But Zbyszko, riding behind him, couldn't hold out much longer and said to himself in his soul: “I’d rather he burst out in anger than shut himself up.” So he rode up to him, touched stirrup to stirrup, and began to speak.
“Listen to how it was. You know what Danuśka did for me in Krakow, but you don’t know that in Bogdaniec they were trying to match me with Jagienka, Zych’s daughter from Zgorzelice. My uncle Macko wanted it; her father Zych wanted it; and even the abbot, a rich relative, also wanted it. Why should I tell you at length? A decent girl, like a doe, and a worthy dowry too. But it couldn’t be. I felt sorry for Jagienka, but I felt even sorrier for Danuśka—and I set off for her in Mazovia, for I’ll tell you frankly: I couldn’t live any longer. Remember how you yourself loved—remember!—and you won’t wonder.”
Here Zbyszko paused, waiting for some word from Jurand’s lips, but when the other remained silent, he began to speak further.
“At the Forest Station, God granted that I saved the lady and Danuśka from an aurochs during the hunt. And immediately the lady said: ‘Now Jurand won’t be opposed, for how can he not repay such a deed?’ But at that time I didn’t think of taking her without your parental permission. Bah! And I couldn’t anyway, because the fierce beast had mauled me so badly that it nearly drove the soul out of me. But then—you know—those people came for Danuśka, supposedly to take her to Spychów, and I still hadn’t risen from my sickbed. I thought I would never see her again. I thought you would take her to Spychów and give her to someone else. In Krakow you were opposed to me after all. I already thought I would die. Hey, mighty God, what a night that was! Nothing but anguish; nothing but grief! I thought that when she left me, the sun would never rise. Understand human love and human pain.”
And tears even trembled for a moment in Zbyszko’s voice, but since he had a brave heart, he controlled himself and said:
“The people came for her in the evening and wanted to take her right away, but the duchess ordered them to wait until morning. Then the Lord Jesus sent me the thought to bow to the duchess and ask her for Danuśka. I thought that if I were to die, at least I would have that one consolation. Remember, the girl was about to leave, and I remained ill and close to death. There was no time to ask your permission. The prince was no longer at the Forest Station, so the lady wavered both ways, for she had no one to consult. But finally both she and Father Wyszoniek took pity on me—and Father Wyszoniek gave us the wedding. God’s power, God’s law.”
And Jurand interrupted hollowly: “And God’s punishment.”
“Why should it be punishment?” asked Zbyszko. “Consider only that they sent for her before the wedding, and whether there was one or not, they would have taken her just the same.”
But Jurand again said nothing and rode on, withdrawn, gloomy, with a face so stony that Zbyszko, although at first he felt the relief that always comes from confessing something long hidden, finally grew afraid and began to say to himself with increasing unease that the old knight had shut himself up in anger, and that from now on they would be like strangers and hostile people.
And a moment of great dejection came upon him. Never since leaving Bogdaniec had he felt so bad. It seemed to him now that there was no hope either of reconciling Jurand or, what was worse, of saving Danusia, that everything was in vain, and that in the future only ever greater misfortunes and ever greater misery would fall upon him. But this dejection lasted briefly; rather, in accordance with his nature, it soon turned into anger, into a desire for argument and fight. “He doesn’t want peace,” he said to himself, thinking of Jurand, “let there be discord, let there be whatever!” And he was ready to leap at Jurand’s own eyes. He was also seized by a craving for a fight with anyone about anything, just to do something, just to give vent to his sorrows, bitterness, and anger, just to find some relief.
Meanwhile, they arrived at an inn at the crossroads, called Swietlik, where Jurand, during his return from the prince’s manor to Spychów, usually gave rest to people and horses. Involuntarily, he did so now. After a moment, both he and Zbyszko found themselves in a separate room. Suddenly Jurand stopped before the young knight and, fixing his gaze on him, asked:
“So it’s for her that you’ve come here?”
He answered almost harshly: “Do you think I’d deny it?”
And he began to look straight into Jurand’s eyes, ready to burst out with anger in return. But in the old warrior’s face there was no spite, only boundless sadness.
“And you saved my child?” he asked after a moment. “And you dug me out?”
And Zbyszko looked at him with surprise and fear that he might be losing his mind, for Jurand was repeating exactly the same questions he had asked before.
“Sit down,” he said, “for it seems to me you are still weak.”
But Jurand raised his hands, placed them on Zbyszko’s shoulders—and suddenly drew him with all his strength to his chest; the latter, recovering from momentary astonishment, grasped him around the waist, and they held each other for a long time, for common sorrows and common misery bound them together.
When they let go, Zbyszko clasped the old knight’s knees, and then began to kiss his hand with tears in his eyes.
“You won’t be opposed to me?” he asked.
And Jurand replied: “I was opposed to you, because in my soul I had offered her to God.”
“You offered her to God, and God to me. His will!”
“His will!” repeated Jurand. “Only now we need mercy as well.”
“Whom will God help, if not a father who seeks his child, if not a husband who seeks his wife? He won’t help robbers.”
“And yet they abducted her,” replied Jurand.
“Then you’ll give them de Bergowa.”
“I’ll give everything they want.”
But at the thought of the Krzyżacy, the old hatred awoke in him and seized him like a flame, for after a moment he added through clenched teeth:
“And I’ll add what they don’t want.”
“I’ve also sworn to them,” answered Zbyszko, “but now we need to get to Spychów.”
And he began to urge that the horses be saddled. So when they had eaten their oats and the people had warmed themselves a bit in the rooms, they set off again, although darkness was already falling outside. Since the road was still long and a fierce frost was setting in for the night, Jurand and Zbyszko, who had not yet regained all their strength, rode in a sleigh. Zbyszko talked about his uncle Macko, for whom he inwardly longed and regretted that he was not there, since both his courage and his cunning could be useful—cunning that against such enemies was even more necessary than courage. Finally he turned to Jurand and asked:
“And are you cunning? Because I, well, I don’t know how at all.”
“Neither am I,” replied Jurand. “I didn’t wage war with them through cunning, but with this hand and this pain that remained in me.”
“Well, I understand that,” said the young knight. “That’s how I understand that I love Danuśka and that they abducted her. If, God forbid...”
And he didn’t finish, for at the very thought he felt in his heart not a human heart but a wolf’s heart. For a while they rode in silence along the white, moonlit road, after which Jurand began to speak as if to himself.
“Because if they had a reason for revenge against me—I’m not saying! But by dear God! they didn’t. I fought with them in the field when I went on an embassy from our prince to Witold, but here I was neighbor to neighbor. Bartosz Nałęcz captured forty knights who were going to them, put them in chains and locked them in the dungeons in Koźmin. The Krzyżacy had to pour half a cart of money for them. But I, if a Niemcy guest who was heading to the Krzyżacy happened by, I still received him as knight to knight and gave him gifts. Many times even Krzyżacy came to me through the swamps. I was not hard on them then, and they did to me what I would not do even to my greatest enemy today.”
And terrible memories began to tear at him with ever greater force; his voice died in his chest for a moment, then he spoke half with a groan.
“I had her as a lamb, as the only heart in my chest, and they caught her on a rope like a dog, and she turned white on that rope. Now again a child... Jesus, Jesus!”
And again silence fell. Zbyszko raised his young face to the moon, on which surprise was painted, then he looked at Jurand and asked:
“Father!... Wouldn’t it be better for them to earn human love rather than revenge? Why do they do so many wrongs to all nations and all people?”
And Jurand spread his hands as if in despair and replied with a hollow voice: “I don’t know.”
Zbyszko pondered his own question for a while, but after a moment his thoughts returned to Jurand.
“People say you exacted a worthy revenge,” he said.
Jurand meanwhile stifled his pain, came to his senses, and began to speak.
“Because I swore to them. And I swore to God that if He let me carry out my revenge, I would give Him this child that remained to me. That’s why I was opposed to you. And now I don’t know: was it His will, or did you awaken His anger with your deed.”
“No,” said Zbyszko. “I already told you that even if there had been no wedding, those dog-brothers would have caught her anyway. God accepted your intention and gave Danuśka to me, because without His will we would have accomplished nothing.”
“Every sin is against God’s will.”
“Sin is, but not the Sacrament. The Sacrament is a divine thing.”
“So then there’s no help for it.”
“And thank God there isn’t! Don’t complain about it, because no one would help you against those robbers as I will. You’ll see! We’ll pay them back in their own coin for Danuśka, but if even one of those who abducted your deceased wife still lives, leave him to me, and you’ll see!”
But Jurand began to shake his head. “No,” he answered gloomily, “none of them lives.”
For a while only the snorting of horses and the muffled sound of hooves striking the beaten road could be heard.
“One night,” continued Jurand, “I heard some voice, as if coming from the wall, which said to me: ‘Enough revenge!’—but I didn’t obey, because it was not the voice of my deceased wife.”
“And what sort of voice could that have been?” asked Zbyszko with unease.
“I don’t know. Often in Spychów something talks in the walls, and sometimes moans, because many of them died in chains in the dungeon.”
“And what did the priest tell you?”
“The priest blessed the stronghold and also said to abandon revenge, but that couldn’t be. I became too heavy for them, and later they themselves wanted revenge. They set ambushes and challenged me to the field. So it was now. Majneger and de Bergow were the first to challenge me.”
“Did you ever take ransom?”
“Never. Of those I caught, de Bergow will be the first to leave alive.”
The conversation ceased, for they turned from the wider highway onto a narrower road, which they traveled for a long time, as it wound and in places turned into something like a forest hollow, full of snowdrifts that were difficult to cross. In spring or summer, during rains, this road must have been almost impassable.
“Are we already heading toward Spychów?” asked Zbyszko.
“Yes,” replied Jurand. “There’s still a good stretch of forest, and then the thaw patches will begin, in the midst of which is the stronghold. Beyond the thaw patches are meadowlands and dry fields, but you can only reach the stronghold by a causeway. Many times the Niemcy wanted to get me, but they couldn’t, and many of their bones rot along the forest edges.”
“And it’s not easy to find,” said Zbyszko. “If the Krzyżacy send men with letters, how will they find it?”
“They’ve sent them many times before and have those who know the way.”
“May God grant we find them in Spychów!” said Zbyszko.
Meanwhile, this wish was to come true sooner than the young knight thought, for when they rode out of the forest onto an open plain where Spychów lay among the marshes, they saw before them horsemen and a low sleigh in which sat three dark figures.
The night was very bright, so on the white bed of snow the whole group was perfectly visible. Jurand’s and Zbyszko’s hearts beat more quickly at the sight, for who could be riding to Spychów in the night if not Krzyżacy envoys?
Zbyszko ordered the driver to go faster, so they soon approached so close that they were heard, and two horsemen, who were obviously guarding the sleigh, turned toward them and, having taken crossbows off their shoulders, began to shout:
“Wer da?”
“Niemcy!” whispered Jurand to Zbyszko.
Then he raised his voice and said: “It’s my right to ask, yours to answer! Who are you?”