VI

VI.

Prince Janusz spoke first at the council.

"Our trouble is that we have no letter, no testimony against the commanders," he said. "Our suspicion seems just. I myself believe they seized Jurandówna, no one else. But what of it? They will deny it. And if the Grand Master asks for proof, what shall we show him? Ha! Jurand's own letter speaks in their favor."

He turned to Zbyszko.

"You say they forced that letter from him. It may be so, and likely is. If justice were on their side, God would not have helped you against Rotgier. But if they forced one letter, they could have forced two. Perhaps they hold testimony from Jurand stating they are innocent of seizing the unfortunate girl. In that case, they will show it to the Grand Master—and then what?"

"They admitted it themselves, Your Grace," Zbyszko replied. "They said they rescued Danuśka from bandits and that they hold her."

"I know that. But now they claim they were mistaken, that it was another girl. The best proof is that Jurand himself denied her."

"He denied her because they showed him another woman, which enraged him."

"Likely so, but they may say these are only our suppositions."

"Their lies," said Nicholas of Długolas, "are like a forest. From the edge, you can see something, but the deeper you go, the thicker the growth, until a man loses his way entirely."

He repeated his words in German to Sir de Lorche, who replied, "The Grand Master himself is better than they are. And his brother, though he has a bold soul, is sensitive regarding knightly honor."

"That is true," Nicholas answered. "The Master is a human man. He cannot restrain the commanders or the Chapter, nor can he fix the fact that everything in the Order stands on human wrongs, but he does not advise them. Ride, ride, Sir de Lorche, and tell him what happened here. They are more ashamed before strangers than before us. Let them not speak of their treacheries and dishonest deeds at foreign courts. And when the Master asks you for proof, tell him this: 'Truth is a divine thing, and man seeks it. So if you wish, lord, for proof, then seek it. Order the castles searched, question the people, allow us to search. For it is foolishness and a tale that bandits seized the orphan.'"

"Foolishness and a tale," de Lorche repeated.

"Bandits would not raise a hand against a prince's court, nor against Jurand's child. And if they had seized her, it would be for ransom, and they would have sent word themselves that they held her."

"I will tell him all of this," said the Lorrainer. "I will find Sir de Bergow as well. We are from the same country, and though I do not know him, they say he is some relation of the Count of Geldria. He was in Szczytno. Let him tell the Master what he saw."

Zbyszko understood some of these words, and Nicholas explained what he did not. Zbyszko seized Sir de Lorche by the waist and pressed him to his chest, so hard that the knight groaned.

The Prince spoke to Zbyszko. "And you certainly wish to go as well?"

"Certainly, Your Grace. What else can I do? I wanted to take Szczytno, even if I had to gnaw the walls with my teeth. But how can I start a war without permission?"

"Whoever starts a war without permission would have to repent under the executioner's sword," said the Prince.

"Law is law," Zbyszko answered. "Ha! I wanted to challenge all who were in Szczytno, but people said Jurand cut them down there like oxen. I did not know who lived and who died... For so help me God and the Holy Cross, I will not abandon Jurand to my last breath!"

"You speak nobly, and you please me," said Nicholas of Długolas. "That you did not fly to Szczytno alone shows you have sense. Even a fool would guess they do not hold Jurand or his daughter there, but must have taken them to other castles. God reward you with Rotgier for coming here."

"Yes!" said the Prince. "From what we heard from Rotgier, only old Zygfryd lives of those four. God has already punished the others, either by your hand or Jurand's. As for Zygfryd, he is a lesser scoundrel than the others, but perhaps the greatest cruel tyrant. It is bad that Jurand and Danuśka are in his hands, and they must be rescued quickly. So that no evil fate befalls you, I will give you a letter to the Master. Listen well and understand: you do not go as an envoy, but as a messenger. I write to the Master thus: Since they once attacked our person, the descendant of their benefactors, it is likely they seized Jurandówna, especially holding malice toward Jurand. I ask the Master to order a diligent search for her, and if he wishes my friendship, to return her to my hands at once."

Hearing this, Zbyszko threw himself at the Prince's feet. Embracing his knees, he began to speak.

"And Jurand, Your Grace! And Jurand? Intercede for him as well! If he has mortal wounds, let him at least die on his own estate, among his children."

"There is word of Jurand too," the Prince said graciously. "The Master is to send two judges, and I two, who will examine the deeds of the commanders and Jurand according to the laws of knightly honor. They will choose one more to be their head, and as they all decide, so it shall be."

The council ended on this. Zbyszko took leave of the Prince, for they were to depart soon. But before parting, Nicholas of Długolas, experienced and knowing the Krzyżacy, took Zbyszko aside and asked, "Will you take that squire, the Czech, with you to the Niemcy?"

"Certainly, he will not leave me. Why?"

"I pity him. He is a fine lad, but mark my words: you will bring your head back healthy from Malbork, unless you meet someone better there in combat, but his ruin is certain."

"Why?"

"Because the scoundrels accused him of stabbing de Fourcy. They must have written to the Master about his death, and certainly wrote that the Czech shed that blood. They will not forgive him that in Malbork. Judgment and vengeance await him, for how will you convince the Master of his innocence? And yet he also broke Danveld's arm, who was a kinsman of the Grand Hospitaler. I pity him, and I repeat, if he goes there, he goes to his death."

"He will not go to his death, for I will leave him in Spychowa."

But it happened otherwise, for reasons arose why the Czech did not remain in Spychowa. Zbyszko and de Lorche set out with their retinues the next day. De Lorche, whom Father Wyszoniek had released from his vows regarding Ulrika de Elner, rode happy and wholly devoted to meditating on the beauty of Jagienka, thus silent. Zbyszko, unable to speak with him about Danuśka, and also because they did not understand each other well, spoke with Hlawa, who until now knew nothing of the planned expedition into the Teutonic holdings.

"We ride to Malbork," he said. "When I return is in God's power... Perhaps soon, perhaps in spring, perhaps in a year, perhaps not at all. Understand?"

"I understand. Your Grace surely goes also to challenge the knights there. And praise God, for every knight has a squire."

"No," Zbyszko replied. "I do not go there to challenge them, unless it happens by itself. And you will not go at all, but will remain at home, in Spychowa."

Hearing this, the Czech first grieved terribly and began to complain mournfully, then pressed the young lord not to leave him.

"I swore I would not abandon Your Grace, swore on the Cross and on honor. If any misfortune befell Your Grace, how could I show my eyes to my lady in Zgorzelice? Have mercy on me, that I not be shamed before her."

"Did you not swear to her that you would obey me?" Zbyszko asked.

"How not! In everything, only not in this, that I go away. If Your Grace drives me off, I will go nearby, so I am at hand if needed."

"I do not drive you off, and will not," Zbyszko answered. "But it would be slavery for me if I could not send you anywhere, even on the furthest road, nor shake you off for even one day. Will you not stand over me without cease, like an executioner over a good soul? And as for battle—how will you help me? I do not speak of war, for in war people fight in masses, but in a duel you will not fight for me. If Rotgier were stronger than I, his armor would not be on our wagon, but mine on his. Moreover, know that it will be worse for me with you there, and that you may expose me to danger."

"How so, Your Grace?"

So Zbyszko began to tell him what he heard from Nicholas of Długolas, that the commanders, unable to admit to murdering de Fourcy, accused him and would pursue him with vengeance.

"And if they seize you," he said finally, "I will not leave you to them like dogs in the throat, by which I may lose my own head."

The Czech grew gloomy hearing these words, for he felt the truth in them. Yet he tried to twist the matter to his wish.

"Those who saw me are no longer in the world, for some, as they say, the old lord of Spychowa defeated, and Rotgier Your Grace defeated."

"The squires who dragged behind them at a distance saw you, and that old Teutonic Knight lives, who surely sits in Malbork now. And if he does not sit there, he will come, for the Master will summon him, God willing."

There was nothing to answer to this, so they rode in silence to Spychowa. They found complete war readiness there, for old Tolima expected either the Krzyżacy would attack the hold, or Zbyszko would return and lead them to rescue the old lord. Guards watched everywhere, at the crossings through the marshes and in the hold itself. The peasants were armed, and since war was no novelty to them, they awaited the Niemcy with eagerness, promising themselves significant loot. In the castle, Father Kaleb received Zbyszko and de Lorche, and right after supper showed them the parchment with Jurand's seal, in which the knight of Spychowa had written his last will in his own hand.

"He dictated it to me," he said, "the night he rode to Szczytno. He did not expect to return."

"And why did you say nothing?"

"I said nothing because he confessed to me under the seal of confession what he wished to do. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him..."

"Do not say prayers for him. He lives yet. I know this from the words of the Teutonic Knight Rotgier, with whom I fought in the Prince's court. There was God's Judgment between us, and I killed him."

"Then all the more Jurand will not return... Unless by God's power!..."

"I ride with this knight to tear him from their hands."

"Then you do not know the Teutonic hands. I know them, for before Jurand took me in at Spychowa, I was a priest in their country for fifteen years. Only God can save Jurand."

"And He may help us too."

"Amen."

Then he unrolled the document and began to read.

Jurand bequeathed all his lands and all his property to Danusia and her offspring, and in case of her death without issue, to her husband Zbyszko of Bogdańca. In the end, he commended this will to the Prince's care: "so that, if something were not according to law, the Prince's grace might change it into law." This end was added because Father Kaleb knew only canon law, and Jurand himself, occupied exclusively with war, knew only knightly law. After reading the document to Zbyszko, the priest read it to the elder men of the Spychowa garrison, who immediately recognized the young knight as heir and promised him obedience.

They thought too that Zbyszko would soon lead them to rescue the old lord, and they rejoiced, for fierce hearts beat in their chests, hungry for war and attached to Jurand. So great sadness seized them when they learned they would remain at home, and that the lord with only a small retinue would go to Malbork, not to war, but to complain. The Czech Głowacz shared their sadness, though on the other hand, he was glad for such a significant increase in Zbyszko's wealth.

"Hey! Who would have joy," he said, "but the old lord of Bogdańca! And he would know how to rule here! What is Bogdańca compared to such an estate!"

And Zbyszko was seized at that moment by a sudden longing for his uncle, such as often seized him, especially in difficult and heavy moments of life. Turning to the squire, he said without hesitation, "What do you have to sit here idly! Ride to Bogdańca. You will carry a letter."

"If I am not to go with Your Grace, I would rather go there!" the lad replied, rejoiced.

"Call Father Kaleb for me, let him write out properly everything that happened here, and the parish priest from Krześnia will read the letter to my uncle, or the abbot, if he is in Zgorzelice."

But having said this, he struck his hand against his young mustaches and added, speaking as if to himself, "Ha!... the abbot!..."

And immediately Jagienka passed before his eyes—blue-eyed, dark-haired, lovely as a doe, with tears on her lashes! It became troublesome for him, and for some time he rubbed his forehead with his hand, but finally he said, "It will be sad for you, girl, but no worse than for me."

Meanwhile Father Kaleb arrived and immediately sat to write. Zbyszko dictated to him at length everything that had happened since he arrived at the forest court. He hid nothing, for he knew that old Macko, when he examined these matters well, would in the end be glad. Bogdańca indeed could not be compared with Spychowa, which was an extensive and wealthy estate, and Zbyszko knew that Macko always cared terribly about such things.

But when after long toil the letter was written and sealed, Zbyszko called the squire again and handed it to him, saying, "And perhaps you will return here with my uncle, which I would be very glad of."

But the Czech had a face as if embarrassed too. He dawdled, stepped from foot to foot, and did not leave until the young knight spoke. "Do you have something else to say? Speak."

"I would wish, Your Grace..." the Czech replied. "I would wish! To ask how I am to tell people there?"

"What people?"

"Not in Bogdańca, but in the region... For they will surely want to know."

To this Zbyszko, who had decided to hide nothing, looked at him sharply and said, "It is not about people for you, but about Jagienka of Zgorzelice."

The Czech blushed, then paled slightly and answered, "About her, lord."

"And how do you know she has not married Cztan of Rogów or Wilk of Brzozowa there?"

"The lady has not married anyone," the squire answered firmly.

"The abbot could have ordered her."

"The abbot obeys the lady, not she him."

"Then what do you want? Tell the truth to her, as to everyone."

The Czech bowed and left somewhat angry.

"God grant," he said to himself, thinking of Zbyszko, "that she forget you. God grant her someone better than you. But if she has not forgotten, I will tell her too that you are married, but without a wife, and that you may soon be widowed."

The squire had attached himself to Zbyszko, however, and pitied Danusia, but he loved Jagienka above all in the world, and since before the last battle in Ciechanów he learned of Zbyszko's marriage, he carried pain and bitterness in his heart.

"God grant you are widowed sooner!" he repeated.

But then other, evidently sweeter thoughts began to come to his head, for descending toward the horses, he said, "Praise God that I will at least embrace her legs."

Meanwhile Zbyszko longed for the road, for fever consumed him. And insofar as necessity did not force him to occupy himself with other matters, he simply endured torment, thinking without cease about Danusia and Jurand. It was necessary to remain in Spychowa for at least one night, if only for Sir de Lorche and for the preparations such a long journey required. He was finally tired beyond all measure, by fighting, watching, the road, sleeplessness, and worry. So when the night grew very late, he threw himself onto Jurand's hard bed in hope that at least a short sleep would visit him. But before he fell asleep, Sanderus knocked on his door, and bowing, said, "Lord, you saved me from death, and it was good with me as it has not been for a long time. God gave you a great estate, that you are richer than before, and the Spychowa treasury is not empty. Give me, lord, a purse like that, and I will go to Prussia, from castle to castle, and though it is not very safe for me there, perhaps I will serve you."

Zbyszko, who wanted to throw him out of the room in the first moment, paused over these words, and after a moment, drawing a large bag from the travel wallet standing beside the bed, he threw it to him and said, "Here, go! If you are a scoundrel—you will steal, if you are honest—you will serve."

"I will steal like a scoundrel, lord," said Sanderus, "but not from you, and I will serve honestly—to you."