VII.
Siegfried de Loewe was about to leave for Malbork when a messenger unexpectedly brought him a letter from Rotgier with news from the Mazovian court.
The news stirred the old Krzyżak to his core. Above all, the letter showed that Rotgier had presented and conducted Jurand's case brilliantly before Prince Janusz. Siegfried smiled as he read that Rotgier had even demanded, as compensation for the Order's injuries, that the prince surrender Spychów outright to the Krzyżacy. But the second part of the letter brought unexpected and less favorable news. Rotgier also wrote that to better demonstrate the Order's innocence in the abduction of Jurandówna, he had thrown down his gauntlet to the Mazovian knights, challenging any who doubted it to God's Judgment—a fight before the entire court. “No one picked it up,” Rotgier continued, “for everyone knew that Jurand's own letter testified for us, so they feared God's justice. Then a youth appeared—the one we saw at the Forest Manor—and he took up the challenge. Therefore, pious and wise brother, do not be surprised if I am delayed in returning, for having issued the challenge, I must appear. And since I did this for the glory of the Order, I hope that neither the Grand Master nor you, whom I honor and love with a son's heart, will hold it against me. My opponent is a mere child, and fighting is no novelty to me, as you know, so I will easily spill this blood for the Order's glory, especially with the help of Our Lord Jesus Christ, who surely cares more for those who bear His Cross than for any Jurand or the wrongs of a wretched girl from the Masurian nation!”
What surprised Siegfried most was the news that Jurandówna was married. At the thought that a new, dangerous, and vengeful enemy might settle in Spychów, the old Komtur felt a certain unease. “Of course,” he told himself, “he won't forgo revenge—especially if he gets the woman back and she tells him that we abducted her from the Forest Manor. Yes, it would immediately come out that we only brought Jurand here to destroy him, and that no one ever intended to return his daughter.” Then it occurred to Siegfried that, because of the prince's letters, the Grand Master would probably order a search in Szczytno, if only to clear the Order's name before that prince. After all, the Master and the Chapter were very concerned that, in the event of war with the powerful Polish king, the Mazovian princes should remain neutral. Apart from the princes' own strength, the numerous and battle-ready Mazovian nobility was not to be underestimated, and peace with them secured the Order's border over a vast expanse, allowing the Order to concentrate its forces better. This had been discussed many times in Siegfried's presence in Malbork; many times they had rejoiced in the hope that after defeating the king, some pretext against Masovia would be found, and then no power would wrest that land from the Order's grasp. It was a great and certain calculation, and so it was equally certain that the Master would do everything for now to avoid angering Prince Janusz, for that lord, married to the daughter of Kestutis, was harder to win over than Ziemowit Płocki, whose wife was, for some unknown reason, completely devoted to the Order.
Faced with these thoughts, old Siegfried—who, despite his readiness for any crime, treachery, or cruelty, nevertheless loved the Order and its glory—began to examine his conscience. “Would it not be better to release Jurand and his daughter? The treachery and infamy would burden Danveld's name, and he is dead.” And even if, he thought, the Master punished severely him and Rotgier, who were still Danveld's accomplices, would that not be better for the Order? But here his vengeful and cruel heart rebelled at the thought of Jurand.
Release him—that oppressor and executioner of the Order's men, victor in so many encounters, cause of so many defeats and shame, the conqueror and then killer of Danveld, the conqueror of de Bergow, killer of Majneger, killer of Godfrey and Hugo, the one who in Szczytno alone had spilled more German blood than many a fierce skirmish in wartime? “I cannot! I cannot!” Siegfried repeated in his soul, and at the very thought, his predatory fingers clenched convulsively, and his old, withered chest struggled for breath.
And yet, what if it would bring greater profit and glory to the Order? What if the punishment that would then fall on the still-living perpetrators of the crime might conciliate the hitherto hostile Prince Janusz and facilitate an agreement, or even an alliance, with him? They are hot-tempered, the old Komtur thought further, but if you show them a little kindness, they easily forget wrongs. Why, the prince himself had been captured in his own country, yet he did not actively take revenge...
He began to pace the hall in great inner turmoil, and finally stopped before the crucifix that occupied nearly the full height of the wall between two windows, opposite the entrance. Kneeling at its foot, he began to pray: “Lord, enlighten me, teach me, for I do not know! If I give back Jurand and his daughter, our deeds will be revealed in all their truth, and people will not say, 'Danveld did this,' or 'Siegfried did this,' but they will say, 'The Krzyżacy did this!'—and disgrace may fall upon the entire Order, and the hatred in that prince's heart will become even greater than before. If I do not release them, bury them or kill them, then suspicion will remain on the Order, and I must stain my lips with lies before the Master. Which is better, Lord? Teach me, enlighten me! If revenge consumes me, then judge it according to Your justice, but now teach me, enlighten me, for it is Your Order that is at stake, and whatever You command, I will do, even if I must wait for death and release in a dungeon in chains.”
And leaning his forehead against the wood of the Cross, he prayed for a long time still, for it never crossed his mind that this was a crooked and blasphemous prayer. He rose calmer, believing that the grace of the Cross had sent him a simpler, clearer thought, and that something from above had said to him: “Rise and wait for Rotgier's return.” Yes, he must wait. Rotgier would surely kill that youth, and then they would either have to hide Jurand and his daughter or give them up. In the first case, the prince would not forget them, but having no certainty who had taken the girl, he would search for her, send letters to the Master not with accusations but inquiries—and the matter would be delayed indefinitely. In the second case, the joy of Jurandówna's return would be greater than the desire for revenge for her abduction. And after all, they could always say they had found her after Jurand's attack! This last thought completely calmed Siegfried. As for Jurand himself, long ago, together with Rotgier, they had devised a way so that if they had to release him, he could neither take revenge nor complain. Siegfried rejoiced in his harsh soul, thinking now of that method. He also rejoiced at the thought of God's Judgment, which was to take place in Ciechanow castle. As for the outcome of the mortal fight, no anxiety gnawed at him. He recalled a certain tournament in Königsberg, when Rotgier had defeated two famous knights who, in their native Angevin land, were considered invincible fighters. He also recalled a fight near Vilnius with a certain Polish knight, a retainer of Spytek of Melsztyn, whom Rotgier had killed. And his face brightened, and his heart swelled with pride, for although Rotgier was already a renowned knight, it was he who first led him on expeditions to Lithuania and taught him the best methods of war against that people, and so he had come to love him like a son with that deep love only those capable of long suppressing the strength and desire to love can feel. And now that little son would once again spill Polish blood and return covered in glory. After all, it was God's Judgment, so the Order would be cleared of suspicion at the same time.... “God's Judgment!” For an instant, the old heart tightened with a feeling akin to fear. Rotgier was to stand in mortal combat to defend the Order's innocence, and yet they were guilty, so he would be fighting for a lie... What if misfortune struck? But after a moment, it seemed impossible to Siegfried again. Yes! Rotgier was right to write: “Christ surely cares more for those who bear His Cross than for Jurand or the wrongs of a Masurian girl.” Yes, in three days Rotgier would return—and return victorious.
Having calmed himself in this way, the old Krzyżak considered whether it might not be better to send Danusia to some more distant castle that could in no way fall prey to a Masurian attack. But after a moment's reflection, he abandoned that thought as well. Only Jurandówna's husband could plan an attack and lead it, and he would surely die by Rotgier's hand... After that, there would only be investigations, inquiries, letters, complaints from the prince and duchess, but through that very process, the matter would become blurred and obscured, not to mention the almost endless delay. “Before they get anywhere,” Siegfried told himself, “I will die, and perhaps Jurandówna will grow old in the Order's confinement.”
Nevertheless, he ordered everything in the castle readied for defense, and also for travel, for he did not know exactly what might come of his consultation with Rotgier—and he waited.
Meanwhile, two days passed after the date Rotgier had originally promised to return, then three and four, but no retinue appeared before the Szczytno gate. Only on the fifth day, almost at dusk, the sound of a horn rang out before the porter's tower. Siegfried, who had just finished his evening prayers, immediately sent a servant to find out who had arrived.
The servant returned after a moment with a confused face, but Siegfried could not notice the change, for in the room the fire burned in the deep hearth and barely lit the gloom.
“They've arrived?” asked the old knight.
“Yes,” the servant replied.
But there was something in his voice that suddenly alarmed the Krzyżak, so he said:
“And brother Rotgier?”
“They've brought brother Rotgier.”
At that, Siegfried rose from his chair. For a long moment he held the armrest with his hand, as if afraid he might fall, then spoke in a muted voice:
“Give me my cloak.”
The servant threw the cloak over his shoulders. He had apparently regained his strength, for he pulled the hood over his head himself and left the room.
After a moment he found himself in the castle courtyard, where darkness had already become complete. He walked over the creaking snow with slow steps toward the retinue, which, having passed through the gate, had stopped nearby. A dense crowd of people already stood there, and several torches shone, which soldiers from the garrison had managed to bring. At the sight of the old knight, the knechts stepped aside. In the torchlight, anxious faces were visible, and quiet voices whispered in the gloom.
“Brother Rotgier...”
“Brother Rotgier is killed...”
Siegfried approached the sleigh, on which lay on straw a body covered with a cloak, and lifted the edge of the cloak.
“Bring the light closer,” he said, pushing back the hood.
One of the knechts lowered the torch. In its light, the old Krzyżak saw Rotgier's head and a face white as snow, frozen, surrounded by a dark cloth tied under his chin, apparently so his mouth would not remain open. Indeed, the whole face seemed drawn, and thus changed so that one might say it was someone else. The eyes were covered by the eyelids; around the eyes and at the temples, blue spots. Frost glistened on the cheeks.
The Komtur watched for a long moment in the general silence. Others watched him, for they knew he had been like a father to the dead man and had loved him. But not a single tear fell from his eyes. His face was only even more stern than usual, and in it a kind of congealed calm.
“So they sent him back,” he said at last.
But immediately after, he turned to the castle steward.
“Have them put together a coffin by midnight and place the body in the chapel.”
“There is one coffin left from those made for those killed by Jurand,” replied the steward. “I'll only have it lined with cloth.”
“And cover him with a cloak,” said Siegfried, covering Rotgier's face. “Not like this one, but a monastic one.”
After a moment he added:
“And do not close the lid.”
The people approached the cart. Siegfried again pulled the hood over his head, but remembered something else before leaving, for he asked:
“Where is van Krist?”
“Killed as well,” answered one of the servants. “But they had to bury him in Ciechanow, because he started to rot.”
“That's good.”
And having said that, he walked away with slow steps. Returning to the room, he sat down on the same chair on which the news had found him, and sat with a stony face, motionless, so long that the servant began to worry and stuck his head through the door more and more often. Hour after hour passed. In the castle, the usual activity ceased. Only from the direction of the chapel came muffled, indistinct hammering, and then nothing disturbed the silence except the calls of the sentries.
It was already near midnight when the old knight roused himself as if from sleep and called the servant.
“Where is brother Rotgier?” he asked.
But the boy, unstrung by the silence, the events, and sleeplessness, apparently did not understand him, for he looked at him with fear and replied with a trembling voice.