Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Seeing this, the men began to shout still more, but among the hunters there were heard frightened voices exclaiming: “The princess! The princess! Save the princess!” Zbyszko seized his spear which had been driven into the ground behind him and rushed to the edge of the forest; he was followed by a few Litwins who were ready to die in defence of Kiejstut’s daughter; but all at once the crossbow creaked in the hands of the lady, the bolt whistled and, having passed over the animal’s head, struck him in his neck.

  “He is hit!” exclaimed the princess; “he will not escape.”

  But suddenly, with such a dreadful bellowing that the frightened horses reared, the bison rushed directly toward the lady; at the same moment with no less impetus, Sir de Lorche rushed from beneath the trees and leaning on his horse, with his spear extended as in a knightly tournament, attacked the animal.

  Those near by perceived during one moment, the spear plunged into the animal’s neck, immediately bend like a bow, and break into small pieces; then the enormous horned head disappeared entirely under the belly of Sir de Lorche’s horse, and the charger and his rider were tossed into the air.

  From the forest the huntsmen rushed to help the foreign knight. Zbyszko who cared most about the princess and Danusia’s safety, arrived first and drove his spear under the bison’s shoulder blade. He gave the blow with such force, that the spear by a sudden turn of the bison, broke in his hands, and he himself fell with his face on the ground. “He is dead! He is dead!” cried the Mazurs who were rushing to help him. The bull’s head covered Zbyszko and pressed him to the ground. The two powerful “defenders” of the prince arrived; but they were too late; fortunately the Czech Hlawa, given to Zbyszko by Jagienka, outstripped them, and having seized his broad-axe with both hands he cut the bison’s bent neck, near the horns.

  The blow was so powerful that the animal fell, as though struck by a thunderbolt, with his head almost severed from his neck; this enormous body fell on top of Zbyszko. Both “defenders” pulled it away quickly. The princess and Danusia having dismounted, arrived at the side of the wounded youth.

  Zbyszko, pale and covered with his own and the animal’s blood, tried to rise; but he staggered, fell on his knees and leaning on his hands, could only pronounce one word:

  “Danuska.”

  Then the blood gushed from his mouth. Danusia grasped him by his shoulders, but being unable to hold him, began to cry for help. The huntsmen rubbed him with snow and poured wine in his mouth; finally the head huntsman, Mrokota of Mocarzew ordered them to put him on a mantle and to stop the blood with soft spunk from the trees.

  “He will live if his ribs and his backbone are not broken,” said he, turning toward the princess. In the meanwhile some ladies of the court with the help of other huntsmen, were attending to Sir de Lorche. They turned him over, searching in his armor for holes or dents made by the horns of the bull; but besides traces of the snow, which had entered between the joints of the iron plates, they could find nothing. The urus had avenged himself especially on the horse, which was lying dead beside the knight; as for Sir de Lorche, he was not seriously injured. He had fainted and his right hand was sprained. When they took off his helmet and poured some wine in his mouth, he opened his eyes, and seeing the sorrowful faces of two pretty young ladies bent over him, said in German:

  “I am sure I am in paradise already and the angels are over me.”

  The ladies did not understand what he said; but being glad to see him open his eyes and speak, they smiled, and with the huntsmen’s help raised him from the ground; feeling the pain in his right hand, he moaned and leaned with the left on the shoulder of one of the “angels”; for a while he stood motionless, fearing to make a step, because he felt weak. Then he glanced around and perceived the yellow body of the urus, he also saw Danusia wringing her hands and Zbyszko lying on a mantle.

  “Is that the knight who rushed to help me?” he asked. “Is he alive?”

  “He is very severely injured,” answered a courtier who could speak German.

  “From this time, I am going to fight not with him, but for him!” said the Lotaringer.

  At this time, the prince who was near Zbyszko, approached Sir de Lorche and began to praise him because he had defended the princess and the other ladies, and perhaps saved their lives by his bold deed; for which, besides the knightly reward, he would be renowned not only then but in all future generations.

  “In these effeminate times,” said he, “there are few true knights traveling through the world; therefore pray be my guest as long as possible or if you can, remain forever in Mazowsze, where you have already won my favor, and by honest deeds will easily win the love of the people.”

  Sir de Lorche’s heart was filled with joy when he heard the prince’s words and realized that he had accomplished such a famous knightly deed and deserved such praise in these remote Polish lands, about which so many strange things were told in the East. He knew that a knight who could tell at the Burgundian court or at the court of Brabant, that when on a hunting party, he had saved the life of the Mazowiecka princess, would be forever famous.

  Zbyszko became conscious and smiled at Danusia; then he fainted again. The huntsmen seeing how his hands closed and his mouth remained open, said to one another that he would not live; but the more experienced Kurpie, among whom many an one had on him the traces of a bear’s paws, a boar’s tusks or an urus’ horns, affirmed that the urus’ horn had slipped between the knight’s ribs, that perhaps one or two of his ribs were broken, but that the backbone was not, because if it were, he could not rise. They pointed out also, that Zbyszko had fallen in a snow-drift and that had saved him, because on account of the softness the animal when pressing him with his horns, could not entirely crush his chest, nor his backbone.

  Unfortunately the prince’s physician, the ksiondz Wyszoniek of Dziewanna, was not with the hunting party, being busy in the chateau making wafers. The Czech rushed to bring him immediately, and meanwhile the Kurpie carried Zbyszko to the prince’s mansion. The Knight of the Cross, Hugo von Danveld, helped Danusia mount her horse and then, riding beside her and closely following the men who were carrying Zbyszko, said in Polish in a muffled voice, so that she alone could hear him:

  “In Szczytno I have a marvelous balm, which I received from a hermit living in the Hercynski forest; I can bring it for you in three days.”

  “God will reward you,” answered Danusia.

  “God records every charitable deed; but will you reward me also?”

  “What reward can I give you?”

  The Krzyzak approached and evidently wished to say something else but hesitated; after a while he said:

  “In the Order, besides the brothers there are also sisters. One of them will bring the healing balm, and then I will speak about the reward.”

  CHAPTER VI.

  The ksiondz Wyszoniek dressed Zbyszko’s wounds and he stated that only one rib was broken; but the first day he could not affirm that the sick man would live, because he could not ascertain whether the heart had been injured or not. Sir de Lorche was so ill toward morning that he was obliged to go to bed, and on the following day he could not move his hand nor his foot, without great pain in all the bones. The princess Danusia and some other ladies of the court nursed the sick men and prepared for them, according to the prescriptions of the ksiondz Wyszoniek, different ointments and potions. But Zbyszko was very severely injured, and from time to time blood gushed from his mouth, and this alarmed the ksiondz Wyszoniek very much. He was conscious however, and on the second day, although very weak, having learned from Danusia to whom he owed his life, called Hlawa to thank and reward him. He remembered that he had received the Czech from Jagienka and that had it not been for her kind heart, he would have perished. He feared that he never would be able to repay the good-hearted girl for her kindness, but that he would only be the cause of her sorrow.

  “I swore to my panienka,” said Hlawa, “on my honor of a wlodyka, that I would protect you;
therefore I will do it without any reward. You are indebted to her for your life.”

  Zbyszko did not answer, but began to breathe heavily; the Czech was silent for a while, then he said:

  “If you wish me to hasten to Bogdaniec, I will go. Perhaps you will be glad to see the old lord, because God only knows whether you will recover.”

  “What does the ksiondz Wyszoniek say?” asked Zbyszko.

  “The ksiondz Wyszoniek says that he will know when the new moon comes. There are four days before the new moon.”

  “Hej! then you need not go to Bogdaniec, because I will either die, or I will be well before my uncle could come.”

  “Could you not send a letter to Bogdaniec? Sanderus will write one. Then they will know about you, and will engage a mass for you.”

  “Let me rest now, because I am very ill. If I die, you will return to Zgorzelice and tell how everything happened; then they can engage a mass. I suppose they will bury me here or in Ciechanow.”

  “I think they will bury you in Ciechanow or in Przasnysz, because only the Kurpie are buried in the forest, and the wolves howl over their graves. I heard that the prince intends to return with the court to Ciechanow in two days’ time, and then to Warszawa.”

  “They would not leave me here alone,” answered Zbyszko.

  He guessed correctly, because that same day the princess asked the prince’s permission to remain in the house in the wilderness, with Danusia and the ladies-in-waiting, and also with the ksiondz Wyszoniek, who was opposed to carrying Zbyszko to Przasnysz. Sir de Lorche at the end of two days felt better, and he was able to leave his bed; but having learned that the ladies intended to remain, he stayed also, in order to accompany them on their journey and defend them in case the “Saracens” attacked them. Whence the “Saracens” could come, the Lotaringer did not know. It is true that the people in the East used thus to call the Litwins; but from them no danger could threaten Kiejstut’s daughter, Witold’s sister and the first cousin of the mighty “Krakowski king,” Jagiello. But Sir de Lorche had been among the Knights of the Cross for so long a time, that notwithstanding all he had heard in Mazowsze about the baptism of the Litwa, and about the union of the two crowns on the head of one ruler, he could not believe that any one could expect any good from the Litwins. Thus the Knights of the Cross had made him believe, and he had not yet entirely lost all faith in their words.

  In the meantime an incident occurred which cast a shadow between Prince Janusz and his guests. One day, before the departure of the court, Brother Godfried and Brother Rotgier, who had remained in Ciechanow, came accompanied by Sir de Fourcy, who was a messenger of bad news to the Knights of the Cross. There were some foreign guests at the court of the Krzyzacki starosta in Lubowa; they were Sir de Fourcy and also Herr von Bergow and Herr Meineger, both belonging to families which had rendered great services to the Order. They having heard many stories about Jurand of Spychow, determined, to draw the famous warrior into an open field, and ascertain for themselves whether he really was as dreadful as represented. The starosta opposed the plan, giving as a reason that there was peace between the Order and the Mazowiecki princes; but finally, perhaps hoping thus to get rid of his terrible neighbor, not only connived at the expedition but even furnished the armed knechts. The knights sent a challenge to Jurand, who immediately accepted it under the condition that they would send away the soldiers and that three of them would fight with him and two of his companions on the boundaries of Szlonsk and Spychow. But when they refused to send away the knechts or to retire from the land belonging to Spychow, he suddenly fell upon them, exterminated the knechts, pierced Herr Meineger dreadfully with a spear, took Herr von Bergow into captivity and put him into the Spychowski dungeon. De Fourcy alone escaped and after three days’ wandering in the Mazowiecki forests, having learned from some pitch-burners that there were some brothers of the Order in Ciechanow, he succeeded in reaching them. He and the brothers of the Order made a complaint to the prince, and asked for the punishment of Jurand, and for an order for the deliverance of Herr von Bergow.

  This news disturbed the good understanding between the prince and his guests, because not only the two newly arrived brothers but also Hugo von Danveld and Zygfried von Löve, began to beseech the prince to render justice to the Order, to free the boundaries from the plunderer and to punish him once for all his offences. Hugo von Danveld, having his own grievance against Jurand, the remembrance of which burned him with shame and grief, asked for vengeance almost threateningly.

  “The complaint will go to the grand master,” he said; “and if we be not able to get justice from Your Grace, he will obtain it himself, even if the whole Mazowsze help that robber.”

  But the prince, although naturally good-tempered, became angry and said.

  “What kind of justice do you ask for? If Jurand had attacked you first, then I would surely punish him. But your people were the first to commence hostilities. Your starosta gave the knechts, permission to go on that expedition. Jurand only accepted the challenge and asked that the soldiers be sent away. Shall I punish him for that? You attacked that dreadful man, of whom everybody is afraid, and voluntarily brought calamity upon yourselves — what do you want then? Shall I order him not to defend himself, when it pleases you to attack him?”

  “It was not the Order that attacked him, but its guests, foreign knights,” answered Hugo.

  “The Order is responsible for its guests, and then the knechts, from the Lubowski garrison were there.”

  “Could the starosta allow his guests to be slaughtered?”

  Here the prince turned to Zygfried and said.

  “You must take heed lest your wiles offend God.”

  But the stern Zygfried answered:

  “Heir von Bergow must be released from captivity, because the men of his family were high dignitaries in the Order and they rendered important services to the Cross.”

  “And Meineger’s death must be avenged,” added Hugo von Danveld.

  Thereupon the prince arose and walked threateningly toward the Germans; but after a while, evidently having remembered that they were his guests, he restrained his anger, put his hand on Zygfried’s shoulder, and said:

  “Listen: you wear a cross on your mantle, therefore answer according to your conscience — upon that cross! Was Jurand right or was he not?”

  “Herr von Bergow must be released from prison,” answered Zygfried von Löve.

  There was as a moment of silence; then the prince said:

  “God grant me patience!”

  Zygfried continued sharply, his words cutting like a sword:

  “The wrong which was done to us in the persons of our guests, is only one more occasion for complaint. From the time the Order was founded, neither in Palestine, nor in Siedmiogrod, nor among the heathenish Litwa, has any man wronged us so much as that robber from Spychow. Your Highness! we ask for justice and vengeance not for one wrong, but for thousands; not for the blood shed once, but for years of such deeds, for which fire from heaven ought to burn that nest of wickedness and cruelty. Whose moanings entreat God for vengeance? Ours! Whose tears? Ours! We have complained in vain. Justice has never been given us!”

  Having heard this, Prince Janusz began to nod his head and said:

  “Hej! formerly the Krzyzaks were received hospitably in Spychow, and Jurand was not your foe, until after his dear wife died on your rope; and how many times have you attacked him first, wishing to kill him, as in this last case, because he challenged and defeated your knights? How many times have you sent assassins after him, or shot at him with a crossbow from the forest? He attacked you, it is true, because vengeance burns within him; but have you not attacked peaceful people in Mazowsze? Have you not taken their herds, burned their houses and murdered the men, women and children? And when I complained to the grand master, he sent me this reply from Marienburg: ‘Customary frolic of the boundaries’ Let me be in peace! Was it not you who captured me when I was without arms, during the
time of peace, on my own land? Had it not been for your fear of the mighty Krakowski king, probably I would have had to moan until now in captivity. Who ought to complain? With such gratitude you repaid me, who belonged to the family of your benefactors. Let me be in peace; it is not you who have the right to talk about justice!”

  Having heard this, the Knights of the Cross looked at each other impatiently, angry because the prince mentioned the occurrence at Zlotorja, in the presence of Sir de Fourcy; therefore Hugo von Danveld, wishing to finish the conversation about it, said:

  “That was a mistake, Your Highness, and we made amends for it, not on account of fear of the Krakowski king, but for the sake of justice; and with regard to the frolics on the boundaries, the grand master cannot be held responsible, because on every frontier there are some restless spirits.”

  “Then you say this yourself, and still you ask for the punishment of Jurand. What do you wish then?”

  “Justice and punishment!”

  The prince clenched his bony fists and repeated: