Then the two of them began to confer, and Jagienka with them, about what to do next. Macko thought it would be best to leave her and Sieciechówna in Plock under the care of Princess Alexandra, on account of the abbot’s will, which had been deposited with the bishop. But the girl opposed this with all the force of her unyielding will. It was true that traveling without them would be more convenient—there would be no need to seek separate rooms at each night stop, nor to worry about propriety, safety, and various other such concerns. But they had not left Zgorzelice just to sit in Plock. The will, since it was with the bishop, would not be lost; and as for them, if it turned out they had to stay somewhere along the way, they would be better off under the protection of Duchess Anna than of Alexandra, for at her court the Krzyżaks were less favored and Zbyszko was more loved.
Macko did remark that reason was not a womanly thing and that it was unseemly for a girl to “take command” as if she truly possessed that reason—yet he did not object firmly, and soon gave in completely when Jagienka, drawing him aside, began to speak with tears in her eyes:
“You know!... God sees my heart that every morning and every evening I pray for that Danuśka, yes, and for Zbyszko’s happiness! God in heaven knows best! But both Hlawa and you say that she is already lost and will never come out alive from Teutonic hands—so if that is to be, then I...”
Here she hesitated a little, the welling tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, and she finished quietly:
“Then I want to be near Zbyszko...”
“If that one dies, Zbyszko in his grief won’t even look at you.”
“I don’t want him to look at me either, I just want to be near him.”
“You know I want the same as you, but in his first grief he might even curse you out.”
“Let him curse me then,” she answered with a sad smile. “But he won’t, because he won’t know it’s me.”
“He’ll recognize you.”
“He won’t. You didn’t recognize me either. You’ll tell him it’s not me, but Jaśko, and Jaśko looks just like me anyway. You’ll tell him he grew up, and that’s all, and it won’t even cross his mind that it isn’t Jaśko...”
Jaśko indeed had almost the same face, and his hair, after his last haircut, had grown long again—and he wore it in a net, like other noble youths and knights themselves.
For these reasons, Macko gave in and they began to talk about the road. They were to set out the next day. Macko decided to venture into the Teutonic lands, reach Brodnica, gather information there, and if the Grand Master was still in Malbork contrary to Lichtenstein’s expectations, to ride to Malbork; otherwise, to travel along the Teutonic border toward Spychow, asking along the way about the young Polish knight and his retinue. The old knight even hoped he would learn something about Zbyszko more easily in Spychow or at the court of Prince Janusz of Warsaw than anywhere else.
And so they set out the next day. Spring was now in full bloom, and the overflow of waters, especially the Skrwa and Drwęca, blocked the road, so that only on the tenth day after leaving Plock did they cross the border and find themselves in Brodnica. The town was clean and orderly, but right at the entrance one could recognize the harsh German rule, for a huge masonry gallows, erected outside the town on the road to Gorczenica, was adorned with the bodies of hanged men, one of which was female. From the watchtower and the castle flew a banner with a red hand on a white field. However, the travelers did not find the Komtur himself on the premises, for he had gone with part of the garrison and at the head of the local gentry to Malbork.
This explanation was given to Macko by an old Krzyżak, blind in both eyes, who had once been Komtur of Brodnica, and later, having become attached to the place and the castle, was living out his final days there. When the local chaplain read him Lichtenstein’s letter, he received Macko hospitably, and since he lived among the Polish population and spoke Polish excellently, it was easy to converse with him. It also happened that six weeks earlier he had traveled to Malbork, where he had been summoned as an experienced knight for a war council, so he knew what was happening in the capital. Asked about the young Polish knight, he said he did not remember the name, but had heard of one who first aroused admiration because, despite his youth, he arrived as a knight already knighted, and secondly, he fought successfully in a tournament that the Grand Master had arranged, as was custom, for foreign guests before setting out on a military expedition. Gradually, he even recalled that the valiant and noble, though fiery, brother of the masters, Ulrich von Jungingen, had taken a liking to that knight and placed him under his special protection, and had given him iron letters, with which the young man later rode off, reportedly to the eastern regions.
Macko was extremely pleased with this news, for he had no doubt whatsoever that the young knight was Zbyszko. Therefore, there was no point in going to Malbork for the time being, for although the Grand Hospitaler or other remaining monastic officials and knights there might have provided even more precise directions, they could in no way tell where Zbyszko was currently staying. Besides, Macko himself knew best where to find him, for it was not hard to guess that he was prowling around Szczytno, or, if he had not found Danuśka there, was searching in more distant eastern castles and commanderies.
So, losing no time, they too set out through the Teutonic land, eastward toward Szczytno. The road went well, for the dense towns and villages were connected by highways that the Krzyżaks, or rather the merchants settled in the towns, kept in good condition, almost as good as the Polish ones, which arose under the care of King Casimir’s thrifty and efficient hand. Moreover, the weather turned beautiful. The nights were starry, the days clear, and at the time of the midday milking a warm dry breeze blew, filling men’s lungs with freshness and health. The grain greened in the fields, the meadows were abundantly covered with flowers, and the pine forests began to exude a resinous scent. All the way to Lidzbark, and from there to Działdowo and further to Niedzborz, the travelers did not see a single cloud in the sky. Only in Niedzborz, at night, came a downpour with thunder, which was heard for the first time that spring, but it lasted briefly, and the next morning dawned again clear, rosy, golden, and so radiant that everything glittered as far as the eye could see with one brocade of diamonds and pearls, and the whole land seemed to smile at the sky and rejoice in its abundant life.
On such a morning they turned from Niedzborz toward Szczytno. The Masovian border was not far, and they could easily have turned back toward Spychow. There was even a moment when Macko wanted to do that, but having considered everything, he preferred to go straight to the terrible Teutonic nest, in which a part of Zbyszko’s fate had been so grimly decided. So he took a peasant guide and ordered him to lead the retinue toward Szczytno, though even a guide was not necessary, for from Niedzborz ran a straight highway, where German miles were marked with white stones.
The guide rode several dozen paces ahead, behind him on horseback Macko with Jagienka, then quite far behind them the Czech with the beautiful Sieciechówna, and further back came the wagons, surrounded by armed servants. It was early morning. The rosy hue had not yet left the eastern side of the sky, though the sun was already shining, turning the dewdrops on trees and grass into opals.
“Aren’t you afraid to go to Szczytno?” Macko asked.
“I’m not afraid,” Jagienka answered. “The Lord God is over me, for I am an orphan.”
“Because they don’t keep any faith there. The worst dog was certainly that Danveld, whom Jurand dispatched together with Gotfryd... So said the Czech. The second after Danveld was Rotgier, who fell to Zbyszko’s axe, but that old one is also a cruel man, sold to the devil... People don’t know for sure, but I think if Danuśka perished, it was by his hand. They say some misadventure also befell him—but the duchess told me in Plock that he wriggled out of it. With him we will have business in Szczytno... It’s good we have a letter from Lichtenstein, because they fear him worse than the Grand Master himself, the scoundrels... They say he has terrible authority and great influence, and moreover he is vengeful. He won’t forgive the slightest wrong... Without that letter, I wouldn’t be riding so calmly to Szczytno...”
“And that old one, what’s his name?”
“Siegfried de Loewe.”
“God grant that we can handle him too.”
“God grant!”
Here Macko laughed and after a moment began to say:
“The duchess in Plock said to me: ‘You complain, you complain like lambs against wolves, and here (she says) three of those wolves are already dead, because innocent lambs have strangled them.’ And truth be told, that’s how it is...”
“And Danuśka? And her father?”
“I said the same to the duchess. But in my heart I’m glad that it turns out that even we are dangerous to wrong. We already know how to grip an axe handle and swing it properly! As for Danuśka, it’s true. I think the same as the Czech, that they are no longer in this world, but in reality, no one knows for sure... I also feel sorry for Jurand, for he suffered from grief for the girl even in his lifetime, and if he died, it was a heavy death.”
“Whenever anyone mentions him in my presence, I immediately think of my father, who is also no longer in this world,” Jagienka answered.
And saying so, she raised moist eyes upward. Macko shook his head and said:
“He is certainly in God’s assembly and in eternal light, for there was probably no better man in our whole kingdom...”
“Oh, there was not, there was not,” Jagienka sighed.
But their further conversation was interrupted by the peasant guide, who suddenly stopped his colt, then turned it and dashed back to Macko, calling out in a strange, frightened voice:
“Oh, for God’s sake! Look, Sir Knight, who is coming toward us from the hill.”
“Who, where?” Macko asked.
“Over there! Maybe a giant or something...”
Macko and Jagienka stopped their horses and looked in the direction the guide indicated, and indeed their eyes saw on the height of the hill, at half a staje or more, some figure whose dimensions seemed far to exceed normal human proportions.
“He’s right that the fellow is big,” Macko muttered.
Then he frowned, suddenly spat to the side, and said:
“Spit on it for luck.”
“Why are you warding off evil?” Jagienka asked.
“Because I remembered how on such a morning Zbyszko and I saw on the road from Tyniec to Krakow a similar seeming giant. They said then that it was Walgierz the Doughty. Hah! It turned out to be the lord of Taczew, but nothing good came of that either. Spit on it.”
“That’s not a knight, because he’s going on foot,” said Jagienka, straining her eyes. “And I see even that he has no weapon, only a staff in his left hand...”
“And he’s feeling ahead with it, as if it were night,” added Macko.
“And he’s barely moving. Surely! He must be blind, or what?”
“He is blind, blind! as I live.”
They moved their horses and after a while stopped opposite the old man, who, descending the hill extremely slowly, was searching for the road ahead with his staff. He was an old man, truly enormous, though seen up close he no longer seemed a giant to them. They also confirmed that he was completely blind. Instead of eyes, he had two red hollows. He was also missing his right hand, in place of which he wore a knot made from a dirty rag. White hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard reached his belt.
“The poor thing has no page, no dog, and is searching for the road by groping,” Jagienka spoke up. “For God’s sake, we can’t leave him without help. I don’t know if he’ll understand me, but I’ll speak to him in our language.”
Having said that, she jumped quickly off her horse and, stopping right in front of the old man, began to search for money in a leather pouch hanging at her belt.
The old man, hearing the trampling of horses and voices in front of him, extended his staff and raised his head upward, as blind people do.
“Praised be Jesus Christ!” said the girl. “Do you understand Christian speech, grandfather?”
He, hearing her sweet young voice, shuddered; a strange flash, as of emotion and tenderness, passed over his face; he covered his empty eye sockets with his eyelids, and suddenly, dropping his staff, fell to his knees before her with his arms stretched upward.
“Get up! I’ll help you anyway. What is the matter with you?” Jagienka asked in astonishment.
But he did not answer anything, only two tears flowed down his cheeks, and from his mouth came a voice like a moan:
“Aa! a!”
“For God’s mercy! Are you mute, or what?”
“Aa! a!...”
Having uttered that, he raised his hand: first he made the sign of the cross with it, then he began to move his left hand along his mouth.
Jagienka, not understanding, looked at Macko, who said: