Zbyszko reproached himself inwardly for having forgotten his uncle in his own grief. And since he was quick to act on his decisions, the next day at dawn he and Sir de Lorche set out for Płock. The border roads, even in times of the greatest peace, were not safe because of bandits. The Krzyżacy supported and protected numerous bands of these outlaws—a fact that King Jagiello sharply reproached them for. Despite complaints that reached all the way to Rome, despite threats and severe execution of justice, the neighboring Komturs allowed hired knechts to join with robbers. They would disavow those who had the misfortune to fall into Polish hands, but gave shelter to those returning with loot and captives, not only in Order villages but also in castles.
It was into just such robber hands that travelers and border inhabitants often fell, especially children of wealthy people, who were kidnapped for ransom. But the two young knights, with their considerable retinues—each comprising, besides drivers, a dozen or so armed footmen and mounted servants—did not fear an attack. They reached Płock without incident, where a pleasant surprise awaited them on arrival.
For in the inn they found Tolima, who had arrived a day before them. This had come about because the Krzyżak starosta from Lubawa, having heard that the envoy at the time of the attack near Brodnica had managed to hide part of the ransom, sent him to that castle with orders to the Komtur to force him to reveal where the money was hidden. Tolima took advantage of the opportunity and escaped. When the knights wondered how he had managed so easily, he explained the matter as follows:
“It was all because of their greed. The Komtur of Brodnica didn’t want to assign me a large guard, because he didn’t want news of the money to spread. Perhaps they had an arrangement with the one from Lubawa to share it, and they feared that if it became known, they’d have to send a large portion to Malbork, or even give it all to those Badens. So he gave me only two men: one trusted knecht, who had to row with me on the Drwęca, and some sort of scribe. And since they didn’t want anyone to see us, it was toward night, and you know the border is close. They also gave me an oak oar. Well—and God’s mercy—because here I am in Płock.”
“I know! And those others didn’t come back!” cried Zbyszko.
At that a smile brightened Tolima’s stern face. “After all, the Drwęca flows into the Vistula,” he said. “How could they row back upstream? The Krzyżacy will find them in Torun, if anywhere.”
After a moment, turning to Zbyszko, he added: “The Komtur of Lubawa grabbed part of the money, but I found the part I had hidden during the attack. Now I’ve given it to your squire for safekeeping, because he lives in the prince’s castle, and it’s safer there than in my inn.”
“So my squire is here, in Płock? And what is he doing here?” asked Zbyszko in surprise.
“He left with the young lady who was in Spychow after transporting Zygfryd, and now she is a lady-in-waiting to the local duchess. That’s what he told me yesterday.”
But Zbyszko, numbed by grief after Danusia’s death, had asked nothing about Spychow and knew nothing. Now he only remembered that Czech had been sent ahead with Zygfryd—and at that memory, his heart tightened with sorrow and vengeance.
“That’s right!” he said. “And where is that executioner? What happened to him?”
“Didn’t Father Kaleb tell you? Zygfryd hanged himself, and you rode past his grave, sir.”
A moment of silence followed.
“The squire said,” Tolima finally said, “that he was planning to go to you, and would have done so long ago, but he had to look after the young lady, who fell ill here after returning from Spychow.”
And Zbyszko asked again, shaking himself from his sorrowful memories as if from a dream: “What young lady?”
“Well, that one,” replied the old man, “your sister or relative, who came here with Knight Macko to Spychow dressed as a page, and along the way found our lord, who was groping his way blindly. If not for her, neither Knight Macko nor your squire would have recognized him. Our lord later loved her greatly, because she cared for him like a daughter, and besides Father Kaleb, she alone could understand him.”
So the young knight opened his eyes wide in astonishment. “Father Kaleb didn’t tell me about any young lady, and I have no relative of that kind...”
“He didn’t tell you because you were living in a daze from grief and didn’t know what was going on in God’s world.”
“And what was that young lady called?”
“They called her: Jagienka.”
Zbyszko thought he was dreaming. The idea that Jagienka from distant Zgorzelice could have come all the way to Spychow wouldn’t fit in his head. And why? For what reason? It was no secret to him that the girl had been glad to see him and had clung to him in Zgorzelice, but he had confessed to her that he was married—so he could by no means assume that old Macko had taken her to Spychow in order to marry her off to him. Besides, neither Macko nor Czech had even mentioned her to him.
All of this seemed immensely strange and completely incomprehensible, so he began again to bombard Tolima with questions, like a man who doesn’t believe his own ears and wants to have an unlikely piece of news repeated. Tolima, however, couldn’t tell him anything more than what he had already said, but instead he went to the castle to look for the squire, and soon, before sunset, returned with him.
Czech greeted his young master with joy, but also with sadness, for he had already learned earlier about everything that had happened in Spychow. And Zbyszko was equally glad to see him with all his soul, feeling that this was a friendly and faithful heart, one of those that a man needs most in misfortune. He became moved and tearful, telling him about Danusia’s death, and shared his pain, sorrow, and tears with him, just as a brother shares with a brother. This went on for a long time, especially since in the end, at Zbyszko’s request, Sir de Lorche repeated for them that mournful song he had composed about the deceased, and sang it to the accompaniment of a cittern, at an open window, raising his eyes toward the stars.
And when they had finally been much relieved, they began to talk about the matters that awaited them in Płock.
“I stopped here on the way to Malbork,” said Zbyszko, “because you know that Uncle Macko is in captivity and I’m going to ransom him.”
“I know,” replied Czech. “You did well, sir. I wanted to ride to Spychow myself to advise you to go via Płock; the king is to conduct negotiations with the Grand Master in Raciążek, and it’s easier to make a claim in the king’s presence, especially since the Krzyżacy are not so arrogant before majesty and pretend to be Christian good-hearted.”
“And Tolima said you were supposed to come to me, but Jagienka’s illness held you back. I heard that Uncle Macko brought her to these parts and that she was also in Spychow. I was terribly astonished! So tell me, for what reason did Uncle Macko take her from Zgorzelice?”
“There were many reasons. Knight Macko was afraid that if he left her without any protection, the knights Wilk and Cztan would raid Zgorzelice, which could also harm the younger children. And without her, it’s safer, because in Poland, as you know, it happens that a nobleman, if he can’t get the girl otherwise, takes her by force, but no one raises a hand against little orphans, because for that there is the executioner’s sword and a shame worse than the sword! However, there was also another reason: the abbot died and made the young lady heir to his estates, over which the local bishop had guardianship. Therefore Knight Macko brought the young lady to Płock.”
“But he also took her to Spychow?”
“He did, during the bishop’s and the princely couple’s absence, because there was no one to leave her with. And it’s lucky he did. If not for the young lady, we would have ridden past our lord Jurand like past a strange beggar. Only when she began to take pity on him did we realize who that beggar was. The Lord God arranged it all through her merciful heart.”
And he began to tell how Jurand couldn’t do without her afterward, how he loved and blessed her, and Zbyszko, though he already knew this from Tolima, listened to the story with emotion and gratitude toward Jagienka.
“May God grant her health!” he said finally. “I just wonder that you never told me about her.”
And Czech was a bit embarrassed and, wanting to gain time to think about an answer, asked: “Where, sir?”
“At Skirwoillo’s, there, in Samogitia.”
“We didn’t say? As I live! It seems to me we did, but you had other things on your mind.”
“You said Jurand had returned, but nothing about Jagienka.”
“Eh! Didn’t you forget? And anyway, God knows! Maybe Knight Macko thought I had told you, and I thought he had. There was no point in telling you anything then, sir. And no wonder! But now I’ll say something else. It’s lucky the young lady is here, because she can also be of use to Knight Macko.”
“And what can she accomplish?”
“Let her just say a word to the local duchess, who is terribly fond of her. And the Krzyżacy refuse the duchess nothing, because first, she is the king’s own sister, and second, she is a great friend of the Order. Now, as you may have heard, Prince Skirwoillo (also the king’s own brother) rose up against Prince Witold and fled to the Krzyżacy, who want to help him and place him on Witold’s throne. The king greatly loves the duchess and is glad, they say, to lend her his ear, so the Krzyżacy want her to sway the king to Skirwoillo’s side against Witold. They understand—damn their mother!—that if they get rid of Witold, they’ll have peace. So Krzyżak envoys bow to the duchess from morning to night and anticipate her every wish.”
“Jagienka greatly loves Uncle Macko and will surely speak up for him,” said Zbyszko.
“Indeed, she won’t lack words.”
“We were going to the castle anyway, Sir de Lorche and I,” said Zbyszko, “and that’s why I came here. We just need to curl our hair and dress ourselves decently.”
After a moment he added: “I wanted to cut my hair in grief, but I forgot.”
“So much the better!” said Czech.
And he went out to call the serving boys. Returning with them, while the two young knights adorned themselves fittingly for the evening feast at the castle, he continued to tell what was happening at the royal and princely court.
“The Krzyżacy,” he said, “dig under Prince Witold as much as they can, because as long as he lives and rules a mighty land on behalf of the king, they will know no peace! In truth, they fear only him! Hey, they dig and dig like moles! They’ve stirred up both the local prince and duchess against him, and they’ve apparently also managed to make even Prince Janusz angry with him now, over the matter of Wizna.”
“And Prince Janusz and Duchess Anna are also here?” asked Zbyszko. “There will be many acquaintances, for I’ve been in Płock before, after all.”
“Yes indeed!” replied the squire. “Both are here. They have no few matters with the Krzyżacy, and they want to reproach the Grand Master face to face, in the king’s presence, about those wrongs.”
“And the king? Whose side is he on? Is he not angry with the Krzyżacy and shaking his sword at them?”
“The king doesn’t love the Krzyżacy, and they say he has long been threatening war. As for Prince Witold, the king prefers him over his own brother Skirwoillo, who is a hothead and a drunkard. And that’s why the knights who are with His Majesty say that the king will not turn against Witold and will not promise the Krzyżacy not to support him. And that may be true, because for the past few days the local Princess Alexandra has been very solicitous around the king and walks around looking troubled.”
“Is Zawisza Czarny here?”
“He is not here, but I can’t get enough of looking at those who are, and if it comes to anything, hey, mighty God! chips and shavings will fly from the Krzyżacy, they will fly!...”
“I won’t be the one to pity them.”
A few prayers later, having dressed handsomely, they went out to the castle. The evening feast was to take place that day not at the prince’s own residence, but at the castle starosta Andrzej of Jasieniec’s, whose spacious house lay within the castle walls by the Great Tower. Because of the wonderful, almost too warm night, the starosta, fearing his guests would be stuffy indoors, ordered the tables set in the courtyard, where rowan trees and yews grew among the stone slabs. Burning barrels of pitch lit them with a bright yellow flame, but even brighter shone the moon, which glittered in the cloudless sky among swarms of stars like a silver knight’s shield. The crowned guests had not yet arrived, but the courtyard was already swarming with courtiers, both royal and princely. Zbyszko knew many of them, especially from Prince Janusz’s court, and among his old Krakow acquaintances he saw Krzon of Koziegłowy, Lis of Targowisko, Marcin of Wrocimowic, Domarat of Kotylany, and Staszek of Charbimowic, and finally Powała of Taczew, the sight of whom particularly pleased him, for he remembered how much kindness that famous knight had shown him back in Krakow.