Though Czech adored Jagienka, and his heart clung ever more to the lovely Sieciechówna, his young, brave soul yearned above all for war. He had indeed returned to Spychow by Macko’s command, for he was dutiful, and besides found some solace in the thought that he would be guard and protector to both young ladies. But when Jagienka herself told him—what was, after all, true—that nothing threatened them in Spychow and that his duty lay with Zbyszko, he agreed gladly. Macko was not his direct superior, so he could easily justify himself to him by saying that he had not remained in Spychow because his rightful mistress had ordered him to go to Lord Zbyszko.
Jagienka had done this thinking that a squire of such strength and skill could always be useful to Zbyszko and rescue him from many a tight spot. He had already proved it during that princely hunt when Zbyszko nearly lost his life to an aurochs. All the more useful could he be in war, especially one fought on the Samogitian border. Głowacz was so eager to take the field that when he returned with Jagienka from Jurand’s, he knelt at her feet and said:
“Then I wish to bow to Your Grace at once and ask for a kind word on my journey.”
“How so?” asked Jagienka. “You want to leave today?”
“Tomorrow at dawn, so the horses can rest tonight. The expedition to Samogitia is terribly far!”
“Then go, for you will catch up to Knight Macko more easily.”
“It will be hard. The old lord is tough on all hardships and got several days ahead of me. Besides, he will travel through Prussia to shorten the road, while I must go through the wilds. The lord has letters from Lichtenstein that he can show along the way; I would have to show—this!” He laid his hand on the hilt of the short sword at his side. Seeing this, Jagienka exclaimed:
“Be careful! If you’re going, you must arrive, not end up in some Krzyżak fortress. But also keep watch in the forests, for now various evil spirits dwell there, worshipped by the local folk before they converted to Christianity. I remember how Knight Macko and Zbyszko used to tell tales in Zgorzelice.”
“I remember, but I’m not afraid, for they are poor creatures, not gods, and have no power. I’ll deal with them and with any Krzyżaks I meet, as long as the war truly flares up.”
“And hasn’t it flared up? Tell me what you heard about it among the Krzyżaks.”
At that the shrewd lad furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, then said:
“It has and it hasn’t. We asked diligently about everything, especially Knight Macko, who is crafty and knows how to get around every Krzyżak. He asks about one thing, feigns goodwill, gives nothing away himself, but hits the mark and pulls news out of each like a fish on a hook. If Your Grace will listen patiently, I will tell you: Prince Witold, several years ago, intending campaigns against the Tatars and wanting peace from the German side, ceded Samogitia to the Germans. There was great friendship and harmony. He allowed them to build castles, yes, even helped them. They met with the Grand Master on an island, drank, ate, and professed love. Even hunting in those forests was not forbidden to the Krzyżaks, and when the poor Zmujdzini rose against the Order’s rule, Prince Witold helped the Germans and sent his own troops to their aid, which even caused murmuring throughout Lithuania that he was attacking his own blood. All this was told to us by the deputy voigt in Szczytno, and he praised the Krzyżak rule in Samogitia, saying they sent priests to baptize the Zmujdzini and grain during famine. And they did send, I think, because the Grand Master, who has more fear of God than others, ordered it, but in return they took their children to Prussia and dishonored women before husbands and brothers. Whoever resisted, they hanged—and that, young lady, is why there is war.”
“And Prince Witold?”
“The prince long closed his eyes to Zmujdzini wrongs and loved the Krzyżaks. Not long ago, his wife, the duchess, traveled to Prussia, to Malbork itself, for a visit. They received her like the Polish queen herself. That was recent, very recent! They showered her with gifts; and as for tournaments, feasts, and all manner of wonders in every city, no one could count them. People thought that love between the Krzyżaks and Prince Witold would last forever, until his heart suddenly changed...”
“Judging by what my late father and Macko often said, his heart changes often.”
“Not toward the virtuous, but toward the Krzyżaks it does, often, for this reason: they themselves keep no faith. Now they wanted him to hand over fugitives, and he told them he would hand over lowborn people, but freemen he would not, since they, as free men, have the right to go where they please. Then they began to sour on each other, write letters of complaint, and threaten one another. When the Zmujdzini heard of this, they went at the Krzyżaks! They cut down the garrisons, destroyed the little castles, and now they even raid into Prussia itself, while Prince Witold not only no longer restrains them, but even laughs at Krzyżak distress and secretly sends aid to the Zmujdzini.”
“I understand,” said Jagienka. “But if he helps them secretly, then there is no war yet.”
“There is war with the Zmujdzini, and in truth already with Witold. Krzyżaks are coming from everywhere to defend the border castles, and they would like to mount a great expedition against Samogitia, but they must wait long for that, until winter, because the land is marshy and knights cannot fight in it. Where a Zmujdzin can pass, a Krzyżak will bog down. That is why winter is the Krzyżak’s friend. But when the frosts come, the whole Krzyżak power will move, and Prince Witold will go to aid the Zmujdzini—and he will go with the permission of the Polish king, for he is the suzerain over both the grand prince and all Lithuania.”
“Then perhaps there will be war with the king as well?”
“People say so, both among the Krzyżaks and here with us. The Krzyżaks are already begging for help at all courts, and their hoods are burning on their heads, as usual with thieves, for the king’s power is no joke, and Polish knights, they say, whenever someone mentions a Krzyżak, immediately spit into their fists.”
Jagienka sighed and said:
“It’s always merrier for a man in this world than for a woman; for instance, you will ride off to war, just as Zbyszko and Macko have, while we remain here in Spychow.”
“How else could it be, young lady? You will stay, but in complete safety. The name of Jurand is still terrible to the Germans; I saw myself in Szczytno that when they learned he was in Spychow, fear seized them at once.”
“We know they won’t come here, for the swamp protects us and old Tolima, but it will be hard to sit here without news.”
“If anything happens, I will send word. I know that even before our departure for Szczytno, two good lads from here volunteered for the war, whom Tolima cannot forbid because they are nobles from Łękawica. Now they will travel with me, and if need be, I will send one of them back with news at once.”
“God bless you. I always knew you had good sense in every situation, but for your heart and your willingness toward me, I will be grateful to you until death.”
At that Czech knelt on one knee and said:
“I have known no wrongs from you, only kindness. Knight Zych took me captive as a boy near Bolesławiec and granted me freedom without ransom, but service with you became dearer to me than freedom. May God grant me to shed my blood for you, my lady!”
“God lead you and bring you back!” answered Jagienka, reaching out her hand to him.
But he preferred to bow to her feet and kiss them, to show her even greater honor. Then he raised his head and, still kneeling, began to speak timidly and humbly:
“I am a simple lad, but a nobleman and your faithful servant... Give me some keepsake for the road. Do not refuse me! The time of war harvest is coming, and Saint George is my witness that I will be in the forefront, not the rear.”
“What keepsake do you ask of me?” asked Jagienka, somewhat surprised.
“Gird me with just any ribbon for the road, so that if I fall, it will be easier for me to die under your token.”
And again he bowed to her feet, then clasped his hands and begged her, looking into her eyes. But Jagienka’s face reflected deep distress, and after a moment she replied, as if with a burst of involuntary bitterness:
“Ah, my dear, do not ask me for that, for no good will come to you from my ribbon. Let someone who is happy himself gird you, for he will bring you happiness. But what is there truly in me? Nothing but sorrow! And before me—nothing but misfortune! Oh, I will not bring happiness to you or anyone, for what I do not have, I cannot give. So bad is it for me now in this world, Hlawa, that, that...”
Here she fell silent, feeling that if she said another word, she would burst into tears, and her eyes were already clouded. Czech was deeply moved, for he understood that it was hard for her to return to Zgorzelice, near the predatory haunts of Cztan and Wilk, and just as hard to remain in Spychow, where sooner or later Zbyszko might come with Danusia. Hlawa perfectly understood everything happening in the girl’s heart, and since he saw no remedy for her unhappiness, he only clasped her feet again, repeating:
“Hey! To die for you! To die!”
And she said:
“Get up. Let Sieciechówna gird you for war, or give you some other keepsake, for she has long been fond of you.”
And she began to call her. The girl soon came out of the adjoining room, for she had been eavesdropping at the door earlier but had not shown herself out of shyness, though she was bursting with desire to say goodbye to the handsome squire. So she came out flustered, frightened, with a beating heart, eyes shining both from tears and drowsiness, and lowering her eyelids, she stood before him like an apple blossom, unable to speak a word.
Hlawa cherished for Jagienka, beside the deepest affection, reverence and devotion, but he did not dare even in thought to reach for her; he often did reach for Sieciechówna, for feeling hot blood in his veins, he could not defend himself against her charm. Now she seized his heart even more with her beauty, and especially with her confusion and tears, through which love peered as through clear stream water the golden bottom shows.
So he turned to her and said:
“You know! I’m going to war, maybe I’ll fall. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”
“Sorry I am!” answered the girl in a thin little voice.
And at once she began to shed tears, for she always had them at hand. Czech was touched to the core and began to kiss her hands.
“Gird him, or give him a keepsake for the road, so he may fight under your token,” said Jagienka.
But it was not easy for Sieciechówna to give him something, for she was wearing a boy’s garment. She began to search: no ribbon, no kind of band! Since her women’s clothing was still in chests, untouched since leaving Zgorzelice, she fell into no small trouble, from which Jagienka again rescued her, advising her to give him the hair ribbon she wore on her head.
“By God! Let it be the hair ribbon!” exclaimed Hlawa, somewhat cheered. “I will hang it on my helmet—and woe to the mother of that Krzyżak who reaches for it!”
So Sieciechówna raised both hands to her head, and in a moment bright strands of hair spilled over her back and shoulders. Hlawa, seeing her so golden-haired and lovely, changed color. His cheeks flushed, then immediately paled. He took the ribbon, kissed it, tucked it into his bosom, once more embraced Jagienka’s knees, and then, harder than necessary, Sieciechówna’s, and after the words “So be it!” he left the room without saying anything more.
And though he was travel-weary and unrested, he did not go to sleep. He drank heavily all night with the two young nobles from Łękawica who were to ride with him to Samogitia. He did not get drunk, however, and at first light he was already in the courtyard of the stronghold, where horses ready for the road were waiting.
A window covered with bladder skin in the wall above the carriage house immediately opened, and blue eyes peered through the crack into the courtyard. Czech, who noticed them, wanted to go toward them to show the ribbon pinned to his helmet and say goodbye once more, but Father Kaleb and old Tolima, who had come down deliberately to give him travel advice, prevented him.
“Ride to Prince Janusz’s court,” said Father Kaleb. “Knight Macko may have stopped there. In any case, you will get reliable news, for you have no lack of acquaintances there. The roads from there to Lithuania are also familiar, and it’s easy to find a guide through the forest. If you want to reach Lord Zbyszko for sure, do not go straight to Samogitia, for there is the Prussian barrier; rather, go to Lithuania. Note that even the Zmujdzini might kill you before you can call out who you are, and it will be a different matter if you come from Prince Witold’s side. Anyway, may God bless you and both those knights over there; may you return in health and bring the child back. To that intention, I will lie prostrate every day after vespers until the first star.”
“I thank you, Father, for the blessing,” replied Hlawa. “It will not be easy to get the victim alive out of those devilish hands, but after all, everything is in the hands of the Lord Jesus, and hope is better than sorrow.”
“Indeed it is better, so I do not lose it. Yes... I live in hope, though my heart is not without fear... The worst is that Jurand himself, whenever her name is mentioned, immediately points his fingers toward heaven, as if he already saw her there.”
“How can he see her, having lost his eyes?”
And the priest began to speak, half to the Czech, half to himself:
“It happens that when a man’s earthly eyes go dark, he sees what others cannot see. It happens, it happens! But it also seems impossible that God would allow such a lamb to be wronged. For what did she ever do to the Krzyżaks? No! She was as innocent as God’s lily, sweet toward people, singing like a lark in the field! God loves little children and has pity on human suffering. Bah! If they killed her, He might even resurrect her, like Piotrowin, who after rising from the grave farmed for many years afterward... Travel in good health, and may God’s hand guard you all and her!”
Having said this, he returned to the chapel to say morning mass, while Czech mounted his horse, bowed once more before the half-open window covered with bladder skin, and rode off, for it had grown fully light.