Two riders were making their way through the wind and, at times, torrential rain toward the Spychowska Granica: Siegfried and Tolima. The latter was escorting the German out of fear that the watchful peasants or the Spychow retainers, burning with terrible hatred and thirst for revenge, would kill him along the way. Siegfried rode without weapons, but also without bonds. The storm, driven by the wind, was already upon them. Every now and then, when an unexpected clap of thunder roared, the horses would sit back on their haunches. They rode in deep silence through a sunken gully, often so close together because of the narrowness of the path that stirrup clanked against stirrup. Tolima, accustomed for years to guarding prisoners, now too kept a watchful eye on Siegfried from time to time, as if concerned he might suddenly escape, and an involuntary shudder ran through him each time, for it seemed to him that the Krzyżak’s eyes glowed in the darkness like the eyes of an evil spirit or a vampire. It even occurred to him to make the sign of the cross over him, but at the thought that under the sign of the cross he might howl with an inhuman voice, change into a hideous shape, and start gnashing his teeth, an even greater fear seized him. The old warrior, who could single-handedly strike whole groups of Germans like a hawk striking a flock of partridges, was nevertheless afraid of unclean forces and wanted nothing to do with them. He would have preferred simply to show the German the rest of the way and turn back, but he was ashamed of himself, so he escorted him all the way to the border.
There, when they reached the edge of the Spychowski Forest, the rain let up, and the clouds lit up with a strange yellow light. It grew brighter, and Siegfried’s eyes lost their previous eerie glow. But then another temptation assailed Tolima: “They ordered me,” he said to himself, “to escort this mad dog safely to the border, and I have done so. But is he to ride away without vengeance and punishment, that executioner of my lord and his child? Would it not be a worthy and God-pleasing deed to slay him? Eh! What if I challenge him to a fight to the death?”
He has no weapons, true, but about a mile from here, at Warcimowe Manor, they’ll give him a sword or a blade of some sort — and then I’ll fight him. God willing, I’ll throw him down, and then I’ll finish him off as is fitting and bury his head in the dung!
So Tolima said to himself, and looking greedily at the German, he began to flare his nostrils as if he already caught the fresh scent of blood. He had to struggle hard with that desire, to wrestle with himself, until at last, when he thought that Jurand had granted the prisoner not just his life and freedom but also a full release, and that in that case the lord’s holy deed would be for nothing, and the heavenly reward for it would be diminished, he finally overcame himself. He reined in his horse and said:
“Here is our border, and yours is not far. Ride free, and if grief doesn’t choke you and God’s thunderbolt doesn’t strike you, then no harm will come to you from men.”
Having said this, he turned back, and the other rode on ahead with a sort of wild petrification on his face, without uttering a single word and as if not hearing that someone had spoken to him.
And he rode on, now along a wider highway, as if sunk in sleep.
The break in the storm was short, and the clearing lasted only a moment. It grew dark again, as if evening twilight had fallen upon the world, and the clouds descended low, almost over the forest itself. From above came an ominous rumble and an impatient hiss and growl of thunder, which the angel of the storm still held back. But lightning already began to illuminate the menacing sky and the terrified earth with blinding flashes every moment, and then one could see the wide road running between two black walls of forest, and on it, in the middle, a lone rider on horseback.
Siegfried rode half-conscious, consumed by fever. Despair, which had been gnawing at his soul ever since Rotgier’s death, the crimes committed for revenge, the remorse, the terrifying visions, the inner torments — all this had so disturbed his mind for a long time that only with the greatest effort did he defend himself against madness, and at times he even gave in to it. And recently — the hardships of the journey under the harsh hand of the Czech, the night spent in the Spychow dungeon, the uncertainty of his fate, and above all that unheard-of, almost inhuman act of grace and mercy which had simply terrified him — everything had torn him apart completely. At times his thoughts would stiffen and congeal, so that he completely lost awareness of what was happening to him, but then again the fever would rouse him and at the same time awaken in him a dull sense of despair, of loss, of ruin — a feeling that everything was past, extinguished, finished, that some end had come, that around was only night and night and nothingness, and something like a terrible abyss filled with terror, toward which he nonetheless had to go.
“Go, go!” a voice suddenly whispered in his ear.
And he looked around — and saw Death itself, in the shape of a skeleton, seated on a horse skeleton, gliding right beside him, white and clattering with its bones.
“Are you here?” asked the Krzyżak.
“I am. Go! Go!”
But at that moment he noticed that on the other side he also had a companion — riding stirrup to stirrup was some creature, in body similar to a man, but with an inhuman face, for it had an animal head, with erect ears, long and pointed, and covered with black fur.
“Who are you?” cried Siegfried.
But the other, instead of answering, bared its teeth at him and began to growl dully.
Siegfried closed his eyes, but immediately heard a louder rattling of bones and a voice speaking directly into his ear:
“Time! Time! Hurry! Go!”
And he answered: “I’m going!” But the answer came from his chest as if given by someone else.
Then, as if pushed by some irresistible external force, he dismounted from his horse and took off the high knightly saddle, and then the bridle. His companions, also dismounting, did not leave him for an instant — and led him from the middle of the road to the edge of the forest. There the black vampire bent a branch for him and helped him tie the bridle strap to it.
“Hurry!” whispered Death.
“Hurry!” rustled some voices in the treetops.
Siegfried, as if sunk in sleep, threaded the other strap through the buckle, made a noose — and stepping onto the saddle he had previously placed under the tree, he put the noose around his own neck.
“Kick the saddle away!... Now! Aa!”
The saddle, kicked by his foot, rolled a few steps — and the body of the unfortunate Krzyżak hung heavily.
For one brief moment it seemed to him that he heard a hoarse, muffled roar, and that the hideous vampire had lunged at him, shaken him, and begun to tear at his chest with its teeth to bite into his heart. But then his fading pupils saw something else. Death dissolved into a whitish cloud, which slowly moved toward him, embraced him, enveloped him, surrounded him, and finally covered everything with a terrible, impenetrable veil.
At that moment the storm raged with immense fury. A thunderbolt struck the middle of the road with such a terrible crash that the earth seemed to shake to its foundations. The whole forest bent under the wind. Roaring, whistling, howling, the creaking of trunks and the cracking of broken branches filled the depths of the woods. Waves of rain driven by the wind obscured the world — and only during brief, blood-red flashes of lightning could one see the wildly swinging corpse of Siegfried above the road.
The next day a rather numerous retinue moved along the same road. At the front rode Jagienka with Sieciechówna and the Czech, behind them went wagons, surrounded by four armed servants with crossbows and swords. Each of the drivers also had a spear and an axe beside him, not counting iron-shod pitchforks and other tools useful on the road. This was necessary both for defense against wild beasts and against the bands of robbers that forever prowled the Teutonic border, about which Jagiello bitterly complained to the Grand Master, both in letters and in person at the meetings in Raciążek.
But with capable men and good defensive equipment, there was no need to fear them, so the company rode on, confident and free from anxiety. After yesterday’s storm, a beautiful day had dawned, fresh, quiet, and so bright that where there was no shade, the travelers’ eyes squinted from the excessive glare. Not a leaf stirred on the trees, and from each hung large raindrops, shimmering with rainbow colors in the sun. Among the pine needles sparkled what looked like great diamonds. The downpour had created little streams on the highway, which flowed with merry rustling toward lower places, forming shallow pools in the hollows. The whole countryside was bedewed and wet, but smiling in the morning brightness. On such mornings joy fills the human heart, so the drivers and servants hummed softly to themselves, wondering at the silence that prevailed among those riding at the front.
But they were silent, for a heavy worry had settled on Jagienka’s soul. Something had ended in her life, something had broken, and the girl, though not very skilled at introspection and unable to clearly articulate what was happening within her or what she felt, nevertheless sensed that everything she had lived for until now had failed and come to nothing, that all hope had dissipated within her like morning mist dispersing over fields, that she would have to renounce everything, abandon everything, forget everything, and begin a life that was entirely new. She also thought that even if by God’s will it were not entirely bad, it could not be anything but sad, and in no way as good as the one that had just ended.
And immense regret squeezed her heart for that past now closed forever, and rose like a stream of tears to her eyes. But she did not want to cry, for even without that she felt, as if on top of the whole burden crushing her soul, also shame. She would have preferred not to have left Zgorzelice at all, if only to avoid returning now from Spychow. Because she could not deny to herself that she had come here not only to deprive Cztan and Wilk of the pretext for attacking Zgorzelice. No! Macko knew it too, and that was not why he had taken her along, and Zbyszko would surely find out as well.
At that thought her cheeks flushed and bitterness flooded her heart. “I wasn’t proud enough,” she said to herself in her soul, “and now I have what I wanted.” And to the worry, the uncertainty of the future, the bitter sadness, and the profound regret for the past, humiliation was added.
But the further course of her heavy thoughts was interrupted by a man approaching hastily from the opposite direction. The Czech, who kept a watchful eye on everything, also moved his horse toward him, and from the crossbow on his shoulder, the badger-skin bag, and the jay’s feathers on his cap, he recognized him as a forest warden.
“Hey! And who are you? Stop!” he called out, however, to be sure.
The man approached quickly and with a moved expression, such as people usually have who want to announce something unusual, he called out:
“A man is hanging on the road ahead of you!”
So the Czech grew worried that it might be some robber business, and began to ask quickly:
“How far from here?”
“A crossbow shot away. Right above the road.”
“No one with him?”
“No one. I only scared off a wolf that was sniffing him.”
The mention of the wolf calmed Hlawa, for it proved that there were no people nearby, nor any ambush.
Meanwhile Jagienka said: “Go see what it is.”
Hlawa galloped ahead, and after a moment returned even faster.
“Siegfried is hanging!” he cried, reining his horse in front of Jagienka.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost! Siegfried? The Krzyżak?”
“The Krzyżak! He hanged himself with a bridle!”
“By himself?”
“By himself, it seems, because the saddle lies next to him. If robbers had done it, they would have simply strangled him — and they would have taken the saddle, because it’s a nice one.”
“So how shall we proceed?”
“Let’s not go there! Let’s not!” began the fearful Anula Sieciechówna to cry out. “Something might still attach itself to us!”
Jagienka also grew a little frightened, for she believed that around the corpse of a suicide terrible spirits gathered in whole groups, but Hlawa, who was bold and feared nothing, said:
“Bah! I was close to him, and even poked him with my spear — and I don’t feel the devil on my neck somehow.”
“Don’t blaspheme!” cried Jagienka.
“I’m not blaspheming,” replied the Czech, “I only trust in God’s power. However, if you’re afraid, we can ride around through the forest.”
Sieciechówna began to beg to go around, but Jagienka, after thinking for a moment, said:
“Eh, it’s not right not to bury the dead! It’s a Christian deed, commanded by the Lord Jesus, and he is after all a man.”
“Yes, but a Krzyżak, a suicide, and an executioner! Ravens and wolves will take care of him.”
“Don’t say such things! God will judge him for his sins, and let us do our duty. No evil will attach itself to us if we fulfill a pious commandment.”
“Well, then let it be as you wish,” replied the Czech.
And he gave the appropriate order to the servants, who obeyed with reluctance and disgust. However, fearing Hlawa, with whom it was dangerous to argue, they took pitchforks and axes, for lack of shovels, to dig a pit in the ground, and went. The Czech also went with them to set an example, and after crossing himself, he cut the strap on which the corpse hung with his own hands.
Siegfried’s face had already turned blue in the air, and he looked quite horrible, for his eyes were open and terrified, and his mouth was open as if to catch a last breath. So they quickly dug a pit right next to him and pushed the body into it with the handles of the pitchforks, face down, then covered it and began to look for stones, for it was an ancient custom to cover suicides with stones; otherwise they would rise at night and disturb travelers.
There were enough stones both on the road and among the forest mosses, so soon a mound-shaped grave rose over the Krzyżak, and then Hlawa cut a cross on a pine trunk with his axe — he did this not for Siegfried, but so that evil spirits would not gather at that place — and returned to the retinue.
“The soul in hell, the body in the earth,” he said to Jagienka. “We can go now.”
And they set off. However, Jagienka, as she passed, tore off a twig of pine and threw it onto the stones, and following the lady’s example, all the others did the same, for custom also demanded this.
For a long time they rode in thought, reflecting on that sinister monk-knight, on the punishment that had befallen him, and at last Jagienka said:
“Divine justice does not relent. And it’s not even proper to say an ‘Eternal rest’ for him, because there is no mercy for him.”
“You have a merciful soul nonetheless, to have ordered him buried,” replied the Czech.
And then he began to speak with some hesitation:
“People say, well! maybe not people, but witches and warlocks, that the rope or strap from a hanged man brings some kind of luck in everything, but I didn’t take the strap from Siegfried, because I look for happiness for you not from sorcery, but from the power of the Lord Jesus.”
Jagienka did not answer anything at first, and only after a moment, sighing several times, she said as if to herself:
“Oh! My happiness is behind me, not ahead of me!”