"Do you hear the bells ringing in the city?" a voice said. "Guess why they're ringing, because it's not Sunday, and you overslept matins. Would you like to see the abbot?"
"Of course I would," said Jagienka.
"Well, you'll see him as soon as you see King Nobody."
"Would he have ridden off somewhere farther?"
"He's gone, indeed. Don't you hear the bells?"
"Has he died?" cried Jagienka.
"Say the eternal rest."
So both she and Sieciechówna immediately knelt and began reciting the eternal rest in voices as clear as bells. Then tears streamed down Jagienka's face, for she dearly loved the abbot, who, though hot-tempered with people, did no harm to anyone and did good with both hands, and loved her, his goddaughter, like his own daughter.
Macko, remembering that the abbot was his and Zbyszko's relative, was also moved and wept a little. Only after they had shed some of their grief did he take the Czech and both girls to the funeral at the church.
The funeral was splendid. Bishop Jakób of Kurdwanów himself led the procession. All the priests and all the monks with convents in Płock were there. All the bells were rung. Speeches were given that no one except the clergy understood because they were in Latin. Then the clergy and laity returned to the bishop's for a lavish feast.
Macko attended, taking two squires with him, since as a relative of the deceased and an acquaintance of the bishop, he had every right. The bishop received him willingly and with distinction as a relative of the deceased, but immediately upon greeting him, said:
"There are some forests recorded for you Grads of Bogdaniec, but what remains and does not go to the monasteries and the abbey is to go to his goddaughter, one Jagienka ze Zgorzelic."
Macko, who had not expected much, was glad even for the forests. But the bishop did not notice that one of the old knight's squires, at the mention of Jagienka ze Zgorzelic, raised his eyes, dewy like cornflowers, upward and said:
"May God reward him, but I would have preferred him alive."
So Macko turned and said angrily:
"Hush, or you'll bring shame on yourself."
But he suddenly stopped. Amazement flashed in his eyes, and then his face became fierce and wolf-like, because nearby, beside the door through which Princess Alexandra was just entering, he saw Kuno Lichtenstein bowed in a courtly, polished posture — the very one through whom Zbyszko had nearly died in Krakow.
Jagienka had never seen Macko like that: his face was twisted like the muzzle of an angry dog, teeth flashing from under his mustache. In an instant he twisted his belt around himself and moved toward the hated Krzyżak.
But halfway there he stopped and began running his broad hand through his hair. He remembered in time that Lichtenstein could only be at the Płock court either as a guest or, more likely, as an envoy. If he were to start striking him without asking anything, he would be acting just like Zbyszko on the road from Tyniec.
So, having more sense and experience than Zbyszko, he restrained himself, unwound the belt back, smoothed his face, and waited. Then, when the duchess, after greeting Lichtenstein, began talking with Father Jakób of Kurdwanów, he approached her, bowed deeply, and reminded her who he was and that he considered her his benefactress because of the letter she had once provided him.
The duchess barely remembered his face, but she easily recalled the letter and the whole affair. She also knew what had happened at the neighboring Mazovian court: she had heard about Jurand, about the imprisonment of his daughter, about Zbyszko's marriage and his deadly duel with Rotgier. All of this interested her immensely, like some knightly tale or one of those songs that minstrels sang among the Germans, and in Masovia, the rybalts. The Teutonic Knights were not as hateful to her as to Janusz's wife, Anna Danuta, especially since, wanting to win her over, they outdid themselves in homage, flattery, and showered her with generous gifts. But in this case, her heart was on the side of the lovers. She was ready to help them — and moreover, she was glad to have before her a man who could tell her the whole course of events in the greatest detail.
Macko, who had already decided to obtain the influential duchess's protection and patronage by any means, saw with what interest she listened and willingly told her about the unfortunate fates of Zbyszko and Danushka. He almost moved her to tears, all the more because he himself felt his nephew's misery more than anyone and grieved for him with all his soul.
"I have never heard anything more moving in my life," the duchess said at last. "And the greatest sorrow grips me for this reason: that he had already married the girl, she was already his, and yet he enjoyed no happiness. However — do you know for certain that he did not?"
"My, mighty God!" Macko replied. "If only he had enjoyed it, but he married her while gravely ill, in the evening, and at dawn they took her!"
"And you think it was the Teutonic Knights? Because among us they said about bandits who deceived the Teutonic Knights, giving them another girl. They also spoke about Jurand's letter..."
"Then it was no longer human judgment that decided, but divine. That Rotgier was, they say, a great knight who defeated the strongest, yet he fell by the hand of a mere lad."
"Well, that lad," said the duchess with a smile, "it's safer not to cross his path. An injustice has been done — true! And you are right to resent it, but of those four, three are already dead, and the old one who remained barely escaped death himself, as I heard."
"And Danushka? And Jurand?" Macko replied. "Where are they? God knows whether something bad hasn't happened to Zbyszko as well, who went to Malbork."
"I know, but the Teutonic Knights are not such scoundrels as you think. In Malbork, at the side of the Grand Master and his brother Ulryk, who is a knightly man, nothing bad could have happened to your nephew, who certainly also had letters from Prince Janusz. Unless he challenged some knight there and fell, because in Malbork many of the most famous knights from all over the world are always staying."
"Eh, I'm not too afraid of that," said the old knight. "As long as they don't lock him in a dungeon, as long as they don't kill him by treachery, and as long as he has some kind of steel in his hand — I'm not too afraid. Only once did someone stronger than him appear, who stretched him out in the lists, and that was Prince Henry of Masovia, the one who was bishop here and who fell in love with the fair Rynga. But Zbyszko was just a lad then. Besides, he would only challenge one man, as sure as amen in the Lord's Prayer — the one to whom I also made a vow, and who is here."
Having said that, he indicated Lichtenstein with his eyes — who was talking with the Voivode of Płock.
But the duchess frowned and said in the stern, dry voice she always used when anger began to seize her:
"Whether you vowed to him or not, remember this: he is our guest. Whoever wants to be our guest must observe proper conduct."
"I know, my gracious lady," Macko replied. "I had already twisted my belt and started toward him, but I restrained myself, thinking he might be an envoy."
"And he is an envoy. He is a man of importance among his own people, on whose advice the Grand Master himself relies and refuses him nothing. Perhaps God ordained that he was not in Malbork during your nephew's stay, because Lichtenstein, although of noble birth, is said to be spiteful and vengeful. Did he recognize you?"
"He could not have recognized me well, because he saw little of me. On the Tyniec road we were wearing helmets, and later I was with him only once in Zbyszko's matter, but in the evening, as it was urgent. I noticed that he looked at me now, but apparently only because I was speaking longer with Your Grace, for afterward he turned his eyes quite calmly elsewhere. He would have recognized Zbyszko — but he forgot me, and perhaps never heard of my vow, having better things to think about."
"How so, better things?"
"Because they say Zawisza z Garbowa, Powała z Taczewa, Marcin z Wrocimowic, and Paszko the Thief, and Lis z Targowiska also made vows against him. Each of them, my gracious lady, could take on ten such men, and what then when there's a crowd of them! He would have been better off never being born having such a sword hanging over his head. And I will not only refrain from mentioning my vow to him, but I will even try to gain his familiarity."
"Why so?"
And Macko's face suddenly became cunning, like that of an old fox.
"So that he would give me some letter by which I could travel safely through the lands of the Teutonic Knights and, if needed, give Zbyszko assistance."
"Is that worthy of knightly honor?" asked the duchess with a smile.
"It is worthy," Macko replied in a firm voice. "If, for example, I attacked him from behind in battle without calling for him to turn, I would bring shame upon myself. But in peacetime to bring an enemy to a hook by cleverness — no true knight should be ashamed of that."
"Then I will introduce you," replied the duchess.
And she beckoned to Lichtenstein and introduced Macko to him, thinking that even if Lichtenstein recognized him, nothing much would happen anyway.
But Lichtenstein did not recognize him, because on the Tyniec road he had indeed seen him in a helmet, and later he had spoken with him only once, and that in the evening when Macko came to ask him to forgive Zbyszko's offense.
He bowed, however, rather haughtily. Only when he saw behind the knight two handsome, richly dressed squires did he think that not just anyone could have such attendants, and his face brightened a little, although he did not stop pursing his lips proudly, as he always did when not dealing with a sovereign.
And the duchess said, indicating Macko:
"This knight is going to Malbork, and I myself recommend him to the grace of the Grand Master. But having heard of the esteem you enjoy in the Order, he would also like to have a letter from you."
Having said that, she went to the bishop, and Lichtenstein fixed his cold, steely eyes on Macko and asked:
"What reason, sir, impels you to visit our pious and modest capital?"
"An honest reason and a pious reason," Macko replied, raising his eyes. "If it were otherwise, the gracious duchess would not vouch for me. But besides pious vows, I would also like to meet your Grand Master, who makes peace on earth and is the most famous knight in the world."
"Whoever is vouched for by the gracious duchess, your lady and benefactress, will not complain of our poor hospitality. However, regarding the Grand Master, you will have difficulty seeing him, because he left for Gdansk a month ago, and from there he was to proceed to Königsberg and further toward the border, since, although a lover of peace, he must defend the Order's domains from the treacherous incursions of Witold."
Hearing this, Macko became so visibly troubled that Lichtenstein, from whose eyes nothing could be hidden, said:
"I see that you had an equal desire to meet the Grand Master as to fulfill your religious vows."
"I did, I did!" Macko replied quickly. "So is war with Witold over Samogitia certain?"
"He began it himself, by giving aid to rebels against his oaths."
A moment of silence ensued.
"Well! May God grant success to the Order as it deserves!" Macko said at last. "I cannot meet the Grand Master, so at least I will fulfill my vows."
But despite these words, he himself did not know what to do for the moment, and with a feeling of great distress he asked himself in his soul:
"Where am I to look for Zbyszko now, and where shall I find him?"
It was easy to foresee that if the Grand Master had left Malbork and gone to war, there was no point in looking for Zbyszko in Malbork either — and in any case, he needed more precise information about him. Old Maćko was greatly troubled, but being a man quick to decide, he resolved not to waste time and to set out on the road the very next day. Obtaining a letter from Lichtenstein, with the support of Princess Alexandra, in whom the Komtur had unlimited trust, came easily to him. He thus received a recommendation to the starost in Brodnica and to the Grand Hospitaller in Malbork, for which, however, he gave Lichtenstein a substantial silver goblet, elaborately crafted in Wrocław, of the kind that knights used to place filled with wine at their bedside at night, so that in case of sleeplessness they would have both a remedy for sleep and a pleasure at hand. This generosity of Macko's surprised the Czech somewhat, who knew that the old knight was not very inclined to shower anyone with gifts, especially Germans — but he said:
"I did so because I vowed against him and must fight him, and it would be unseemly for me to seek the life of a man who has done me a service. It is not our custom to strike a benefactor..."
"But a shame about the fine goblet!" replied the Czech a little defiantly.
To which Macko:
"I do nothing without forethought, don't you worry! For if the merciful Lord Jesus allows me to fell the German, then of course I'll recover the goblet and gain many other worthy things along with it."