They reached the Nevėžis at dawn and crossed—some on horseback, some clinging to horses' tails, some on bundles of brushwood. It went so quickly that Macko, Zbyszko, Hlawa, and those Masurians who had come as volunteers marveled at the people's efficiency, and only then understood why neither forests, nor marshes, nor rivers could halt Lithuanian expeditions. Once out of the water, none stripped off his clothes, none shed his sheepskin or wolfskin coat; they just dried themselves, turning their backs to the sun until steam rose from them as from a tar kiln—and after a brief rest, they set off northward at a swift march.
By dark they reached the Neman. There the crossing was not easy, for the river was great and swollen with spring waters. The ford Skirwoiłło knew had in places turned into deep water, so that the horses had to swim more than a quarter stajanie. The current swept away two men close beside Zbyszko and the Czech, who tried in vain to rescue them, for in the darkness and rough water they quickly lost sight of them, and the men dared not call out for help because the leader had previously ordered that the crossing be made in the deepest silence possible. Nevertheless, all the others reached the opposite bank safely, where they sat without fire until morning.
At first light, the entire army split into two detachments. With one, Skirwoiłło went inland to meet those knights bringing reinforcements to Gotteswerder; the other Zbyszko led back toward the island to ambush the castle folk who wanted to come out against the others. Up above, the day was growing bright and fair, but down below, the forest, meadows, and bushes were shrouded in a dense whitish mist that completely hid the distance. This was a favorable circumstance for Zbyszko and his men, for the Niemcy marching from the castle could not see them and retreat in time before the battle. The young knight was immensely glad and said to Macko, who rode beside him:
"We'll smash into each other before we see one another in such a fog. God grant only that it doesn't thin out before noon."
Having said this, he spurred ahead to give orders to the centurions riding at the front, but soon returned and said:
"We'll soon reach the road that runs from the ferry before the island into the heart of the country. There we'll lie in the thicket and wait for them."
"How do you know about the road?" asked Macko.
"From the local peasants—I have a dozen of them among my men. They're leading us everywhere."
"And how far from the castle and the island will you set the ambush?"
"A mile."
"That's good, for if it were closer, they could send men from the castle to help, and like this—they won't arrive, nor will they hear the shouting."
"I thought of that, of course."
"You thought of one thing, now think of another: if these are loyal lads, send two or three ahead so that whoever first spots the Krzyżacy will immediately let us know they're coming."
"Bah, that's already done!"
"Then I'll tell you something else. Order a hundred or two hundred men, as soon as the fight starts, not to join in but to rush and cut off the road to the island."
"First thing!" answered Zbyszko. "But such orders have already been given. The Krzyżacy will fall into a trap as if into a snare!"
Hearing this, Macko looked at his nephew with a kindly eye, glad that Zbyszko, despite his youth, understood war so well, so he smiled and muttered:
"Our true blood!"
But the squire Hlawa was even more delighted in his heart than Macko, for there was no greater pleasure for him than battle.
"I don't know," he said, "how these people of ours will fight, but they march quietly and efficiently, and their eagerness is fierce. If that Skirwoiłło has thought everything through well, not a living soul should escape the trap."
"God willing, few will slip away," answered Zbyszko. "But I ordered as many prisoners as possible, and if a knight or a Krzyżak should be among them, by all means do not kill them."
"And why is that, lord?" asked the Czech.
Zbyszko replied:
"See to it yourselves that it's done. A knight, if he's a guest, travels through towns and castles, sees many people and hears much news, and if he's a Krzyżak, even more. So by God and truth, I came here to capture someone of importance—and make an exchange. That's the only way left to me... if anything is left at all."
Having said this, he spurred his horse and again moved to the front of the detachment to give final orders and to escape the sad thoughts for which there was no time, for the place chosen for the ambush was no longer distant.
"Why does the young lord think his lady is still alive and that she is in these parts?" asked the Czech.
"Because if Siegfried didn't kill her outright at Szczytno in the first rush," replied Macko, "it's reasonable to hope she's still alive. And if he had killed her, the priest of Szczytno wouldn't have told us those things that Zbyszko also heard. It's a hard thing even for the greatest brute to raise his hand against a defenseless woman, and even more against an innocent child."
"Hard, but not for a Krzyżak. And Prince Witold's children?"
"True, they have wolfish hearts, but it's also true that he didn't do away with her in Szczytno, and since he himself moved in this direction, he may have hidden her in some castle."
"Hey! If only we could take that island and that castle."
"Just look at these men," said Macko.
"Sure, sure! But I have a thought I'll tell the young lord."
"Even if you had ten, you won't break down walls with spears."
Having said this, Macko pointed to the rows of spears with which most of the warriors were armed, and then asked:
"Have you ever seen such an army?"
And indeed, the Czech had never seen anything like it.
Before them rode a dense host of warriors, and they rode in disarray, for in the forest and among the bushes it was hard to keep ranks. Moreover, the foot soldiers were mixed with the horsemen, and to keep up with the horses' steps they clung to manes, saddles, and tails. The warriors' shoulders were covered with the skins of wolves, lynxes, and bears; from their heads stuck out boar tusks, stag antlers, and shaggy ears, so that—were it not for the weapons jutting upward and the pitch-black bows and quivers of arrows on their backs—onlookers from behind might think, especially in the mist, that it was a whole herd of wild forest beasts that had set out from the depths of the wilderness, driven by bloodlust or hunger.
There was something terrifying about it, and at the same time so unusual, as if one were watching that marvel called the gomon, during which, as folk believe, beasts, and even stones and bushes, rise up and move forward.
So at that sight, one of those squires from Łękawica who had come with the Czech approached him, crossed himself, and said:
"In the name of the Father and the Son! We're going with a pack of real wolves, not with people."
And Hlawa, though he was seeing such an army for the first time, replied as an experienced man who had seen everything and was surprised by nothing:
"Wolves go in packs in winter, but Krzyżak blood tastes good even in spring."
And indeed it was already spring—May! The hazel that covered the forest floor had turned bright green. From the soft, fluffy mosses over which the warriors' feet stepped without a sound, white and bluish pasqueflowers emerged, as well as young bilberry plants and jagged ferns. The trees, wet from abundant rains, smelled of damp bark, and from the forest soil rose the raw scent of fallen needles and rot. The sun played rainbow colors on the droplets hanging among the leaves, and birds called out joyfully above.
They walked faster and faster, for Zbyszko urged them on. After a while he again rode to the rear of the detachment, where Macko was with the Czech and the Masurian volunteers. The hope of a good fight had evidently revived him considerably, for his face was free of its usual worry, and his eyes shone as before.
"Come on!" he called. "We need to be at the front now, not lagging behind!"
And he led them to the head of the detachment.
"Hear me," he said further, "maybe we'll catch the Krzyżacy by surprise, but if they figure it out and manage to form ranks, we'll strike first, for our armor is better and our swords are better!"
"That's how it will be!" said Macko.
The others settled themselves more firmly in their saddles, as if they were about to strike right away. One and another took a deep breath and felt whether his sword came easily from its sheath.
Zbyszko repeated once more that if among the foot soldiers there were knights or Krzyżaks in white cloaks over armor, they were not to kill them but take them captive, then he jumped again to the guides and after a moment stopped the detachment. They had reached the road that ran from the landing opposite the island into the heart of the country. Actually, it was not yet a proper road, but rather a track recently cleared through the forests and leveled only enough for troops and wagons to pass along it in a pinch. On both sides rose high-trunked forest, and along both edges lay piled the stumps of old pines felled to open the way. The hazel undergrowth was in places so dense that it completely concealed the forest depths. Moreover, Zbyszko chose a spot on a bend, so that those approaching, unable to see anything from afar, would have no time either to retreat in time or to form up in battle order. There he occupied both sides of the track and ordered the enemy to be awaited.
Inured to the forest and forest warfare, the Samogitians crouched so skillfully behind logs, roots, hazel bushes, and clumps of young fir trees—that it was as if the earth had swallowed them. Not a man spoke, not a horse snorted. Now and then, near the concealed men, small or large forest animals passed, and only after almost brushing against them did they dart aside in fright and snorting. Now and then a gust of wind rose and filled the forest with a solemn, grave murmur; sometimes it died down, and then only the distant cuckoo's call and the close tapping of woodpeckers could be heard.
The Samogitians listened to these sounds with joy, for especially the woodpecker was for them a harbinger of good omen. And there were many of those birds in this forest, and tapping came from all sides, persistent, like human labor. You would think each had its forge there and from early morning had set to diligent work. To Macko and the Masurians it seemed they heard carpenters pounding rafters on a new house, and it reminded them of their homelands.
But time passed and dragged on, and meanwhile nothing was heard except the forest murmur and the voices of birds. The mist lying low thinned out, the sun rose considerably and began to warm, and they still lay there.
Finally Hlawa, who had grown tired of waiting and silence, leaned toward Zbyszko's ear and began to whisper:
"Lord... If God grants that not a one of those scoundrels escapes alive, could we not push on to the castle, cross over, and take it by surprise?"
"And do you think they don't guard the boats and don't have a password?"
"They guard them and have one," said the Czech, "but prisoners under the knife will tell the password, and they'll even call out to them in German themselves. If only we can get onto the island, then the castle itself..."
Here he broke off, for Zbyszko suddenly put his hand over his mouth, as the cawing of a raven came from the road.
"Quiet!" he said. "That's the signal!"
And indeed, two paternosters later, a Samogitian appeared on the track on a small shaggy horse whose hooves were wrapped in sheepskin so that they would not make a sound and would leave no tracks in the mud.
Riding, he looked sharply to both sides; suddenly hearing from the thicket an answer to the cawing, he dove into the forest, and in a moment was with Zbyszko.
"They're coming!" he said.