitia, where he distinguished himself with great valor, and being entertained everywhere as only the Krzyżacy knew how to entertain knights from distant lands, he had become strongly attached to them. Having no fortune of his own, he intended to join their ranks.
At times he stayed in Malbork, at times he visited familiar commanderies, seeking entertainment and adventure in his travels. Having recently arrived at Lubow with the wealthy Sir de Bergow and hearing of Jurand, he began to burn with the desire to measure himself against the man surrounded by universal terror. The arrival of Sir Majneger, who emerged victorious from all battles, hastened the expedition. The commander of Lubow provided men for it; however, he told the three knights so much not only about Jurand's cruelty but also about his treachery and faithlessness that when Jurand demanded they dismiss their soldiers, they did not want to agree, fearing that if they did, he would surround them, destroy them, or throw them into the dungeons of Spychów.
Then Jurand, believing that they were after not only a knightly combat but also plunder, attacked them fiercely and inflicted a terrible defeat on them. Sir de Fourcy saw Sir de Bergow thrown down with his horse, saw Sir Majneger with a splinter of a lance in his belly, saw men begging for mercy in vain. He himself barely managed to fight his way out—and for several days wandered along roads and through forests, where he would have died of hunger or become prey to wild beasts, had he not by chance reached Ciechanowa, where he found Brothers Gotfried and Rotgier. From the whole expedition he brought away feelings of humiliation, shame, hatred, vengeance, and grief for Sir de Bergow, who had been his close friend.
Therefore, he joined wholeheartedly in the complaint of the knight-brothers when they demanded punishment and freedom for their unfortunate comrade. And when that complaint remained fruitless—at first he was ready to agree to any means that led to vengeance against Jurand. Now, however, scruples suddenly arose in him. Listening to the conversations of the knights, and especially to what Hugo de Danveld said, he could not help being astonished time and again. Having come to know the Krzyżacy more closely over several years, he had already seen that they were not what they were represented to be in Germany and the West. Yet in Malbork he had met a few upright and stern knights: they themselves often complained about the corruption of the brothers, about their debauchery, lack of discipline—and Sir de Fourcy felt they were right. But being himself dissolute and undisciplined, he did not hold these vices too much against others, especially since all the knight-brothers compensated for them with valor. After all, he had seen them at Wilno, charging chest-to-chest against Polish knights, during the storming of castles defended with superhuman stubbornness by Polish auxiliary garrisons; he had seen them dying under blows of axes and swords, in general assaults or single combats. They were relentless and cruel toward Lithuania, but they were also like lions—and they walked in glory as in sunshine. Now, however, it seemed to Sir de Fourcy that Hugo de Danveld was saying such things and proposing such methods that the soul of any true knight should recoil—and yet the other brothers not only did not rise up against him in anger, but assented to every word. So astonishment seized him more and more, and finally he fell into deep thought as to whether it befitted him to lend a hand to such deeds.
For if it were only a matter of kidnapping the girl and then exchanging her for Sir de Bergow, he might have agreed, although Danusia's beauty had moved and touched his heart. But the Krzyżacy clearly wanted something else. Through her they wanted to get both Sir de Bergow and Jurand himself—to promise him that they would release her if he gave himself in exchange, and then murder him, and along with him, to conceal the fraud and the crime—probably the girl as well.
After all, they had already threatened her with the fate of Witold's children, in case Jurand should complain. "They intend to keep nothing—to deceive both and do away with both," Sir de Fourcy said to himself. "And yet they bear the cross and should uphold honor more than others."
And his soul grew more and more indignant at such insolence, but he decided to check how correct his suspicions were—so he rode up to Danveld again and asked:
"And if Jurand surrenders to you, will you release the girl?"
"If we released her, the whole world would soon know that we captured both," replied Danveld.
"Bah, what will you do with her then?"
At this, Danveld leaned toward the speaker and showed his decaying teeth in a smile beneath his thick lips.
"What are you asking? About what we will do with her before, or what after?"
But Sir de Fourcy, knowing now what he wanted to know, fell silent. For a moment he still seemed to struggle with himself, then he rose slightly in his stirrups and said loudly enough for all four knights to hear:
"The pious Brother Ulrich von Jungingen, who is a model and ornament of knighthood, once said to me: 'Among the old knights in Malbork you will still find men worthy of the cross, but those who sit in the border commanderies bring only disgrace to the Order.'"
"We are all sinners, but we serve the Savior," replied Hugo.
"Where is your knightly honor? The Savior is not served by shameful deeds. Know therefore that I will not only not lend a hand to anything, I will also forbid you."
"What will you forbid?"
"Treachery, betrayal, disgrace."
"And how can you forbid us? In the battle with Jurand you lost your retinue and wagons. You must live only by the grace of the Order—and you will starve if we do not throw you a crust of bread. And besides: you are one, we are four—how will you forbid us?"
"How will I forbid you?" repeated Sir de Fourcy. "I can turn back to the court and warn the Prince, I can proclaim your intentions to the whole world."
At that, the knight-brothers looked at each other, and their faces changed in an instant. Particularly Hugo de Danveld gazed for a long moment with a questioning look into the eyes of Zygfryd de Löwe, then turned to Sir de Fourcy:
"Your ancestors," he said, "once served in the Order, and you too wish to join it, but we do not accept traitors."
"And I do not wish to serve with traitors."
"Ah! You will not carry out your threat. You know that the Order knows how to punish not only its own knights…"
And Sir de Fourcy, stirred by these words, drew his sword, grasped the blade with his left hand, placed his right hand on the hilt, and said:
"By this cross-shaped hilt, by the head of Saint Dionysius, my patron, and by my knightly honor, I will warn the Prince of Mazovia and the Grand Master."
Hugo de Danveld again looked questioningly at Zygfryd de Löwe, and the latter half-closed his eyelids, as if giving a sign of consent.
Then Danveld spoke in a strangely hollow and altered voice:
"Saint Dionysius could carry his severed head under his arm, but when yours falls once…"