Zbyszko prostrated himself at the feet of the lady of Płock and offered her his services, but she did not recognize him at first, not having seen him for a long time. Only when he told her his name did she say:
“Truly! And I thought you were someone from the royal court. Zbyszko of Bogdaniec! Indeed! Your uncle, the old knight of Bogdaniec, was here as a guest, and I remember how tears streamed down my face and my maids’ faces when he told us about you. And have you found your woman? Where is she now?”
“She died, my gracious lady…”
“Oh dear Jesus! Do not speak, for I cannot hold back tears. Only this comfort: she is surely in heaven, and you are young. Mighty God! Frail creatures—all women. But in heaven there is reward for everything, and you will find her there. And the old knight of Bogdaniec—is he here with you?”
“He is not, for he is a captive of the Teutonic Knights, and I am on my way to ransom him.”
“So he too has had bad luck! And he seemed a clever man who knew all customs. But when you ransom him, do come to us. We will gladly host you, for I tell you truly: he lacks not in wit, and you lack not in comeliness.”
“We will do so, gracious lady, especially since I have come here now purposely to ask your grace for a good word on his behalf.”
“Good. Come tomorrow before we leave for the hunt, then I will have time…”
Her further words were interrupted by the sound of trumpets and kettledrums announcing the arrival of Prince and Princess Janusz of Masovia. Since Zbyszko and the lady of Płock were standing right by the entrance, Duchess Anna Danuta noticed him at once and immediately approached him, disregarding the bows of the host, the starosta.
And the young man’s heart broke anew at the sight of her, so he knelt before her, and embracing her knees with his hands, he knelt in silence, while she bent over him and, pressing his temples with her hands, shed tear after tear onto his fair head, just like a mother weeping over her son’s misfortune. To the great astonishment of the courtiers and guests, she wept for a long time, repeating: “Oh Jesus, oh merciful Jesus!” Then she raised Zbyszko from his knees and said:
“I weep for her, for my Danushka, and I weep for you. God has so ordained that your efforts were in vain, and now our tears are in vain as well. But tell me about her and her death—even if I were to listen until midnight, it would never be enough for me.”
And she took him aside, just as Powała z Taczewa had done earlier.
Those guests who did not know Zbyszko began to ask about his adventures, and thus for a while everyone spoke of him, Danushka, and Jurand. The Teutonic envoys also inquired: Frydrych von Weden, the Komtur of Torun, sent to meet the king, and Jan von Schönfeld, the Komtur of Osterode. The latter, a German but born in Silesia, knowing Polish well, easily found out what the matter was, and having heard the story from Jaśko z Zabierza, a courtier of Prince Janusz, said:
“Danveld and de Löwe were suspected by the Grand Master himself; they practiced black magic.”
Then he quickly realized that telling such things could cast a shadow over the entire Order, just as had once fallen upon the Templars, and he added hastily:
“So at least the storytellers claim, but it was not true, for there are no such men among us.”
But Powała z Taczewa, who was standing nearby, replied:
“He who was troubled by the baptism of Lithuania may also take offense at the cross.”
“We wear the cross on our cloaks,” replied Schönfeld with pride.
“And one must wear it in one’s heart.”
Meanwhile, the trumpets sounded even louder, and the king arrived, accompanied by the Archbishop of Gniezno, the Bishop of Warsaw, the Bishop of Krakow, the Bishop of Płock, the Castellan of Krakow, and several other dignitaries and courtiers, among whom were Zyndram of Maszkowice, of the Sun coat of arms, and the young Kniaz Jamont, the king’s personal attendant. The king had changed little since Zbyszko had last seen him. His cheeks had the same strong ruddiness, the same long hair that he tucked behind his ears every moment, and the same restless, darting eyes. It only seemed to Zbyszko that there was more gravity and majesty in him, as if he already felt more secure on the throne that he had at first wanted to abandon after the queen’s death, not knowing whether he would remain on it, and as if he were now more aware of his immense power and strength. Both Masovian princes immediately stationed themselves at the sides of the lord; from the front, the German envoys bowed in greeting, and around stood the dignitaries and the foremost courtiers. The walls surrounding the courtyard trembled from the ceaseless cheers, the sound of trumpets, and the thunder of kettledrums.
When at last silence fell, the Teutonic envoy von Wenden began to say something about the Order’s affairs, but the king, after a few words, realized where the preamble was heading, waved his hand impatiently and spoke in his thick, powerful voice:
“Silence! We came here for pleasure—and we would rather see food and drink than your parchments.”
But he smiled kindly at that, not wanting the Teutonic Knight to think he was answering angrily, and added:
“There will be time to talk about matters with the Grand Master in Raciążek.”
Then to Prince Ziemowit:
“And tomorrow to the forest for a hunt—yes?”
That question was also an announcement that this evening he did not want to speak of anything but hunting, which he loved with all his heart and for which he gladly came to Masovia, since Lesser Poland and Greater Poland were less forested, and in some lands so already populated that they quite lacked forests. So faces brightened, for it was known that when speaking of hunting, the king was also cheerful and exceedingly gracious. Prince Ziemowit immediately began to tell where they would go and what game they would hunt, and Prince Janusz sent one of his courtiers to bring from the town his two “defenders,” who would lead bison out of the thickets by the horns and break the bones of bears, for he wanted to show them to the king.
Zbyszko very much wanted to go and bow to the King, but he could not get near him. Only from afar, Kniaz Jamont, apparently having forgotten the sharp reply the young knight had once given him in Krakow, nodded his head in a friendly manner, at the same time signaling him to approach when the opportunity arose.
But at that moment a hand touched the young knight’s shoulder and a sweet, sad voice spoke close by:
“Zbyszko…”
The young man turned and saw Jagienka before him. Previously occupied with greeting Princess Ziemowitowa and then with conversation with Princess Januszowa, he had not been able to approach the girl, so she herself, taking advantage of the commotion caused by the king’s arrival, came to him.
“Zbyszko,” she repeated, “may God and the Blessed Virgin comfort you!”
“May God reward you,” replied the knight.
And he looked with gratitude into her blue eyes, which at that moment became misty as if with dew. Then they stood before each other in silence, for although she came to him like a kind and sad sister, she seemed to him in her regal bearing and splendid courtly attire so different from the former Jagienka that at first he did not even dare to address her as “you,” as he once had in Zgorzelice and Bogdaniec. She, for her part, thought that after the words she had spoken, she had nothing more to say to him. And even embarrassment showed on their faces. But at that moment there was a stir in the courtyard, for the king sat down to supper. Princess Januszowa again approached Zbyszko and said:
“This will be a sorrowful feast for us. But serve me as you once did.”
So the young knight had to leave Jagienka, and when the guests took their seats, he stood by the bench behind the princess to change dishes and pour her water and wine. While serving, he involuntarily glanced now and then at Jagienka, who, being a maid of honor to the lady of Płock, sat right next to her—and also involuntarily had to admire her beauty. Jagienka had grown considerably in those few years, but it was not so much her height that had changed her as a gravity of which there had previously been not a trace. Formerly, when in a fur coat and with leaves in her disheveled hair she raced on horseback through the woods and forests, she could have been taken for a pretty peasant girl; now at first glance one could see in her a maiden of noble birth and great lineage—such calm was spread over her face. Zbyszko also noticed that her former cheerfulness had vanished, but he was less surprised by that, for he knew of Zych’s death. What surprised him more was this certain dignity of hers, and at first it seemed to him that the attire gave her such an appearance. So he looked in turn at the golden band that encircled her snow-white forehead and dark hair, falling in two braids down her back, and at the blue, tight-fitting gown trimmed with a purple border, beneath which her slender figure and maidenly breast were clearly outlined—and he said to himself: “Truly a born princess!” But then he recognized that it was not only the dress that caused the change, and that even if she now put on a simple fur coat, he would not be able to take her so lightly and be so bold with her as before.
He then noticed that various young and even older knights were staring at her intently and greedily, and once, when he was changing a dish before the princess, he caught sight of the enraptured and seemingly ecstatic face of Sir de Lorche, and at that sight he felt anger in his soul toward him. The Gelderland knight did not escape the notice of Princess Januszowa, who, recognizing him suddenly, said:
“Do you see de Lorche? He must be in love with someone again, for he is completely dazzled!”
Then she leaned slightly over the table and, looking sideways toward Jagienka, said:
“Truly, other candles dim beside this torch.”
Zbyszko was drawn to Jagienka, however, for she seemed to him like a loving and beloved relative, and he felt that he would find no better companion in sorrow and no greater compassion in anyone’s heart, but that evening he could not speak to her again, both because he was occupied with service and because throughout the feast the minstrels sang songs, or the trumpets made such noisy music that even those sitting next to each other could barely hear one another. Both princesses, and with them the women, rose from the tables earlier than the king, the princes, and the knights, who were accustomed to entertaining themselves with cups until late into the night. Jagienka, who was carrying a cushion for the princess to sit on, could not very well stop, so she also left, but as she went she again smiled at Zbyszko and nodded her head to him.
Only late before dawn did the young knight, Sir de Lorche, and their two squires return to their lodging. For a while they walked lost in thought, but when they were already near the house, de Lorche began to say something to his squire, a Pomeranian who knew Polish well, and the latter then turned to Zbyszko:
“My lord would like to ask your grace something.”
“Very well,” replied Zbyszko.
Then the two talked a while longer, after which the Pomeranian, smiling slightly under his mustache, said:
“My lord would like to ask: is it certain that the young lady with whom your grace spoke before the feast is mortal, or is she indeed an angel or a saint?”
“Tell your lord,” replied Zbyszko with some impatience, “that he already asked me the same thing before, and I find it hard to believe. For how is this: in Spychów he told me he was going to Prince Witold’s court for the beauty of Lithuanian women, then for the same reason he wanted to go to Płock, in Płock today he wanted to challenge Powała z Taczewa for Agnieszka of Długolas, and now he aims at another. Is this his constancy and his knightly faith?”
Sir de Lorche listened to this answer from his Pomeranian’s lips, sighed deeply, looked for a moment at the strongly paling sky, and replied thus to Zbyszko’s reproaches:
“You speak rightly. Neither constancy nor faith! For I am a sinful man, unworthy to wear knightly spurs. As for the lady Agnieszka of Długolas—it is true, I vowed to her, and God grant that I persevere, but listen how I will move you when I tell you how cruelly she treated me at Czersk castle.”
Here he sighed again, looked at the sky, in the east of which an increasingly bright streak was appearing, and after waiting for the Pomeranian to translate his words, he continued after a moment:
“She said that her enemy was a certain sorcerer who lived in a tower among the forests, who each year sent a dragon against her, and it approached every spring under the walls of Czersk and looked to see if it could capture her. When she said that, I immediately declared that I would fight the dragon. Ah! Listen to what I will tell you next: when I stood at the designated place, I saw a terrible monster waiting for me motionless, and joy filled my soul, for I thought that either I would perish or I would save the maiden from the foul jaws and gain immortal fame. But when I charged from close up with my lance at the monster, what do you think I saw? A great sack of straw on wooden stakes, with a tail of rope! And I gained the laughter of people, not fame, and I had to challenge two Masovian knights afterwards, from whom I both suffered serious harm in the lists. That is how she treated me, whom I adored above all and wanted to love alone…”