The road to the battlefield where Skirwoillo had cut down the Germans was easy, for it was familiar. They reached it quickly, but rode past in haste because of the unbearable stench from the unburied bodies. As they passed, they drove off huge flocks of crows, ravens, and jackdaws among the wolves, and then began searching the trail for tracks. Although an entire detachment had passed that way before, the experienced Macko easily found on the trampled ground the imprints of enormous hooves heading in the return direction, and he began to explain the matter to the youth, who were less skilled in military affairs.
“It’s lucky there’s been no rain since the battle,” he said. “Just note: Arnold’s horse, carrying a man of extraordinary size, must have been enormous as well, and it’s easy to deduce that galloping in flight, it struck the ground harder than when walking slowly in the other direction, and therefore made deeper holes. Look, you who have eyes, how the horseshoes show in the damp spots! God willing, we’ll track the scoundrels properly, as long as they don’t find shelter behind walls beforehand.”
“Sanderus said,” answered Zbyszko, “that there are no castles hereabouts, and that’s true, because the Krzyżacy have only recently taken this land and haven’t had time to build any. Where could they take shelter? The peasants who lived here are in Skirwoillo’s camp, for they are the same people as the Samogitians... The villages, as Sanderus said, the Germans themselves burned, and the women and children are hidden deep in the forests. As long as we don’t spare the horses, we’ll catch them.”
“We must spare the horses,” said Macko, “for even if we succeed, our salvation will then depend on them.”
“Knight Arnold,” interjected Sanderus, “was struck on the back with a flail during the battle. He didn’t notice it at first, fought and killed, but later it must have stiffened up, for it’s always that way — at first nothing, then it hurts. For that reason, they won’t flee too quickly, and may have to rest.”
“And there are no men with them, you said?” asked Macko.
“There are two who carry the cradle between the saddles, and besides them, Knight Arnold and the old Komtur. There was a fair number of others, but the Samogitians caught up and killed them.”
“So be it,” said Zbyszko. “Our servants will tie up those men by the cradle; you, Uncle, will seize old Zygfryd, and I will strike at Arnold.”
“Well!” answered Macko. “I’ll manage Zygfryd, for by the grace of Lord Jesus, strength still lives in my bones. But don’t be too confident, for that one is said to be a giant.”
“Oh ho! We’ll see!” replied Zbyszko.
“You’re strong, I won’t deny it, but there are stronger men than you. Have you forgotten those knights we saw in Krakow? Would you match Sir Powała of Taczew? Or Sir Paszko Złodziej of Biskupice, let alone Zawisza Czarny? Eh? Don’t go too far, and mind what’s at stake.”
“Rotgier was no weakling either,” muttered Zbyszko.
“And will there be work for me?” asked the Czech.
But he got no answer, for Macko’s mind was occupied with something else.
“If God blesses us,” he said, “then as long as we can get to the Masovian forests afterward! There we’ll be safe, and it will all be over.”
But after a moment he sighed, thinking perhaps that even then not everything would be over, for something would still have to be done about poor Jagienka.
“Hey!” he muttered. “God’s judgments are strange. I often think about it — why hasn’t it fallen to you to marry quietly and for me to sit peacefully with you? For that’s what usually happens — and among all the gentry in our Kingdom, we are the only ones who roam about various countries and wilds, instead of farming at home in a godly manner.”
“Well, that’s true, but God’s will!” answered Zbyszko.
And for a time they rode in silence, then the old knight turned to his nephew.
“Do you trust that vagabond? What sort is he?”
“He’s a frivolous fellow and maybe a scoundrel, but he’s extremely well-disposed to me, and I’m not afraid of betrayal from him.”
“If so, then let him ride ahead, for if he catches up with them, they won’t be startled. He’ll tell them he escaped from captivity, which they’ll easily believe. That will be better, because if they saw us from a distance, they might either manage to hide somewhere or prepare a defense.”
“He won’t ride ahead alone at night, for he’s timid,” replied Zbyszko, “but by day it will certainly be better. I’ll tell him to stop three times a day and wait for us; if we don’t find him at the stopping place, that will be a sign that he’s already with them, and then, following his tracks, we’ll attack them unexpectedly.”
“And he won’t warn them?”
“No. He wishes me better than them. I’ll also tell him that when we attack them, we’ll tie him up too, so he won’t have to fear their vengeance later. Let him not admit to knowing us at all.”
“So you intend to leave those others alive?”
“And how should it be?” answered Zbyszko somewhat worriedly. “You see... If it were in Masovia or somewhere in our lands, we would have challenged them, as I challenged Rotgier, and fought to the death, but here in their country it can’t be done. Here it’s about Danushka and speed. We must act quickly and quietly to avoid trouble, and then, as you said, ride with all our horses’ strength to the Masovian forests. Attacking unexpectedly, we might catch them without armor, even without swords? So how can we kill them? I fear dishonor! We are both now knights, and they are too...”
“Well, well,” said Macko. “But it may come to a meeting anyway.”
But Zbyszko frowned, and his face reflected a deep stubbornness, evidently innate to all the men of Bogdaniec, for at that moment he became, especially in his gaze, so like Macko as if he were his own son.
“What I would like,” he said hoarsely, “is to throw that bloody dog, Zygfryd, at Jurand’s feet! God grant it!”
“Grant it, grant it!” repeated Macko at once.
Talking thus, they covered a good stretch of road, for night had fallen, clear but moonless. They had to stop, give the horses rest, and refresh the men with food and sleep. Before resting, however, Zbyszko told Sanderus that the next day he was to ride ahead alone, to which he readily agreed, stipulating only that in case of danger from wild beasts or local people, he would have the right to flee back to them. He also asked that he be allowed to make stops not three, but four times, for in solitude he was always seized by a certain unease, even in pious lands, and even more so in a forest as wild and terrible as the one they were now in.
They settled down for the night and, having refreshed their bodies with food, lay down on skins by a small fire kindled under a fallen tree, half a stajanie from the road. The servants took turns watching the horses, which, after rolling, dozed after eating their fodder, resting their heads on each other’s necks. But as soon as the first dawn silvered the trees, Zbyszko was the first to rise, woke the others, and at daybreak they set off on their further march. The tracks of Arnold’s stallion’s enormous hooves were found again without difficulty, for they had sunk into the low, usually muddy ground and were preserved by the drought.
Sanderus rode ahead and disappeared from sight, but halfway between sunrise and noon they found him at a stopping place. He told them he had seen no living soul except a great aurochs, but he had not fled from it because the beast had first moved out of his way. However, at noon, during their first meal, he announced that he had seen a peasant, a forest beekeeper with a rope ladder, and had not stopped him only out of fear that there might be more of them deeper in the forest. He tried to ask him about this and that, but they could not understand each other.
During the following march, Zbyszko began to grow uneasy. What would happen if they came to higher and drier country, where the tracks so far visible would disappear on the hard trail? Also, if the pursuit lasted too long and led them to a more populous land where the inhabitants had long been accustomed to obedience to the Krzyżacy, the attack and recovery of Danushka would become almost impossible, for even if the walls of some castle or fortress did not secure Zygfryd and Arnold, the local people would certainly take their side.
But fortunately these fears proved groundless, for at the next stopping place they did not find Sanderus at the agreed spot, but instead discovered on a pine standing close by the road a large notch in the shape of a cross, evidently freshly made. Then they looked at each other, their faces grew serious, and their hearts began to beat faster. Macko and Zbyszko immediately jumped from their saddles to examine the tracks on the ground, and searched diligently, but not for long, for the tracks themselves caught the eye.
Sanderus had evidently turned off the road into the forest, following the imprints of the large hooves, not as deep as on the highway, but quite distinct, for the ground here was peaty, and the heavy horse pressed the needles down with its hooves at every step, leaving holes with dark edges.
Zbyszko’s keen eyes did not miss other impressions, so he mounted his horse, and Macko after him, and they began to consult with each other and with the Czech in low voices, as if the enemy were near.
The Czech advised going on foot immediately, but they did not want to do that, for they did not know how far they would have to ride through the forest. However, the servants on foot were to precede them and, in case they noticed anything, give them a signal to be ready.
And so they soon moved into the forest. A second notch on a pine assured them they had not lost Sanderus’s trail. Soon they also noticed that they were on a path, or at least a forest track, which people must have used many times. Then they were certain they would find some forest settlement, and in it those they sought.
The sun had already lowered a bit and shone gold among the trees. The evening promised to be clear. The forest was quiet, for animals and birds were settling down to rest. Here and there among the sunlit branches, squirrels flashed, turned entirely red by the evening rays. Zbyszko, Macko, the Czech, and the servants rode one after another in single file. Knowing that the servants on foot were well ahead and would warn them in time, the old knight spoke meanwhile to his nephew, without suppressing his voice too much.
“Let’s count by the sun,” he said. “From the last stop to the place with the notch, we’ve covered a huge stretch of road. On a Krakow clock it would be about three hours... So Sanderus has been among them for some time and has had time to tell them his adventures. If only he doesn’t betray us.”
“He won’t betray,” replied Zbyszko.
“And if only they believe him,” finished Macko, “for if they don’t, it will go badly for him.”
“And why wouldn’t they believe? Do they know about us? And they know him. A captive often escapes from captivity.”
“What worries me is that if he told them he escaped from captivity, they might have feared pursuit and set off immediately.”
“No. He knows how to throw dust in their eyes. And they understand that a pursuit wouldn’t go so far.”
They fell silent for a time, but then Macko thought he heard Zbyszko whispering something to him, so he turned and asked, “What are you saying?”
But Zbyszko had his eyes raised upward and was not whispering to Macko, but commending Danushka and his bold undertaking to God.
Macko also began to make the sign of the cross, but he had barely made the first sign when one of the lads sent ahead suddenly emerged from the hazel thickets towards them.
“A charcoal-burner’s hut!” he said. “They’re there!”
“Halt!” whispered Zbyszko, and at the same moment jumped off his horse.
Macko, the Czech, and the servants dismounted after him; three of the servants were ordered to stay with the horses, keeping them ready and taking care that, God forbid, none of the steeds should neigh. To the remaining five Macko said: “There will be two grooms and Sanderus there; you’ll tie them up in a flash, and if any is armed and tries to defend himself, bash his head in.”
And they immediately moved forward. Along the way, Zbyszko whispered to his uncle, “You take old Zygfryd, and I’ll take Arnold.”
“Just be careful!” answered the old man.
And he winked at the Czech, giving him to understand that he should be ready at any moment to help his master.
The Czech nodded his head that it would be so, and at the same time drew a deep breath and felt to see if his sword came easily from the scabbard.
But Zbyszko noticed and said, “No! I order you to jump to the cradle at once and not leave it a single step during the fight.”
They walked quickly and quietly, still among the hazel thickets, but they did not go far, for after at most two stajania, the bushes suddenly ended, encircling a small clearing on which were visible extinct charcoal-burner’s mounds and two earth huts, or numas, where the burners had probably lived until the war drove them away. The setting sun lit the meadow, the mound, and both numas, standing far apart, with a great glow. In front of one sat two knights on a log, in front of the other a broad-shouldered, red-haired lout and Sanderus. Both were busy wiping armor with rags, and at Sanderus’s feet also lay two swords, which he apparently intended to clean later.
“Look,” said Macko, squeezing Zbyszko’s arm with all his strength to hold him back for a moment. “He deliberately took their swords and armor. Good! That gray-haired one must be...”
“Forward!” Zbyszko suddenly shouted.
And they stormed onto the clearing like a whirlwind. The others also jumped up, but before they could reach Sanderus, the fierce Macko grabbed old Zygfryd by the chest, bent him backward, and in an instant had him under control. Zbyszko and Arnold locked together like two hawks, entwined their arms, and began to wrestle terribly. The broad-shouldered German who had been sitting near Sanderus did grab a sword, but before he could swing it, Macko’s servant, Wit, struck him with a club on his red head and stretched him on the spot. Then, according to the old master’s order, they rushed to tie up Sanderus, who, though he knew it was a prearranged affair, began to bellow with fear like a yearling calf whose throat is being cut.
But Zbyszko, although so strong that he could squeeze sap from a tree branch by grasping it, felt that he had fallen into not human but bear’s paws. He even felt that if it were not for the armor he wore — not knowing whether he would have to fight with sharp weapons — the giant German would have crushed his ribs or perhaps broken his spine. The young man did lift him slightly upward, but the other lifted him even higher, and gathering all his strength, wanted to slam him to the ground so that he would never rise again.
But Zbyszko squeezed him back with such cruel effort that the German’s eyes filled with blood, then he slid his leg between his knees, struck the bend, and threw him to the ground.
They both fell rather, but the young man ended up underneath. However, at that moment, Macko, who was alert to everything, threw the half-crushed Zygfryd into the servants’ hands and himself moved toward the fallen men. In the blink of an eye, he bound Arnold’s legs with a belt, then jumped, sat on him like on a killed boar, and pressed the point of his misericord to his neck.
The latter screamed shrilly, and his arms slid helplessly from Zbyszko’s sides, and then he began to groan, not so much from the prick, but because he suddenly felt a cruel and indescribable pain in his back, which had received a blow from a club during the battle with Skirwoillo.
Macko grabbed him with both hands by the collar and pulled him off Zbyszko. Zbyszko raised himself from the ground and sat up, then tried to stand but could not, so he sat down again and sat motionless for a long while. His face was pale and sweaty, his eyes bloodshot, his lips blue, and he stared ahead as if not fully conscious.
“What’s wrong?” asked Macko with concern.
“Nothing, just very tired. Help me stand up.”
Macko slid his hands under his armpits and lifted him at once.
“Can you stand?”
“I can.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“Nothing. Just out of breath.”
Meanwhile, the Czech, having evidently seen that everything on the clearing was finished, appeared before the numa, holding a monastic servant by the scruff of the neck.
At this sight, Zbyszko forgot his exhaustion; strength returned to him at once, and as if he had not struggled with the terrible Arnold, he jumped into the numa.
“Danushka! Danushka!”
But no voice answered that call.
“Danushka! Danushka!” repeated Zbyszko.
And fell silent. The room was dark, so at first he could see nothing. Instead, from behind the stones piled up for a hearth came a quick and loud breathing, like that of a hiding little animal.
“Danushka! For God’s sake! It’s me! Zbyszko!”
And then he saw in the darkness her eyes, wide open, terrified, dazed.
So he rushed to her and caught her in his arms, but she did not recognize him at all, and pulling away from his hands, began to repeat in a breathless whisper:
“I’m afraid! I’m afraid! I’m afraid!......”