Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Do not compare me with a dog, count,” replied Jurand, “because you thus lower the honor of those who met me and fell under my hand.”

  At these words the armed Germans commenced to murmur: it was not known whether the daring answer aroused their anger or whether they were struck by its justice.

  But the count, dissatisfied at such a turn of the conversation, said:

  “Look, even now he spits into our eyes with arrogance and pride!”

  Jurand then raised his hands, like a man who calls heaven to witness, and shaking his head, answered:

  “God sees that my arrogance remained outside your gate; God sees and will judge, whether in dishonoring my knighthood, you did not dishonor yourself. There is the honor of a nobleman, which every one who has a belt around him, should respect.”

  Danveld wrinkled his brows, but at that moment the castle fool started to rattle the chain to which he had fastened the bear, and called out:

  “Sermon! sermon! the preacher from Mazowsze has arrived! Listen! to the sermon!”

  Then turning to Danveld, he said:

  “Sir! Duke Rosenheim ordered his sexton to eat the bell-rope from knot to knot whenever the latter awakened him too early for the sermon. This preacher has also a rope around his neck — make him also eat it up before he finishes his sermon.”

  And, having said this, he gazed at the count in some alarm, being uncertain whether the count would laugh or whether his inappropriate remark would result in an order for a flogging for him. But the religious brethren, gentle, well-behaved, and even humble, whenever they felt they were not in power, did not know any limits before the defeated; therefore, Danveld not only nodded his head at the bear-leader as a sign that he permitted the mockery, but he himself burst out with such unheard-of roughness that the faces of the younger warriors expressed astonishment.

  “Don’t complain that you were put to shame,” he said, “because even if I had made you a dogcatcher, a religious dogcatcher is better than you, knight!”

  And the encouraged fool commenced to shout: “Bring the currycomb, comb the bear, and he in turn will comb your shags with his paws.”

  At that, laughter was heard here and there, and a voice exclaimed from behind the religious brethren:

  “You will cut reeds on the lake in the summer!”

  “And catch crabs with your carcass!” exclaimed another.

  A third added: “And now begin to drive away the crows from the hanging thief! There will always be plenty of work for you.”

  Thus they made fun of the once terrible Jurand. The assembly gradually became joyous. Some, leaving the table, began to approach the prisoner and look at him closely, saying:

  “This is the wild boar of Spychow, whose tusks our count has knocked out; his snout is surely foaming; he would gladly tear somebody, but he cannot!”

  Danveld and others of the religious brethren, who at first had wished to give the hearing the solemn appearance of a court, seeing that the affair had turned out differently, also arose from their benches and mingled with those who approached Jurand.

  The old Zygfried of Insburk was dissatisfied at that, but the count himself said:

  “Be cheerful, there will be a greater joy yet!”

  And they also commenced to look at Jurand, for this was a rare opportunity, because when any of the knights or servants had seen him before from so near, they had usually closed their eyes forever. Some of them also remarked:

  “He is broad shouldered, although he has a fur beneath his sack; he could be wrapped up with pease straw, and exhibited in country fairs.”

  Others again commenced to ask for beer in order to make the day a still pleasanter one.

  And so in a few moments flowing pitchers began to clink and the dark hall became covered with the foam escaping from under the covers. The good-humored count said:

  “That is just right, let him not think that his disgrace is of great importance!”

  So they again approached him, and touching his chin with their pewters, said:

  “You would like to drink, Mazovian snout!” and others, pouring the beer into their palms, cast it into his eyes, while he stood among them stunned and abused, until at last he moved toward the old Zygfried, and apparently feeling that he could not stand it any longer, he began to cry so loudly as to deafen the noise in the hall:

  “By the torture of the Saviour and the salvation of the soul, restore to me my child, as you promised!”

  And he attempted to seize the right hand of the old count who quickly withdrew and said:

  “Avaunt, prisoner! what dost thou want?”

  “I released Bergow from prison, and came myself, because in return you promised to restore my child who is here.”

  “Who promised you that?” inquired Danveld.

  “By the soul and faith, you, count!”

  “You will not find any witnesses, but they amount to nothing, if honor and word are in question.”

  “Upon your honor, upon that of the Order,” exclaimed Jurand.

  “Then your daughter will be returned to you!” replied Danveld, and, turning to the others, remarked: “All that has happened to him here is an innocent trifle in comparison with his violence and crimes. But since we promised to return his daughter if he should appear and submit himself to us, then know, that the word of a Knight of the Cross is, like God’s word, irreproachable, and that that girl, whom we saved from the hands of robbers, shall now be given her liberty, and after an exemplary penance for his sins against the Order, he also shall be allowed to go back to his home.”

  Such a speech astounded some, because, knowing Danveld and his old hatred for Jurand, they did not expect such honesty from him. Therefore old Zygfried, together with Rotgier and Brother Godfried, looked at him, raising and wrinkling their brows with astonishment, but he pretended not to observe their inquiring looks and said:

  “I’ll send your daughter back under guard, but you must remain here until our guard returns safely and until you have paid your ransom.”

  Jurand himself was somewhat astonished, because he had ceased to hope that his sacrifice would be of any use to Danusia; he therefore looked at Danveld, almost with thankfulness and replied:

  “May God reward you, count!”

  “Recognize the Knights of the Cross,” said Danveld.

  “All mercy from Him!” replied Jurand; “but, since it is long since I saw my child, permit me to see and bless my girl.”

  “Bah, and not otherwise than before all of us, so that there may be witnesses of our good faith and mercy.”

  Then he ordered the warriors standing near to bring Danusia, while he himself approached von Löve, Rotgier and Godfried, who surrounded him and commenced a quick and animated conversation.

  “I do not oppose you, although this was not your object,” said old Zygfried.

  And the hot Rotgier, famous for his courage and cruelties, said: “How is this? not only the girl but also that devilish dog is going to be liberated, that he may bite again?”

  “He will bite not that way only!” exclaimed Godfried.

  “Bah! he will pay ransom!” lazily replied Danveld.

  “Even if he should return everything, in a year he will have robbed twice as much.”

  “I shall not object as to the girl,” repeated Zygfried; “but this wolf will yet make the sheep of the Order weep more than once.”

  “And our word?” queried Danveld, laughingly.

  “You spoke differently….”

  Danveld shrugged his shoulders. “Did you not have enough pleasure?” he inquired. “Do you wish more?”

  Others surrounded Jurand again and commenced to brag before him, praising the upright conduct of Danveld, and the impression it made upon the members of the Order.

  “And what bone breaker!” said the captain of the castle-archers. “Your heathen brethren would not have treated our Christian knights so!”

  “You drank our blood?”

  “And we giv
e you bread for stones.”

  But Jurand paid no attention either to the pride or to the contempt which their words contained: his heart swelled and his eyelashes were moist. He thought that he would see Danusia in a moment, and that he would see her actually by their favor; he therefore gazed at the speakers almost with humility, and finally said:

  “True! true! I used to be hard on you but … not treacherous.”

  That instant a voice at the other end of the hall suddenly cried: “They are bringing the girl;” and immediately silence reigned throughout the hall. The soldiers scattered to both sides, because none of them had ever seen Jurand’s daughter, and the majority of them did not even know of her presence in the castle on account of the secrecy with which Danveld surrounded his actions; but those who knew, whispered to one another about her admirable grace. All eyes turned with extreme curiosity toward the door through which she was to appear.

  Meanwhile a warrior appeared in front followed by the well-known servant of the Order, the same woman that rode to the court in the forest. After her entered a girl dressed in white, with loose hair tied with a ribbon on the forehead.

  And suddenly one great outburst of laughter, like the roaring of thunder, rang through the entire hall. Jurand, who at the first moment had sprung toward his daughter, suddenly recoiled and stood as pale as linen, looking with surprise at the ill-shaped head, the bluish lips, and the expressionless eyes of the wench who was restored to him as Danusia.

  “This is not my daughter!” he said, in a terrifying voice.

  “Not your daughter?” exclaimed Danveld. “By the holy Liboryusz of Paderborn! Then either we did not rescue your daughter from the murderers or some wizard has changed her, because there is no other in Szczytno.”

  Old Zygfried, Rotgier and Godfried exchanged quick glances with each other, full of admiration at the shrewdness of Danveld, but none of them had time enough to speak, because Jurand began to shout with a terrible voice:

  “She is, she is in Szczytno! I heard her sing, I heard the voice of dear Danusia!”

  Upon that Danveld turned to those assembled and said quietly but pointedly:

  “I take you all present as witnesses and especially you, Zygfried of Insburk, and you pious brothers, Rotgier and Godfried, that, according to my word and given promise, I restore that girl, who was said by the robbers whom we defeated, to be the daughter of Jurand of Spychow. If she is not — it is not our fault, but rather the will of our Lord, who in that manner wished to deliver Jurand into our hands.”

  Zygfried and the two younger brethren bowed to signify that they heard and would testify in case of necessity. Then again they glanced quickly at each other, because it was more than they ever could have expected to capture Jurand, not to restore his daughter, and still ostensibly to keep a promise; who else could do that?

  But Jurand threw himself upon his knees and commenced to conjure Danveld by all the relics in Malborg, then by the ashes and heads of his parents, to restore to him his true child and not proceed like a swindler and traitor, breaking oaths and promises. His voice contained so much despair and truth, that some began to suspect treason; others again thought that some wizard had actually changed the appearance of the girl.

  “God looks upon your treason!” exclaimed Jurand. “By the Saviour’s wounds, by the hour of your death, return my child!”

  And arising, he went bent double toward Danveld, as if he wished to embrace his knees; and his eyes glittered with madness, and his voice broke alternately with pain, fear, and dread. Danveld, hearing the accusations of treason and deceit in presence of all, commenced to snort, and at length his features worked with rage; so that like a flame in his desire utterly to crush the unfortunate, he advanced and bending down to his ear, whispered through his set teeth: “If I ever give her up, it will be with my bastard….”

  But at that very moment Jurand roared like a bull, and with both hands he caught Danveld and raised him high in the air.

  The hall still resounded with the terrible cry: “Save me!” when the body of the count struck the stone floor with such terrible force that the brains from the shattered skull bespattered Zygfried and Rotgier who stood by. Jurand sprang to the wall, near which stood the arms, and snatching a large two-handed weapon, ran like a storm at the Germans, who were petrified with terror. The people were used to battles, butchery and blood, and yet their hearts sank to such an extent that even after the panic had passed, they commenced to retreat and escape like a flock of sheep before a wolf who kills with one stroke of his claws. The hall resounded with the cry of terror, with the sound of human footsteps, the clang of the overturned vessels, the howling of the servants, the growling of the bear, who, tearing himself out of the hands of the trainer, started to climb on a high window, and a terror-stricken cry for arms and targets, weapons and crossbows. Finally weapons gleamed, and a number of sharp points were directed toward Jurand, but he, not caring for anything, half crazed, sprang toward them, and there commenced an unheard-of wild fight, resembling a butchery more than a contest of arms. The young and fiery Brother Godfried was the first to intercept Jurand’s way, but he severed his head, hand and shoulder-blade with a lightning swing of his weapon; after him fell by Jurand’s hand the captain of the archers, and the castle administrator, von Bracht and the Englishman Hugues, who, although he did not very well understand the cause, pitied Jurand and his sufferings, and only drew his weapon when Danveld was killed. Others, seeing the terrible force and the fury of the man, gathered closely together, so as to offer combined resistance, but this plan brought about a still greater defeat, because he, with his hair standing upright on his head, with maddened eyes, covered all over with blood, panting, raging and furious, broke, tore and cut with terrible strokes of his sword that battered group, casting men to the floor, splashed all over with clotted blood, as a storm overturns bushes and trees. Then followed a moment of terrific fright, in which it seemed that this terrible Mazovian, all by himself, would hew and slay all these people. Like a pack of barking hounds that cannot overpower a fierce boar without the assistance of the hunters, so were those armed Germans; they could not match his might and fierceness in that fight which resulted only in their death and discomfiture.

  “Scatter! surround him! strike from behind!” shrieked old Zygfried von Löve.

  They consequently dispersed through the hall like a flock of starlings in the field upon which a hawk with crooked beak swoops from a height, but they could not surround him, because, in the heat of the fight, instead of looking for a place of defence, he commenced to chase them around the walls and whoever was overtaken died as if thunderstruck. Humiliation, despair, disappointed hope, changed into one thirst for blood, seemed to multiply tenfold his terrific natural strength. A weapon, for which the most powerful of the Knights of the Cross needed both hands, he managed to wield with one as if it were a feather. He did not care for his life, nor look for escape; he did not even crave for victory; he sought revenge, and like a fire, or like a river, which breaking a dam, blindly destroys everything obstructing its flow, so he, a terrible, blindfolded destroyer, tore, broke, trampled, killed and extinguished human beings. They could not hurt him in his back, because, in the beginning they were unable to overtake him; moreover the common soldiers feared to come near him even from behind; they knew that if he happened to turn no human power could save them from death. Others were simply terror-stricken at the thought, that an ordinary man could cause so much havoc, and that they were dealing with a man who was aided by some superhuman power.

  But old Zygfried, and with him Brother Rotgier, rushed to the gallery which extended above the large windows of the hall, and commenced to call others to take shelter after them; these did so in haste, so that, on the narrow stairs, they pushed each other in their desire to get up as quickly as possible and thence to strike the strong knight, with whom any hand to hand struggle appeared to them impossible.

  Finally, the last one banged the door leading to the galle
ry and Jurand remained alone below. From the gallery the sounds of joy and triumph reached him, and soon heavy oak benches and iron collars of torches began to fall upon the nobleman. One of the missiles struck him on the forehead and bathed his face with blood. At the same time the large entrance door opened, and through the upper windows the summoned servants rushed into the hall in a body, armed with pikes, halberds, axes, crossbows, palisades, poles, ropes and all varieties of weapons, which they could hurriedly get hold of. And with his left hand the mad Jurand wiped the blood from his face, so as not to obstruct his sight, gathered himself together, and threw himself at the entire throng. In the hall again resounded groans, the clash of iron, the gnashing of teeth and the piercing voices of the slain men.

  In the same hall, behind the table that evening, sat old Zygfried von Löve, who, after the bailiff Danveld, temporarily took command of Szczytno, and near him were Brother Rotgier, and the knight von Bergow, a former prisoner of Jurand’s and two noble youths, novices, who were soon to put on white mantles. The wintry storm was howling outside the windows, shaking the leaden window-frames; the torchlights, which were burning in iron frames, wavered, and now and then the wind drove clouds of smoke from the chimney into the hall. Silence reigned among the brethren, although they were assembled for a consultation, because they were waiting for the word from Zygfried, who, again resting his elbows on the table and running his hands over his grey and bowed head, sat gloomy with his face in the shadow and with sullen thoughts in his soul.

  “About what are we to deliberate?” finally asked Brother Rotgier.

  Zygfried raised his head, looked at the speaker, and, awakening from thought, said:

  “About the defeat, about what the master and the assembly will say, and about this, that our actions may not cause any loss to the Order.” He was silent again, but after a while he looked around and moved his nostrils: “There is still a smell of blood here.”

  “No, count,” replied Rotgier; “I ordered the floor to be scrubbed and the place to be fumigated with sulphur. It is the odor of sulphur.”