Father Wyszoniek feared that even after a second awakening, a fever might seize Jurand and cloud his mind for a long time. He had promised the duchess and Zbyszko he would let them know when the old knight spoke, and after they left, he went to rest himself. But Jurand woke on the second holiday just before noon, and he was fully lucid. The duchess and Zbyszko were present, so he sat up in bed, looked at her, recognized her, and said:
“Your Grace… By God, am I in Ciechanow?”
“And you slept through the holiday,” she replied.
“The snow buried me. Who pulled me out?”
“That knight: Zbyszko of Bogdaniec. You remember, in Krakow…”
Jurand stared a moment at the young man with his good eye and said:
“I remember… And where is Danuśka?”
“She didn’t travel with you, did she?” the duchess asked with alarm.
“How could she have traveled with me when I was traveling to her?”
Zbyszko and the duchess exchanged glances, thinking it was still the fever speaking through Jurand’s lips. Then the duchess said:
“Come to your senses, for the love of God! Wasn’t the girl with you?”
“The girl? With me?” Jurand asked in astonishment.
“Your men perished, but they didn’t find her among them. Why did you leave her in Spychow?”
He repeated, but now fear crept into his voice: “In Spychow? She’s with you, Your Grace, not with me!”
“But you sent men and a letter to the Forest Station asking for her!”
“In the name of the Father and the Son!” Jurand answered. “I never sent for her at all.”
Suddenly the duchess turned pale.
“What is this?” she said. “Are you sure you’re speaking clearly?”
“For the mercy of God, where is my child?” Jurand cried, springing up.
Father Wyszoniek heard this and hurried out of the room. The duchess continued:
“Listen: an armed escort came with a letter from you to the Forest Station asking for Danuśka. The letter said beams had crushed you in a fire… that you’d gone half-blind and wanted to see your child again. They took Danuśka and rode off…”
“Woe!” cried Jurand. “As God is in heaven, there was no fire in Spychow, and I never sent for her!”
Father Wyszoniek returned with the letter, handed it to Jurand, and asked:
“Is this your priest’s handwriting?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the seal?”
“My seal. What does the letter say?”
Father Wyszoniek read it aloud. Jurand listened, tearing at his hair, then said:
“The letter is forged… the seal counterfeit! Woe to my soul! They’ve taken my child and will destroy her!”
“Who?”
“The Krzyżacy!”
“God’s wounds! We must tell the prince! Let him send envoys to the Grand Master!” cried the duchess. “Merciful Jesus, save her and help her!…”
She ran out of the room screaming. Jurand leaped from the bed and frantically pulled his clothes onto his massive frame. Zbyszko sat like stone, but after a moment his clenched teeth began to grind ominously.
“How do you know the Krzyżacy took her?” asked Father Wyszoniek.
“I’d swear by Christ’s Passion!”
“Wait… it’s possible. They came to the Forest Station to complain about you… They wanted revenge on you…”
“And they took her!” Zbyszko suddenly shouted.
He ran out, rushed to the stables, and ordered wagons hitched and horses saddled, without really knowing why he did it. He only understood that he had to go rescue Danuśka—right away—all the way to Prussia, and tear her from enemy hands or die trying.
Then he returned to the chamber to tell Jurand that weapons and horses would be ready soon. He was certain Jurand would ride with him. His heart seethed with anger, pain, and grief—but he didn’t lose hope. It seemed to him that the two of them, together with the fearsome knight from Spychow, could accomplish anything and take on the whole might of the Krzyżacy.
In the room, besides Jurand, Father Wyszoniek, and the duchess, he found Prince Janusz, Sir de Lorche, and Nicholas of Długolas, whom the prince had summoned for counsel upon hearing of the matter—for his wisdom and his thorough knowledge of the Krzyżacy, having spent long years in their captivity.
“We must act prudently, lest we do harm through rashness and lose the girl,” said Nicholas of Długolas. “We should complain at once to the Grand Master, and if Your Highness gives me a letter, I’ll ride.”
“I’ll give you a letter, and you’ll ride with it,” said the prince. “We won’t let the child perish, so help me God and the Holy Cross. The Grand Master fears war with the King of Poland and wants to win over both my brother Siemowit and me. Surely she wasn’t taken on his orders, and he’ll command her return.”
“And if it was on his orders?” asked Father Wyszoniek.
“Though he’s a Krzyżak, there’s more honor in him than in the others,” replied the prince. “As I told you, he’d rather please me now than anger me. Jagiello’s power is no laughing matter… Hey! They’ve given us plenty of trouble while they could, but now they realize that if we Masurians also help Jagiello, it’ll be bad for them…”
But Nicholas of Długolas began to speak:
“True. The Krzyżacy do nothing without reason. So I reckon that if they took the girl, it’s only to knock the sword from Jurand’s hand—either to get a ransom or to exchange her.”
He turned to the lord of Spychow:
“What prisoners do you have now?”
“De Bergow,” Jurand answered.
“Is he important?”
“He seems to be.”
Sir de Lorche, hearing the name de Bergow, began to ask about him, and when he learned the matter, he said:
“He’s a kinsman of the Count of Guelders, a great benefactor of the Order, and his family has served the Order well.”
“That’s right,” said Nicholas of Długolas, translating his words for the others. “The de Bergows have held high offices in the Order.”
“And yet Danveld and de Löwe pleaded for him fiercely,” said the prince. “Every time they opened their mouths, they said de Bergow must be freed. As God is in heaven, they surely took the girl to get de Bergow back.”
“Then they’ll return her,” said the priest.
“But we’d better know where she is,” said Nicholas of Długolas. “Suppose the Grand Master asks, ‘Whom shall I command to return her?’ What will we tell him?”
“Where is she?” Jurand said dully. “They won’t keep her near the border, for fear I’d free her. They’ve taken her far away to some distant Vistula sandbar or the coast.”
Zbyszko said, “We’ll find her and free her.”
But the prince suddenly burst out with suppressed anger:
“Those dogs took her from my court, so they’ve dishonored me too, and I won’t forgive them as long as I live. I’ve had enough of their treachery! Enough of their aggression! I’d rather have werewolves for neighbors! But now the Grand Master must punish those commanders, return the girl, and send envoys to apologize to me. Otherwise, I’ll send out the war summons!”
He slammed his fist on the table and added:
“Oh! My brother from Plock will follow me, and Witold, and King Jagiello’s power! Enough leniency! A saint would have lost patience long ago. I’ve had enough!”
Everyone fell silent, waiting for the anger to subside before resuming the council. Anna Danuta was relieved that the prince took Danuśka’s case so to heart, for she knew he was patient but also stubborn, and once he resolved something, he never gave up until he got his way.
Then Father Wyszoniek spoke.
“There was once obedience in the Order,” he said, “and no commander dared act on his own without the permission of the Chapter and the Grand Master. That is why God placed such vast lands in their hands, raising them above all other earthly powers. But now there is neither obedience, nor truth, nor honesty, nor faith among them. Nothing but greed and such malice as if they were wolves, not men. How can they obey the Grand Master’s commands or the Chapter’s when they don’t obey God’s? Each sits in his castle like an independent prince, and they help each other in evil. We complain to the Master—they deny it. He orders them to return the girl—they refuse, or say, ‘She is not with us, for we did not take her.’ He orders them to swear an oath—they swear. So what do we do?”
“What to do?” said Nicholas of Długolas. “Let Jurand go to Spychow. If they took her for ransom or to exchange for de Bergow, they have to let him know—and they will, to no one else but Jurand.”
“The ones who came to the Forest Station took her,” said the priest.
“Then the Master will put them on trial or order them to face Jurand in combat.”
“Combat?” cried Zbyszko. “They must face me, because I challenged them first!”
Jurand took his hands from his face and asked:
“Who were those at the Forest Station?”
“Danveld, old de Löwe, and two brothers: Gotfryd and Rotgier,” answered the priest. “They complained and wanted the prince to order you to release de Bergow. But after the prince heard from de Fourcy that the Niemcy had attacked you first, he rebuked them and sent them away empty-handed.”
“Ride to Spychow,” said the prince. “They’ll contact you there. They haven’t done so yet because Danveld’s squire had his arm crushed by this young knight’s man when he was delivering the challenge. Ride to Spychow, and when they contact you, let me know. They’ll send the child back for de Bergow, but I won’t abandon vengeance because they also dishonored me by taking her from my court.”
Anger began to seize him again, for the Krzyżacy had indeed exhausted all his patience. After a moment he added:
“Hey! They blew and blew on the fire, but in the end they’ll burn their snouts.”
“They’ll deny it!” repeated Father Wyszoniek.
“If they once tell Jurand the girl is with them, they won’t be able to deny it,” replied Nicholas of Długolas somewhat impatiently. “Truly, they’re not keeping her near the border—and as Jurand rightly guessed, they’ve taken her to more distant castles or to the coastal sandbars. But when there is proof that they did it, they won’t deny it before the Grand Master.”
Jurand began to repeat in a strange and terrible voice:
“Danveld, Löwe, Gotfryd, and Rotgier…”
Nicholas of Długolas also advised sending experienced and cunning men to Prussia to find out in Szczytno and Innsbruck whether Jurandówna was there, and if not, where she had been taken. Then the prince took his staff and left to give the necessary orders. The duchess turned to Jurand, wanting to comfort him with kind words.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
For a moment he did not answer, as if he hadn’t heard, and then suddenly said:
“As if someone stabbed me in an old wound.”
“But trust in God’s mercy: Danuśka will return. Just give them de Bergow.”
“I would not begrudge them even my blood.”
The duchess hesitated whether to tell him about the vow but decided against adding fresh grief to Jurand’s already heavy misfortune. Besides, she felt a kind of fear. “He and Zbyszko will search for her—let Zbyszko tell him when the time comes,” she told herself. “Now it might drive him completely mad.” So she preferred to talk about something else.
“Don’t blame us,” she said. “Men came in your colors, with a letter bearing your seal, announcing that you were ill, that your eyes were failing, and that you wanted to see your child one more time. How could we refuse or disobey a father’s command?”
Jurand bowed at her feet.
“I blame no one, Your Grace.”
“And know this: God will return her to you, for His eye is upon her. He will send her rescue, just as He did in the last hunt, when a fierce aurochs charged us—and the Lord Jesus inspired Zbyszko to defend us. He nearly lost his life and was ill for a long time afterward, but he saved Danuśka and me, for which the prince gave him his belt and spurs. You see! God’s hand is over her. Surely, it’s a pity for the child. I too miss her. I thought she would come with you, that I would see my dearest, but now…”
Her voice trembled, tears flowed from her eyes, and in Jurand, the despair he had suppressed until now burst forth, sudden and terrible, like a whirlwind. He grabbed his long hair with both hands and began to strike his head against the wall beams, groaning and repeating in a hoarse voice:
“Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!…”
But Zbyszko sprang to him, shook him hard by the shoulders, and shouted:
“To the road! To Spychow!”