Other marks did not escape Zbyszko’s keen sight. Then he and Macko mounted their horses, and, together with the Bohemian, silently began taking counsel as though the enemy were quite near them.
The Bohemian’s advice was that they should advance on foot at once, but they did not agree to that, because they did not know the distance they would have to traverse in the woods. The footmen, however, had to proceed carefully in advance, and signal in case something occurred, so that they might be in readiness.
They moved onward among the woods in some trepidation, and another incision upon a pine tree assured them that they had not lost Sanderus’ tracks. Very soon they also discovered a path, showing that people frequently passed that way, and they were convinced that they were in the neighborhood of some forest habitation, and within it was the object of their search.
The sun was getting low, and shed a golden hue upon the trees of the forest. The evening promised to be serene; silence reigned in the woods because beast and birds had retired to rest, only here and there, among the little top branches of the trees, squirrels moved to and fro looking quite red in the last beams of the sun. Zbyszko, Macko, the Bohemian and the attendants, closely followed each other, knowing that their men were considerably in advance and would warn them in proper time; the old knight spoke to his nephew in not very subdued tones.
“Let us calculate from the sun,” he said. “From the last station to the place where we found the first incision, we covered a great distance. According to Krakow time it would be about three hours…. Then Sanderus must be by this time among them, and has had time enough to tell them his adventure, provided he has not betrayed us.”
“He has not betrayed us,” replied Zbyszko.
“Provided they believe him,” continued Macko; “if they do not, then it will be bad for him.”
“But why should they not believe him? Do they know of us? Him they know. It often happens that prisoners escape from captivity.”
“But what concerns me is this: if he told them that he ran away they might fear he would be pursued, and they would move on at once.”
“No, he will succeed in casting dust in their eyes by telling them that such a long pursuit would not be undertaken.”
They were silent for a while, then it seemed to Macko that Zbyszko was whispering to him; he turned and asked:
“What do you say?”
But Zbyszko had said nothing to Macko, but looking upward, said:
“Only if God would favor Danuska and the courageous enterprise in her behalf.”
Macko also began to cross himself; but he had scarcely made the first sign of the cross, when from the hazelnut thickets one of the scouts approached him suddenly and said:
“A pitch-burning cabin! They are there!”
“Stop!” whispered Zbyszko, and dismounted at once. Macko, the Bohemian, and the attendants, also dismounted; three of the latter received orders to hold the horses in readiness and take care that they, God forbid, did not neigh. “I left five men,” said Macko. “There will be the two attendants and Sanderus, whom we shall bind in a moment, and, should any one show fight, then, at his head!”
Then they advanced, and, as they moved on, Zbyszko said to his uncle:
“You take the old man, Zygfried; and I, Arnold.”
“Only take care!” replied Macko. Then he beckoned to the Bohemian, reminding him to be ready at a moment’s notice to be on hand to assist his master.
The Bohemian nodded assent. Then he breathed deeply and felt for his sword to see whether it could be easily unsheathed.
But Zbyszko observed it and said:
“No! I command you to hasten at once to the litter and not move from it for a single moment whilst the fight is going on.”
They went quickly but silently through the hazelnut thickets. But they had not gone far, when at a distance of not quite two furlongs, the growth ceased suddenly, revealing a small field upon which were extinguished pitch-burning heaps, and two earthen shanties, or huts, where the pitch-burners had dwelt before the war. The setting sun brightly illuminated the lawn, the pitch-burning heaps, and the two detached shanties — in front of one of which the two knights were sitting upon the ground; and in front of the other were Sanderus and a bearded, red-headed fellow. These two were occupied in polishing the coats of mail with rags. Besides this, the two swords were lying at Sanderus’ feet ready to be cleaned afterward.
“Look,” said Macko, forcibly grasping Zbyszko’s arm to detain him if possible for another moment, “he has taken the coats of mail and swords purposely. Well, that one with the grey head must be….”
“Forward!” suddenly shouted Zbyszko.
And like a whirlwind he rushed into the clearing; the others did the same, but they only succeeded in reaching Sanderus. The terrible Macko caught hold of old Zygfried by the breast, bent him backward and in a moment held him under him. Zbyszko and Arnold grasped each other like two hawks, with their arms intertwined and began to struggle fiercely with each other. The bearded German, who was with Sanderus, sprang toward the sword, but he did not use it. Wit, Macko’s servant, struck him with the back of his axe, and stretched him upon the ground. Then they began to bind Sanderus, according to Macko’s order, but he, although he well knew that it was so arranged beforehand, began to bellow as terribly as a yearling calf whose throat is being cut by the butcher’s knife.
But Zbyszko, though so strong that he could squeeze a branch of a tree and cause the sap to run out, felt that he was not grasped by human hands, but was in the hug of a bear. He also felt that if it were not for the cost of mail which he had on, in case of having to fight with the sword, the German giant would have crushed his ribs and perhaps the spinal column too. The young knight lifted him a little from the ground, but Arnold lifted him up higher still, and gathering all his strength he tried to throw him to the ground so that he might not be able to rise again.
But Zbyszko also clutched him with such terrible force that blood issued from the German’s eyes. Then he crooked his leg between Arnold’s knees, bent him sideways and struck him in the hollow of the knee, which threw him to the ground. In reality both fell to the ground, the young knight underneath; but at the same moment, Macko, who was observing all this, threw the half doubled-up Zygfried into the hands of an attendant, and rushed toward the prostrate fighters, and in the twinkling of an eye he had bound the feet of Arnold with a belt; then he jumped, and sat down upon him as upon a wild boar, took the misericordia from his side, and plunged it deep into his throat.
Arnold screamed horribly, and his hands involuntarily withdrew from Zbyszko’s sides. Then he began to moan not only with the pain of the wound, but he also felt an indescribable pain in his back: where he had received a blow from a club in his previous fight with Skirwoilla.
Macko grasped him with both hands and dragged him off Zbyszko, and Zbyszko got up from the ground and sat down; he tried to stand up but could not; he sat thus without being able to rise, for some time. His face was pale and covered with perspiration. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were blue; and he looked in front of him as though half dazed.
“What is the matter?” asked Macko, in alarm.
“Nothing, but I am very tired. Help me to get up.”
Macko put his hands under Zbyszko’s arms and lifted him up at once.
“Can you stand?”
“I can.”
“Do you feel pain?”
“Nothing, but I am short of breath.”
Meanwhile the Bohemian, seeing apparently that the struggle in the farm yard was all over, appeared in front of the hut, dragging the woman servant of the Order by the neck. At that sight, Zbyszko forgot his fatigue, his strength returned to him at once, and he rushed to the hut as though he had never struggled with the terrible Arnold.
“Danuska! Danuska!” cried Zbyszko; but no answer came.
“Danuska! Danuska!” he repeated; then he remained silent. It was dark within, for that reason he could see nothin
g at first. But instead, he heard, proceeding from behind the stones which were heaped up behind the fireplace, a quick and audible panting, like that of a little animal hiding.
“Danuska! For God’s sake. It is I! Zbyszko!”
Then he observed in the darkness, her eyes, wide open, terrified and bewildered.
He rushed toward her and pressed her in his arms, but she did not entirely recognize him, and tore herself away from his embrace, and began to repeat in a subdued whisper:
“I am afraid! I am afraid! I am afraid!”
PART EIGHTH.
CHAPTER I.
Neither loving words nor tender persuasion availed. Danusia recognized nobody and did not regain consciousness. The only feeling which pervaded her whole being was fear, a kind of fear shown by captured birds. When food was brought to her she refused to eat it in the presence of others. In the glances of rejection which she cast upon the food one could detect habitual hunger. Left alone, she sprang upon the eatables like a ravenous little wild beast. But when Zbyszko entered she rushed into the corner and hid herself under a bundle of dry hops. Zbyszko opened his arms in vain, he stretched out his hands in vain, with tears he begged her, but unavailingly. She refused to issue from her hiding-place even when the light was so arranged that she could recognize the outlines of Zbyszko’s face. It seemed as though she had lost her memory along with her senses. He therefore gazed upon her emaciated pale face in which was depicted an expression of dismay, her hollow eyes, her tattered dress, and his heart cried out within him from pain at the thought in whose hands she had been and how she had been treated. He was finally seized with such a terrible rage that he grasped his sword and rushed toward Zygfried, and he would have certainly killed him, had not Macko grasped him by the arm.
Then like enemies they struggled with each other. But the young man was so much fatigued from his previous fight with the gigantic Arnold, that the old knight prevailed. Twisting Zbyszko’s wrist, he exclaimed:
“Are you mad?”
“Let me go!” he begged, gnashing his teeth, “for my heart bursts within me.”
“Let it burst! I will not let you go. It is better to dash your head to pieces than disgrace yourself and the whole family.”
And, clutching Zbyszko’s hand, as with iron tongs, he said threateningly:
“See, revenge will not escape you; and you are a belted knight. How then dare you kill a prisoner in bonds? You cannot help Danusia. What will be the result? Nothing but disgrace. You say that kings and princes think it proper to destroy their prisoners. Bah! That is not the case with us; and what is feasible with them is not so with you. They have a kingdom, cities, castles. But what have you? Knightly honor. Those who find no fault with them will spit in your face. Consider, for God’s sake!”
There was silence for a moment.
“Let me go!” Zbyszko repeated gloomily. “I will not kill him.”
“Come to the fire, let us consult.”
Macko led him by the hand to the fire which the servant stirred up near the tar-ovens. There they sat down and Macko reflected for a moment, and then said:
“You must also remember that you have promised this old dog to Jurand, who will avenge his own and his daughter’s tortures. He is the one who will pay him, and do not you fear! In this you must please Jurand. It is his affair and not yours. Jurand may do it, but you must not; he did not capture him but will receive him as a present from you; he can even flay him alive and none will blame him for it. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” replied Zbyszko. “You are right.”
“You are evidently coming to your senses again. Should you again be tempted by the devil, bear this also in your mind, that you have also challenged Lichtenstein and other Knights of the Cross, and if you should kill a defenceless captive and the men should publish your action, no knight would accept your challenge, and he would be justified. God forbid! We have enough misfortunes, but spare us shame. Let us rather talk about what concerns our present doings and movements.”
“Give your advice,” said the young man.
“My advice is this: that serpent who was with Danusia ought to be killed; but it does not become a knight to kill a woman. We shall therefore deliver her into the hands of Prince Janusz. She plotted treason whilst at the forest court of the prince and princess. Let the Mazovian courts judge her. If they do not crush her upon the wheel for her crimes, then they will offend God’s justice. As long as we find no other woman to wait upon Danusia, as long as she is wanted to serve her we must keep her until some other old woman be found; then we will tie her to a horse’s tail. But now we must push on toward the Mazovian wilderness as soon as possible.
“It cannot be done at once, it is dark already. By to-morrow, if God will, Danusia may come to her senses.”
“Let the horses rest well, and at daybreak we will start.”
Further conversation was interrupted by Arnold von Baden, who was stretched on his back at a distance, trussed by his own sword; he said something in German. Old Macko got up and went to him, but as he did not understand him he called the Bohemian.
But Hlawa could not come at once because he was busy about something else. During the conversation, near the fire, he went directly to the servant of the Order, put his hands around her neck, shook her like a pear-tree, and said:
“Listen, you slut! Go into the shanty and prepare the fur bedding for the young lady. But before you do that, dress her in your good apparel, whilst you put upon your carcass the tattered rags which you have given her…. May your mother suffer perdition!”
He was so angry that he could not control himself, and shook her so savagely that her eyes bulged out. He would have twisted her neck, but he thought better of it since she was still of some use; finally he let her go, saying:
“After that I will hang you to a branch.”
She embraced his knees in terror, but he kicked her. She rushed into the shanty, threw herself at Danusia’s feet and began to scream:
“Protect me. Do not permit!”
But Danusia closed her eyes, and uttered her customary suppressed whisper: “I am afraid, I am afraid, I am afraid.”
Then she lapsed into perfect silence, because that was the effect whenever the woman approached her. She permitted the woman to undress, wash and dress her in the new clothes. The woman prepared the bedding and laid upon it Danusia, who had the appearance of a wooden or wax figure; after which she sat down near the fireplace fearing to go out.
But the Bohemian entered after awhile. First he turned toward Danusia and said:
“You are among friends, lady, so in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, sleep peacefully!”
Then he made the sign of the cross. Then not wishing to disturb her he said to the servant in a low voice:
“You shall lie bound at the threshold; you must keep quiet and do not frighten her; if not, I will break your neck. Get up, and come.”
He led her out and bound her tightly, then he went to Zbyszko.
“I have ordered that lizard to dress the lady in her own garments, to make her a soft bed, and the lady is asleep; better leave her alone because she is scared. God grant that by to-morrow, after repose, she may regain her presence of mind. You too must think of refreshment and rest.”
“I shall sleep at her threshold,” replied Zbyszko.
“Then I shall withdraw the slut from the threshold and place her near that corpse with curled locks. But you must take refreshment now, because there is a long road and no little fatigue before you.”
Then he went and got some smoked meat and dried turnips which they had procured in the Lithuanian camp; but he had scarcely put the meal in front of Zbyszko when Macko called him to come to Arnold.
“Notice carefully, what this mass wishes, although I know a few German words, I am unable to understand him.”
“Bring him to the fire, sir, and have your conversation there,” replied the Bohemian.
Then he unbelted himself an
d placed the belt under Arnold’s arms and lifted him upon his shoulders; he bent much under the heavy weight of the giant, but as the Bohemian was a powerful man, he carried him near the fireplace and threw him down, as one throws a sack of peas, at the side of Zbyszko.
“Take off the fetters from me,” said Arnold.
“That might be done if you swore on knightly honor, that you would consider yourself a prisoner. Nevertheless, I will order the sword to be taken from under your knees, the bonds of your hands to be loosened, so as to enable you to sit with us, but the rope binding your feet shall remain until we have discussed the affair.” And he nodded to the Bohemian, who cut the bonds away from Arnold’s hands and assisted him to sit down. Arnold looked haughtily at Macko and Zbyszko and asked:
“Who are you?”
“How do you dare to ask? It is not your business. Go and inform yourself.”
“It concerns me, because to swear upon the honor of a knight can only be done to knights.”
“Then look!”
And Macko opened his cloak and showed his knightly belt upon his loins.
Seeing that, the Knight of the Cross was greatly amazed, and after awhile said:
“How is it? and you prowl in the wilderness for prey and assist the pagans against the Christians?”
“You lie!” exclaimed Macko.
Then the conversation began in an unfriendly and arrogant manner, which seemed like quarreling. But when Macko vehemently shouted that the very Order prevented Lithuania from embracing Christianity, and when all proofs were adduced, Arnold was again amazed and became silent, because the truth was so obvious that it was impossible not to see it, or to dispute it. What specially struck him was Macko’s words which he uttered whilst making the sign of the cross: “Who knows whom ye actually serve, if not all at least some among you.” It specially struck him because there were certain comthurs in the very Order who were suspected of having given themselves over to Satan. Steps were not taken against them for fear of public reproach of the whole Order. But Arnold knew it well because these things were whispered among the brethren of the Order and happenings of such a character reached his ears. Therefore, Macko’s narrative which he had heard from Sanderus, concerning the inconceivable conduct of Zygfried, greatly disturbed the mind of the candid giant.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 546