“Christ, our Saviour, forgave his enemies and even the malefactor on the cross.”
“He is a true knight!” said Bishop Wysz.
“He is, he is!”
“How can I refuse to forgive,” continued Kuno, “being not only a Christian, but also a monk? Therefore I forgive him with all my heart, as Christ’s servant and friar!”
“Honor to him!” shouted Powala of Taczew.
“Honor!” repeated the others.
“But,” said the Krzyzak, “I am here among you as an envoy and I carry in me the majesty of the whole Order which is Christ’s Order. Whosoever offends me, therefore, offends the Order; and whosoever offends the Order, offends Christ himself; and such an offence, I, in the presence of God and the people, cannot forgive; and if your law does not punish it, let all Christian lords know.”
After these words, there was a profound silence. Then after a while there could be heard here and there the gnashing of teeth, the heavy breathing of suppressed wrath and Danusia’s sobbings.
By evening all hearts were in sympathy with Zbyszko. The same knights who in the morning were ready to cut him into pieces, were now considering how they could help him. The princesses determined to see the queen, and beseech her to prevail upon Lichtenstein to withdraw his complaint; or if necessary to write to the grand master of the Order, and ask him to command Kuno to give up the case. This plan seemed to be the best because Jadwiga was regarded with such unusual respect that if the grand master refused her request, it would make the pope angry and also all Christian lords. It was not likely that he would refuse because Konrad von Jungingen was a peaceable man. Unfortunately Bishop Wysz of Krakow, who was also the queen’s physician, forbade them to mention even a word about this affair to the queen. “She never likes to hear about death sentences,” he said, “and she takes even the question of a simple robber’s death too seriously; she will worry much more if she hear about this young man who hopes to obtain mercy from her. But such anxiety will make her seriously ill, and her health is worth more to the whole kingdom than ten knightly heads.” He finally said that if anyone should dare, notwithstanding what he had said, to disturb the queen, on that one he would cause the king’s anger to rest and then he threatened such an one with excommunication.
Both princesses were frightened at such menace and determined to be silent before the queen; but instead to beseech the king until he showed some mercy. The whole court and all the knights sympathized with Zbyszko. Powala of Taczew declared that he would tell the whole truth; but that he would also speak in favor of the young man, because the whole affair was only an instance of childish impetuousness. But notwithstanding all this, everybody could see, and the castellan, Jasko of Tenczyn made it known, that if the Krzyzak was unrelenting, then the severe law must be fulfilled.
Therefore the knights were still more indignant against Lichtenstein and they all thought and even said frankly: “He is an envoy and cannot be called to the lists; but when he returns to Malborg, God will not permit that he die a natural death.” They were not talking in vain, because a knight who wore the girdle was not permitted to say even one word without meaning it, and the knight who vowed anything, was obliged to accomplish his vow or perish. Powala was the most implacably angry because he had a beloved daughter of Danusia’s age in Taczew, and Danusia’s tears made his heart tender.
Consequently, that same day, he went to see Zbyszko, in his underground cell, commanded him to have hope, and told him about the princesses’ prayers and about Danusia’s tears. Zbyszko having learned that the girl threw herself at the king’s feet for his sake, was moved to tears, and wishing to express his gratitude, said, wiping his tears with his hand:
“Hej! may God bless her, and permit me as soon as possible to engage in a combat, either on horseback or on foot, for her sake! I did not promise Germans enough to her! To such a lady, I ought to vow as many as she has years. If the Lord Jesus will only release me from this tower, I will not be niggardly with her!” He raised his eyes, full of gratitude.
“First promise something to some church,” advised the Pan of Taczew; “if your promise is pleasing, you will surely soon be free. Now listen; your uncle went to see Lichtenstein, and I will go see him also. It will be no shame for you to ask his pardon, because you are guilty; and then you do not ask for pardon of Lichtenstein, but an envoy. Are you ready?”
“As soon as such a knight as your grace tells me it is proper, I will do it. But if he require me to ask him for pardon in the same way he asked us to do it, on the road from Tyniec, then let them cut off my head. My uncle will remain and he will avenge me when the envoy’s mission is ended.”
“We shall hear first what he says to Macko,” answered Powala.
And Macko really went to see the German; but he returned as gloomy as the night and went directly to the king, to whom he was presented by the castellan, himself. The king received Macko kindly because he had been appeased; when Macko kneeled, he immediately told him to arise, asking what he wished.
“Gracious lord,” said Macko, “there was an offence, there must be a punishment; otherwise, there would be no law in the world. But I am also guilty because I did not try to restrain the natural impetuosity of that youth; I even praised him for it. It is my fault, gracious king, because I often told him: ‘First cut, and then look to see whom you have hurt.’ That was right in war, but wrong at the court! But he is a man, pure as gold, the last of our family!”
“He has brought shame upon me and upon my kingdom,” said the king; “shall I be gracious to him for that?”
Macko was silent, because when he thought about Zbyszko, grief overpowered him; after a long silence, he began to talk in a broken voice:
“I did not know that I loved him so well; I only know it now when misfortune has come. I am old and he is last of the family. If he perish — we perish! Merciful king and lord, have pity on our family!”
Here Macko kneeled again and having stretched out his arms wasted by war, he spoke with tears:
“We defended Wilno; God gave us honest booty; to whom shall I leave it? If the Krzyzak requires punishment, let punishment come; but permit me to suffer it. What do I care for life without Zbyszko! He is young; let him redeem the land and beget children, as God ordered man to do. The Krzyzak will not ask whose head was cut off, if there is one cut. There will be no shame on the family. It is difficult for a man to die; but it is better that one man perish than that a family should be destroyed.”
Speaking thus he clasped the king’s legs; the king began to wink his eyes, which was a sign of emotion with him; finally he said:
“It can not be! I cannot condemn to death a belted knight! It cannot be! It cannot be!”
“And there would be no justice in it,” added the castellan. “The law will crush the guilty one; but it is not a monster, which does not look to see whose blood is being shed. And you must consider what shame would fall on your family, if your nephew agreed to your proposal. It would be considered a disgrace, not only to him, but to his children also.”
To this Macko replied:
“He would not agree. But if it were done without his knowledge, he would avenge me, even as I also will avenge him.”
“Ha!” said Tenczynski, “persuade the Krzyzak to withdraw the complaint.”
“I have asked him.”
“And what?” asked the king, stretching his neck; “what did he say?”
“He answered me thus: ‘You ought to have asked me for pardon on the road to Tyniec; you would not then; now I will not.’”
“And why didn’t you do it?”
“Because he required us to dismount and apologize on foot.”
The king having put his hair behind his ears, commenced to say something when a courtier entered to announce that the Knight of Lichtenstein was asking for an audience.
Having heard this, Jagiello looked at Jasko of Tenczyn, then at Macko. He ordered them to remain, perhaps with the hope that he would be able to
take advantage of this opportunity and using his kingly authority, bring the affair to an end.
Meanwhile the Krzyzak entered, bowed to the king, and said:
“Gracious lord! Here is the written complaint about the insult which I suffered in your kingdom.”
“Complain to him,” answered the king, pointing to Jasko of Tenczyn.
The Krzyzak, looking directly into the king’s face, said:
“I know neither your laws nor your courts; I only know, that an envoy of the Order can complain only to the king.”
Jagiello’s small eyes flashed with impatience; he stretched out his hand however, and accepted the complaint which he handed to Tenczynski.
The castellan unfolded it and began to read; but the further he read, the more sorrowful and sad his face became.
“Sir,” said he, finally, “you are seeking the life of that lad, as though he were dangerous to the whole Order. Is it possible that the Knights of the Cross are afraid even of the children?”
“The Knights of the Cross are not afraid of anyone,” answered the comthur, proudly.
And the old castellan added:
“And especially of God.”
The next day Powala of Taczew testified to everything he could before the court of the castellan, that would lessen the enormity of Zbyszko’s offence. But in vain did he attribute the deed to childishness and lack of experience; in vain he said that even some one older, if he had made the same vow, prayed for its fulfillment and then had suddenly perceived in front of him such a crest, would also have believed that it was God’s providence. But one thing, the worthy knight could not deny; had it not been for him, Zbyszko’s spear would have pierced the Krzyzak’s chest. Kuno had brought to the court the armor which he wore that day; it appeared that it was so thin that Zbyszko with his great strength, would have pierced it and killed the envoy, if Powala of Taczew had not prevented him. Then they asked Zbyszko if he intended to kill the Krzyzak, and he could not deny it. “I warned him from afar,” said he, “to point his lance, and had he shouted in reply that he was an envoy, I would not have attacked him.”
These words pleased the knights who, on account of their sympathy for the lad, were present in great numbers, and immediately numerous voices were heard to say: “True! Why did he not reply!” But the castellan’s face remained gloomy and severe. Having ordered those present to be silent, he meditated for a while, then looked sharply at Zbyszko, and asked:
“Can you swear by the Passion of our Lord that you saw neither the mantle nor the cross?”
“No!” answered Zbyszko. “Had I not seen the cross, I would have thought he was one of our knights, and I would not have attacked one of ours.”
“And how was it possible to find any Krzyzak near Krakow, except an envoy, or some one from his retinue?”
To this Zbyszko did not reply, because there was nothing to be said. To everybody it was clear, that if the Pan of Taczanow had not interposed, at the present moment there would lie before them not the armor of the envoy, but the envoy himself, with pierced breast — an eternal disgrace to the Polish nation; — therefore even those who sympathized with Zbyszko, with their whole souls, understood that he could not expect a mild sentence.
In fact, after a while the castellan said:
“As you did not stop to think whom you were attacking, and you did it without anger, therefore our Saviour will forgive you; but you had better commit yourself to the care of the Most Holy Lady, because the law cannot condone your offence.”
Having heard this, Zbyszko, although he expected such words, became somewhat pale; but he soon shook his long hair, made the sign of the cross, and said:
“God’s will! I cannot help it!”
Then he turned to Macko and looked expressively at Lichtenstein, as if to recommend him to Macko’s memory; his uncle nodded in return that he understood and would remember. Lichtenstein also understood the look and the nod, and although he was as courageous as implacable, a cold shiver ran through him — so dreadful and ill-omened was the face of the old warrior. The Krzyzak knew that between him and that knight it would be a question of life or death. That even if he wanted to avoid the combat, he could not do it; that when his mission was ended, they must meet, even at Malborg.
Meanwhile the castellan went to the adjoining room to dictate the sentence to a secretary. Some of the knights during the interruption came near the Krzyzak, saying:
“May they give you a more merciful sentence in the great day of judgment!”
But Lichtenstein cared only for the opinion of Zawisza, because he was noted all over the world for his knightly deeds, his knowledge of the laws of chivalry and his great exactness in keeping them. In the most entangled affairs in which there was any question about knightly honor, they used to go to him even from distant lands. Nobody contradicted his decisions, not only because there was no chance of victory in a contest with him, but because they considered him “the mirror of honor.” One word of blame or praise from his mouth was quickly known by the knighthood of Poland, Hungary, Bohemia (Czech) and Germany; and he could decide between the good and evil actions of a knight.
Therefore Lichtenstein approached him as if he would like to justify his deadly grudge, and said:
“The grand master himself, with the chapter, could show him clemency; but I cannot.”
“Your grand master has nothing to do with our laws; our king can show clemency to our people, not he,” answered Zawisza.
“I as the envoy was obliged to insist upon punishment.”
“Lichtenstein, you were first a knight, afterward an envoy!”
“Do you think that I acted against honor?”
“You know our books of chivalry, and you know that they order us to imitate two animals, the lamb and the lion. Which of the two have you, imitated in this case?”
“You are not my judge!”
“You asked me if you had committed an offence, and I answered as I thought.”
“You give me a hard answer, which I cannot swallow.”
“You will be choked by your own malice, not by mine.”
“But Christ will put to my account, the fact that I cared more about the dignity of the Order, than about your praise.”
“He will judge all of us.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of the castellan and the secretary. They knew that the sentence would be a severe one, and everyone waited silently. The castellan sat at the table, and, having taken a crucifix in his hand, ordered Zbyszko to kneel.
The secretary began to read the sentence in Latin. It was a sentence of death. When the reading was over, Zbyszko struck himself several times on the chest, repeating; “God be merciful to me, a sinner!”
Then he arose and threw himself in Macko’s arms, who began to kiss his head and eyes.
In the evening of the same day, a herald announced at the four corners of the market place with the sound of trumpets, to the knights, guests and burghers assembled, that the noble Zbyszko of Bogdaniec was sentenced by the castellan’s court to be decapitated by the sword.
But Macko obtained a delay of the execution; this was readily granted, because in those days they used to allow prisoners plenty of time to dispose of their property, as well as to be reconciled to God. Lichtenstein himself did not wish to insist upon an early execution of the sentence, because he understood, that as long as he obtained satisfaction for the offended majesty of the Order, it would be bad policy to estrange the powerful monarch, to whom he was sent not only to take part in the solemnity of the christening, but also to attend to the negotiations about the province of Dobrzyn. But the chief reason for the delay was the queen’s health. Bishop Wysz did not wish even to hear about the execution before her delivery, rightly thinking, that it would be difficult to conceal such an affair from the lady. She would feel such sorrow and distress that it would be very injurious to her health. For these reasons, they granted Zbyszko several weeks, and perhaps more, of life, to make
his final arrangements and to bid his friends farewell.
Macko visited him every day and tried to console him. They spoke sorrowfully about Zbyszko’s inevitable death, and still more sorrowfully about the fact that the family would become extinct.
“It cannot be otherwise, unless you marry,” Zbyszko said once.
“I would prefer to find some distant relative,” answered the sorrowful Macko. “How can I think about women, when they are going to behead you. And even if I am obliged to marry, I will not do it, until I send a knightly challenge to Lichtenstein, and seek to avenge your death. Do not fear!”
“God will reward you. I have at least that joy! But I know that you will not forgive him. How will you avenge me?”
“When his duty as an envoy has ended, there may be a war! If there be war, I will send him a challenge for single combat before the battle.”
“On the leveled ground?”
“On the leveled ground, on horseback or on foot, but only for death, not for captivity. If there be peace, then I will go to Malborg and will strike the door of the castle gates with my spear, and will order the trumpeter to proclaim that I challenge Kuno to fight until death. He cannot avoid the contest!”
“Surely he will not refuse. And you will defeat him.”
“Defeat? I could not defeat Zawisza, Paszko, nor Powala; but without boasting, I can take care of two like him. That scoundrel Krzyzak shall see! That Fryzjan knight, was he not stronger? And how I cut him through the helmet, until the axe stopped! Did I not?”
Zbyszko breathed with relief and said:
“I will perish with some consolation.”
They both began to sigh, and the old nobleman spoke with emotion:
“You mustn’t break down with sorrow. Your bones will not search for one another at the day of judgment. I have ordered an honest coffin of oak planks for you. Even the canons of the church of Panna Marya could not have any better. You will not perish like a peasant. I will not permit them to decapitate you on the same cloth on which they behead burghers. I have made an agreement with Amylej, that he furnish a new cloth, so handsome that it would be good enough to cover king’s fur. I will not be miserly with prayers, either; don’t be afraid!”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 494