The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 23

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER XXIII.

When Zbyshko heard the unfortunate tidings, without even asking permission of the prince, he rushed to the stables, and commanded to saddle his horse. The Cheh, who, as a nobly born attendant, was with him in the supper hall, had barely time to go to their room and bring a warm fur robe; but he did not try to detain his young master; for having by nature strong sense, he knew that any endeavor to restrain him was useless, and that delay might be fatal. Mounting a second horse, he seized at the gate, from the keeper, a number of torches, and directly they were moving with the prince's people, whom the old Castellan led forward hastily. Beyond the gate darkness impenetrable surrounded them, but the storm seemed to have weakened. They might, perhaps, have gone astray immediately outside the town, had it not been for the man who had brought information, and who was leading them the more quickly and surely that he had with him a dog which knew the road.

On the open field the storm began to strike sharply in their faces, partly because they were going speedily. The highway was drifted in; in places there was so much snow that they were forced to go slowly; for the horses were in snow to their bellies. The prince's men lighted torches and lamps, and rode on amid the smoke and flame of torches which the wind blew as fiercely as if it wished to sweep those flames away from the pitchy sticks and carry them off into the fields and forests.

The road was a long one. They passed the villages nearer to Tsehanov and Nedzborz, then they turned toward Radzanov. Beyond Nedzborz, however, the storm subsided sensibly and grew weaker; the gusts of wind became fainter, and no longer carried whole clouds of snow with them. The sky became clearer. Some snow fell yet, but soon that stopped. Next a star glittered in a rift of the clouds. The horses snorted; the riders breathed more freely. The stars increased in number each moment, and the frost bit. After the expiration of a few "Our Fathers," the storm had ceased altogether.

De Lorche, who rode near Zbyshko, comforted him, saying that surely Yurand, in the moment of danger, had thought first of all of his daughter, and, though they should dig out all the others dead, they would find her alive surely, and sleeping under furs, perhaps. But Zbyshko understood little of what he said, and at last had not even time to listen; for after a while the guide going in advance turned from the road.

The young knight pushed forward and asked,—

"Why do we turn aside?"

"Because they were not snowed in on the highway, but off there! Do you see the alder grove?"

He pointed to a grove, which looked dark in the distance, and which could be seen on the white plain of snow when the clouds uncovered the shield of the moon and things became visible.

It was evident that they had left the highway.

"The travellers lost the highway, and rode in a curved line along a river. In time of storm and snow fog it is easy to do so. They went on and on until their horses failed."

"How did you find them?"

"The dog led us."

"Are there no houses near by?"

"There are, but on the other side of the river. The Vkra is right here."

"Hurry on!" cried Zbyshko.

But it was easier to give a command than to execute it; for although the frost was sharp, there lay on the field snow yet unfrozen, drifts freshly collected and deep, in which the horses waded above their knees; so they were forced to push forward slowly. All at once the barking of a dog reached them. Straight in front appeared the large and bent trunk of a willow, on which, in the light of the moon, gleamed a crown of leafless branches.

"They are farther on," said the leader, "near the alder grove; but here too must be something."

"There is a drift under the willow. Light up for us!"

A number of the prince's men dismounted and lighted the place with their torches ; then some one cried on a sudden,—

"Here is a man under the snow! We can see his head right here!"

"There is a horse too!" cried another immediately.

"Dig him out!"

Shovels began to sink in the snow and throw it on both sides.

After a while they saw sitting under the tree a man with head inclined on his breast and his cap pulled deeply over his face. With one hand he was holding the reins of a horse lying at his side with nostrils buried in the snow. Evidently the man had ridden away from the company, perhaps to reach human dwellings more quickly and obtain help, but when his horse fell he took refuge under the willow on the side opposite the wind, and there he was chilled.

"Bring a light!" called Zbyshko.

An attendant pushed up a torch to the face of the frozen man; it was difficult to recognize him at once. But when another attendant turned the face upward, one cry was wrested from the breasts of all present,—

"The Lord of Spyhov!"

Zbyshko commanded two men to carry him to the nearest cottage and care for him; he himself, without losing time, galloped on with the rest of the servants and the guide to rescue the remainder of the party. On the way he thought that he should find Danusia there, his wife, perhaps not alive, and he urged the last breath out of his horse which struggled breast-deep in snow. Fortunately it was not very far, at the most a few furlongs. In the darkness voices were heard, "Come this way!"—voices from the prince's men who had remained near the people snowed in. Zbyshko rushed up and sprang from his horse.

"To the shovels!"

Two sleighs had been dug out already by those left on guard. The horses and the men in the sleigh were frozen beyond recovery. Where the others were might be known by hills of snow, though not all sleighs were entirely covered. At some were visible horses with their bellies pressed against drifts, as if while exerting themselves in running they had grown stiff in a supreme effort. In front of one pair stood a man sunk to his waist, and as immovable as a column; at more distant sleighs the men had died near the horses while holding their bridles. Evidently death had caught them while trying to free the beasts from snowdrifts. One sleigh at the very end of the line was free altogether. The driver was on the seat with his hands over his ears; behind lay two people; the long lines of snow blown across their breasts were united with a bank at the side and covered them like a blanket, so that they seemed sleeping calmly and peacefully. Others, however, had perished while struggling to the last with the storm, for they were frozen in postures full of effort. Some sleighs were overturned; in some the tongues were broken. Time after time the shovels uncovered backs of horses bent like bows, or heads with teeth driven into the snow; men were in the sleighs and around the sleighs, but they found no women. At moments Zbyshko worked with the shovel till the sweat flowed from his forehead; at moments he looked with throbbing heart into the eyes of corpses, thinking whether he would see among them a beloved face—all in vain! The light shone only on the stern moustached visages of warriors from Spyhov; neither Danusia nor any other woman was present.

"How is this?" asked the young knight of himself, with astonishment.

And he called to those who were working farther away, asking if they had not found anything; but they found only men. At last the work was done. The attendants attached their own horses to the sleighs, and sitting on the seats moved with the bodies toward Nedzborz, to see if they could not in the heat there restore to life any of the bodies. Zbyshko remained with the Cheh and two others. It came to his mind that Danusia's sleigh might have separated from the party if drawn, as was proper to suppose, by the best horses. Yurand might have ordered to drive it ahead or might have left it somewhere on the roadside at a cottage. Zbyshko knew not what to do; in every case he wanted to search the near drifts, the alder grove, and then turn back and search along the highway.

In the drifts they found nothing. In the alder grove wolf eyes gleamed at them repeatedly, but they found no trace of people or horses. The plain between the alder grove and the highway was glittering then in moon rays, and on the white sad expanse were seen here and there at a distance, a number of dark spots, but those too were wolves which at the approach of men vanished speedily.

"Your Grace," said Hlava at last," we are riding and searching here uselessly, for the young lady of Spyhov was not in the retinue."

"On the highway!" answered Zbyshko.

"We shall not find her on the highway; I looked with care to discover if there were not boxes in the sleighs, and things pertaining to women. There was nothing. The young lady has remained in Spyhov."

The correctness of this remark struck Zbyshko, so he answered:

"God grant it to be as thou sayest."

The Cheh went deeper still into his own head for wisdom.

"If she had been in a sleigh the old lord would not have left it, or if he left the sleigh he would have taken her on the horse in front of him, and we should have found them together."

"Let us go there once more," said Zbyshko, in a voice of alarm, for it occurred to him that it might be as Hlava had said. In that case they had not searched with sufficient diligence. Yurand, then, had taken Danusia before him on the horse, and when the beast fell Danusia went away from her father to find some assistance. In that event she might be near by somewhere under the snow.

But Hlava, as if divining these thoughts, said,—

"In that case we should have found her things in the sleigh, for she would not go to the court with only the dress that she was wearing."

In spite of this just conclusion they went again to the willow, but neither under it nor for a furlong around the tree did they find anything. The prince's men had taken Yurand to Nedzborz, and round about all was deserted. Hlava made the remark, still, that the dog which had run with the guide and which had found Yurand, would have found the young lady also. Thereupon Zbyshko was relieved, for he became almost certain that Danusia had remained at Spyhov. He was able even to explain how it had happened. Evidently Danusia had confessed all to her father; he, not agreeing to the marriage, had left her at home purposely, and was coming himself to lay the affair before the prince and ask his intervention with the bishop. At this thought Zbyshko could not resist the feeling of a certain solace, and even delight, for he understood that with the death of Yurand all obstacles had vanished.

"Yurand did not wish, but the Lord Jesus has wished," said the young knight to himself, " and the will of God is always the stronger."

Now he needed only to go to Spyhov, take Danusia as his own, and then accomplish his vow, which was easier on the boundary than in distant Bogdanets. "God's will! God's will!" repeated he in his soul. But he was ashamed of his hurried delight the next moment, and said, turning to Hlava,—

"I am sorry for him, and I will say so to every one."

"People declare," answered the attendant, "that the Germans feared him as death." Then after a moment he asked:

"Shall we return to the castle now?"

"By way of Nedzborz," answered Zbyshko.

So they went to Nedzborz, and stopped before a residence in which an old noble, named Jeleh, received them. Yurand they did not find, but the old man gave good news.

"We rubbed him with snow to the bones almost," said he, "and poured wine into his mouth; then we steamed him in a bath, where he regained breathing."

"Is he alive?" inquired Zbyshko, with delight; for at this news he forgot his own affairs.

"He is alive, but God knows if he will recover; for the soul is not glad to turn back when it has made half the journey."

"Why was he taken from here?"

"He was taken because men from the prince came. We covered him with all the feather beds in the house, and they took him."

"Did he not mention his daughter?"

"He had barely begun to breathe; he had not recovered speech."

"But the others?"

"Are now behind God's stove. Poor people; they will not be at mass unless at that one which the Lord Jesus Himself will celebrate in heaven."

"Did none revive?"

"None. Enter, instead of talking at the porch. If you wish to see them, they are lying near the fire in the servants' hall. Come in."

But they did not go, though the old man pressed them; for he was glad to detain people and "chat" with them. They had a long piece of road yet from Nedzborz to Tsehanov; besides, Zbyshko was burning to see Yurand at the earliest, and learn something.

They rode, therefore, as rapidly as possible along the drifted highway. When they arrived it was past midnight, and the mass was just finishing in the castle chapel. To Zbyshko's ears came the lowing of cattle and the bleating of goats, which pious voices imitated according to ancient custom, in memory of the Lord's birth in a stable. After mass the princess came to Zbyshko with a face full of fear and anxiety.

"But where is Danusia?" asked she.

"She has not come. Has not Yurand told?—for I hear that he is alive."

"Merciful Jesus! This is a punishment from God, and woe to us! Yurand has not spoken, and he is lying like a block of wood."

"Have no fear, gracious lady. Danusia remained in Spyhov."

"How dost thou know?"

"I know, because in no sleigh was there a trace of a change of clothing for her. She would not have come in one cloak."

"True, as God is dear to me!"

And quickly her eyes began to sparkle with pleasure.

"Hei, dear Jesus, Thou who wert born this night, it is evident that not Thy anger, but Thy blessing is upon us."

Still the arrival of Yurand without Danusia surprised her; so she inquired further,—

"What could have kept her at home?"

Zbyshko explained his surmises. They seemed correct, but did not cause her excessive alarm.

"Yurand will owe his life to us now," said she; "and to tell the truth, it is to thee that he owes it; for thou didst go to dig him out of the snow. He would, indeed, have a stone in his breast were he to resist any longer! There is in this a warning of God, for him not to resist the holy Sacrament. The moment that he recovers and speaks, I will tell him so."

"He must recover first; for it is unknown why Danusia has not come. But if she is ill?"

"Do not talk foolishness. As it is, I am sorry that she is not here. If she had been ill he would not have left her."

"True!"

And they went to Yurand. It was as hot in the room as in a bath, and perfectly lighted; for immense logs of pine were burning in the chimney. Father Vyshonek was watching the sick man, who was lying on a couch under bearskins; his face was pale, his hair damp from perspiration, his eyes closed. His mouth was open, and his breast moved with labor, but so violently that the skins with which he was covered rose and fell from the breathing.

"How is he?" asked the princess.

"We have poured a mug of heated wine into his mouth," answered the priest, "and he is perspiring."

"Is he sleeping?"

"It may be that he is not sleeping; for his breast moves tremendously."

"Have you tried to speak with him?"

"I have tried, but he gives no answer, and I think that he will not speak before daylight."

"We will wait for daylight," said the princess.

The priest insisted that she should go to rest, but she would not listen to him. It was with her a question always and in everything to equal in Christian virtues, and, therefore, in nursing the sick, the late queen, Yadviga, and redeem her father's soul by her merits; hence, in a country which had been Christian for centuries she missed no opportunity to show herself more zealous than others, and thus efface the remembrance that she had been born in pagan error. Moreover, the wish was burning her to learn something from Yurand touching Danusia; for she was not altogether at rest concerning her. So, sitting down at the side of his couch, she began to repeat the rosary, and then to doze. Zbyshko, who was not entirely well yet, and who in addition had labored immensely in the riding of the night, soon followed her example, and after an hour they had both fallen asleep so soundly that they would have slept till a late hour, perhaps, had not the bell of the castle chapel roused them at daybreak.

It roused Yurand also, who opened his eyes, sat erect on the couch quickly, and looked around with blinking eyes.

"Praised be Jesus Christ! How is it with you?" asked the princess.

But apparently he had not regained consciousness; for he looked at the princess as though he knew her not.

"Come this way! come this way to dig the drift!" called he after a moment.

"In God's name! You are in Tsehanov!" cried the lady.

Yurand wrinkled his forehead like a man who is collecting his thoughts with difficulty, and answered,—

"In Tsehanov? My child is waiting for me—and the prince and princess—Danusia! Danusia!"

Then closing his eyes, he dropped again to the pillow. Zbyshko and the princess were terrified lest he had died; but at that very instant his breast moved with deep breath, as in the case of a man seized by heavy sleep.

Father Vyshonek placed a finger on his own lips and made a sign not to rouse the man; then he whispered,—

"He may sleep all day in this manner."

"True; but what did he say?" asked the princess.

"He said that his child was waiting for him in Tsehanov," answered Zbyshko.

"He said that because he has not regained consciousness," explained the priest.