VII.
Meanwhile, Czech had ridden at full speed straight to the Forest Station and, finding the prince still there, told him first what had happened. Fortunately, some courtiers had witnessed the squire riding out unarmed. One of them had even called after him, half in jest, to take some iron along, otherwise the Germans would beat him. But Czech, fearing the knights might cross the border in the meantime, had leaped onto his horse just as he was, wearing only his sheepskin coat, and galloped after them. These testimonies removed all the prince’s doubts as to who could have murdered de Fourcy. But they filled him with such anxiety and anger that for a moment he wanted to send a pursuit after the Teutonic Knights, to send them back in chains to the Grand Master for punishment. After a moment, however, he realized the pursuit could no longer reach the knights before the border, and said:
“Nevertheless, I will send a letter to the Master so that he may know what they are doing here. Things are beginning to go badly in the Order. In the past, obedience was severe, and now any commander acts on his own. This is God’s punishment, but after punishment comes retribution.”
Then he grew thoughtful, and after a moment began speaking to the courtiers again. “There is one thing I cannot understand at all: why they killed the guest. If it weren’t that the lad rode unarmed, I would have suspected him.”
“Bah,” said Father Wyszoniek, “and why would the lad kill him, someone he had never seen before? And secondly, even if he had a weapon, how could he attack five of them alone, along with their armed retinues?”
“That’s true,” said the prince. “The guest must have opposed them in something, or perhaps he didn’t want to lie as they needed him to. I saw here already that they were winking at him to say that Jurand started first.”
And Mrokota z Mocarzewa said, “That’s a bold lad, if he broke that dog Danveld’s hand.”
“He says he heard the bones crunch in the German,” replied the prince, “and judging by how he showed himself in the forest, it’s possible. Clearly both the servant and the master are hot-tempered fellows. Had it not been for Zbyszko, the aurochs would have thrown itself at the horses. The Lorrainer and he contributed greatly to saving the duchess...”
“Indeed, a hot-tempered fellow,” seconded Father Wyszoniek. “Even now, barely breathing, yet he stood up for Jurand and challenged the others. That’s exactly the kind of son-in-law Jurand needs.”
“Jurand spoke differently in Krakow,” said the prince, “but now I think he won’t object.”
“Lord Jesus will see to it,” spoke the duchess, who had just entered at that moment and heard the end of the conversation. “Jurand cannot object now, as long as God restores Zbyszko’s health. But from our side too there must be a reward.”
“The best reward for him will be Danushka,” said the prince, “and I also think he’ll get her. And for this reason: once the women set their minds to something, even a man like Jurand can’t prevail against them.”
“Or am I not being just in my determination?” asked the duchess. “If Zbyszko were flighty, I wouldn’t say so, but there’s probably no one more faithful in the world. And the girl too. She won’t leave his side now, step by step, and he laughs at her even in his pain. But sometimes tears flow from my own eyes! I speak truly. Such love is worth helping, for Our Lady too is glad to see human happiness.”
“As long as it’s God’s will,” said the prince, “then happiness will come. But truth be told, they nearly cut off his head because of that girl, and now the aurochs has mauled him again.”
“Don’t say ‘because of her’!” exclaimed the duchess quickly. “For it was no one else but Danushka who saved him in Krakow.”
“True. But if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have struck Lichtenstein to tear the plumes from his head, and he wouldn’t have so willingly stuck his neck out for de Lorche. As for the reward, I’ve already said that both are owed, and I will consider it in Ciechanow.”
“Nothing would make Zbyszko happier than a knight’s belt and golden spurs.”
The prince smiled kindly at this and replied, “Then let the girl bring them to him. And when the stiffness releases him, we’ll see to it that everything is done according to custom. Let her bring them at once, for quick joy is best!”
Hearing this, the duchess embraced the prince in front of the courtiers, then kissed his hands several times, while he kept smiling. Finally he said, “You see... Well, that was a good thought you had! That the Holy Spirit did not stint even women a bit of wisdom! Now call the girl.”
“Danushka! Danushka!” called the duchess.
After a moment, Danusia appeared in the doorway of the side chamber, her eyes red from sleeplessness, holding bowls filled with steaming porridge that Father Wyszoniek was using to poultice Zbyszko’s broken bones, and which an old lady-in-waiting had just handed to her.
“Come here to me, little orphan!” said Prince Janusz. “Set down the bowls and come.”
When she approached with a certain timidity—for the prince always inspired a certain fear in her—he drew her to him with kindness and began to stroke her face, saying, “Ah, trouble has come upon you, child.”
“Indeed,” replied Danusia.
With sorrow in her heart and tears at the ready, she began to cry at once, but quietly so as not to offend the prince. He asked again, “Why are you sniffling?”
“Because Zbyszko is sick,” she replied, pressing her little fists into her eyes.
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to him. Isn’t that right, Father Wyszoniek?”
“Hey! By God’s will, he’s closer to the wedding than to the coffin,” answered good Father Wyszoniek.
And the prince said, “Wait. Meanwhile I’ll give you a remedy that will ease his pain, or even cure him completely.”
“Did the Teutonic Knights send a balm?” exclaimed Danusia quickly, taking her hands from her eyes.
“With what the Teutonic Knights would send, you’d better grease a dog, not the little knight you love. But I’ll give you something else.”
Then he turned to the courtiers and called, “One of you, hurry to the chamber and fetch spurs and a belt!”
After a moment, when they were brought to him, he said to Danusia, “Take them, and bring them to Zbyszko. Tell him that from now on he is girt. If he dies, he will stand before God as a knight. If not, we’ll complete the rest in Ciechanow or Warsaw.”
Hearing this, Danusia first kissed the prince’s feet, then grabbed the knightly insignia in one hand and the bowls in the other, and rushed into the room where Zbyszko lay. The duchess, not wanting to miss the sight of their joy, followed her.
Zbyszko was gravely ill. But on seeing Danusia, he turned his face, pale with pain, toward her and asked, “And Czech, my berry, did he return?”
“What about Czech!” replied the girl. “I bring you better news. The prince has knighted you, and here, this is what he sends you through me.”
Having said this, she placed the belt and golden spurs beside him. Zbyszko’s pale cheeks flushed with joy and amazement. He looked at Danusia, then at the insignia, then closed his eyes and began to repeat, “How could he have knighted me?”
When the duchess entered at that moment, he raised himself slightly on his shoulders and began to thank her and apologize to her gracious ladyship that he could not fall at her feet, for he had guessed at once that it was through her intercession that such good fortune had befallen him. But she ordered him to stay calm and with her own hands helped Danusia arrange his head again on the pillow. Meanwhile the prince arrived, and with him Father Wyszoniek, Mrokota z Mocarzewa, and several other courtiers. Prince Janusz gave a sign from a distance with his hand for Zbyszko not to move, and then, sitting by the bed, spoke thus:
“Know this: it should not seem strange to people that brave and honorable deeds receive reward. For if virtue were to remain without recompense, then human iniquities would also go through the world without punishment. And since you did not spare your life and defended us from grievous sorrow at the cost of your health, therefore we permit you to gird yourself with the knightly belt and henceforth walk in honor and glory.”
“Gracious lord,” replied Zbyszko, “I would not begrudge even ten lives.”
But he could say no more, both from emotion and because the duchess placed her hand over his mouth—Father Wyszoniek did not allow him to speak. The prince continued:
“I think that you know the knightly duties and that you will worthily bear those adornments. You are to serve our Savior as is proper, and war against the infernal steward. You are to be faithful to the earthly anointed one, avoid unjust war, and defend innocence in oppression. May God and His holy passion aid you in this.”
“Amen,” said Father Wyszoniek.
Then the prince stood up, made the sign of the cross over Zbyszko, and added as he left, “And when you recover, go straight to Ciechanow, where I will also bring Jurand.”