The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 9
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CHAPTER IX. Zbyshko set out as he had said, for Matsko felt worse, considerably. In the beginning delight and the first occupations at home enlivened him, but his fever returned on the third day, and the pain in his side made itself felt so acutely that he was forced to lie down. Zbyshko made a first visit to the forest in the daytime, examined the bee nests, and saw that near them was an immense trail to the swamp, he spoke with the bee keeper, Vavrek, who slept near by at night in a hut, with a couple of fierce shepherd dogs of Podhale; but Vavrek was just about moving to the village because of severe autumn frosts. The two men pulled the hut apart, took the dogs in hand, and smeared a little honey here and there on the trees to lure the bear on by its odor. Zbyshko went home then and prepared for the trial. For warmth's sake he put on a sleeveless short coat of elkskin, and also an iron helmet with wire cape, lest the bear might tear his scalp off; he took then a well-tempered fork with two barbed tines, and a broad steel axe on an oak handle, which was not so short as those used by carpenters. In his place at the time of evening milking, he selected a convenient spot, made the sign of the cross on himself, sat down, and waited. The rays of the setting sun shone among the evergreen branches. Crows had assembled on the pine tops, cawing and clapping their wings; here and there hares were springing swiftly toward the water, making a rustle among berry bushes which were growing yellow, and among fallen leaves; at times the swift marten sped past. In the thickets was heard yet the twittering of birds, which ceased gradually. At the moment of sunset there was no rest in the forest. A herd of wild boars, with great uproar and grunting, soon passed by near Zbyshko, then elks in a long row, each holding its head near the tail of another. The dry branches cracked beneath their hoofs, and the forest resounded, shining red in the sunrays; they were hastening to the swamp, where at night they felt safe and happy. At last the evening light shone in the sky; from this the tops of the pines seemed as if in tire, burning, and gradually all became quiet. The forest went to sleep. Gloom rose from the earth and lifted itself toward the bright light of evening, which at last began to fail, to grow sombre, to be black, and to perish. "Now it will be silent till the wolves begin," thought Zbyshko. He regretted, however, that he had not taken a crossbow, for he could have brought down an elk or a wild boar with ease. Meanwhile from the side of the swamp came for some time yet stifled voices, like painful groaning and whistling. Zbyshko looked toward that swamp with a certain timidity, for the man Radzik, who on a time had lived in a mud hut there, had vanished with his family, as if he had dropped through the earth. Some said that robbers had borne them away, but there were persons who saw later along the side of the hut certain strange tracks, neither human nor animal, and they racked their heads over this greatly; they were even thinking whether or not to bring the priest from Kresnia to bless that place. It did not come to this, it is true, for no man was found willing to live there, and the hut, or rather the clay on the brush walls of it, dropped down during rain, but thenceforth the place enjoyed no good repute. Vavrek, the bee man, did not indeed care for that; he spent his nights there in summer, but there were various reports about Vavrek also. Zbyshko, having a fork and an axe, had no fear of wild beasts, but he thought of unclean powers with a certain alarm, and was glad when these noises ceased finally. The last gleams of light had vanished, and perfect night had come. The wind ceased; there was not even the usual sigh in the tops of the pine trees. Now and then here and there a pine cone fell, giving out on the background of the general stillness a far-reaching, sharp sound; except this, the silence was such that Zbyshko heard his own breathing. He sat a long time in this manner, thinking first of the bear that might come, and then of Danusia, who was moving with the Mazovian court into distant regions. He remembered how he had caught her in his arms at the moment of parting with the princess, how her tears had flowed down his cheeks; he remembered her bright face, her blond head, her garland of star thistles, her singing, her red shoes with long tips, which he had kissed at the moment of parting,—finally, everything that had happened since they had become acquainted; and such sorrow seized him because she was not near, and such longing for her, that he was sunk in it thoroughly; he forgot that he was in the forest, that he was hunting a wild beast, and he said in his soul,— "I will go to thee, for I cannot live without thee." And he felt that this was true, that he must go to Mazovia; if not, he would perish in Bogdanets. Yurand came to his mind, and his wonderful resistance; hence he thought it all the more needful to go, and to learn what the secret was, what the obstacles were, and if some challenge to a mortal struggle might not remove them. Finally it seemed to him that Danusia was stretching her hands to him, and crying: "Come, Zbyshko, come!" How was he to avoid going to her? He did not—sleep he saw her as clearly as in a vision or a dream. Behold, Danusia was riding near the princess, thrumming on her lute and singing. She was thinking to see him soon, and perhaps she was looking around to see if he were not galloping up behind them; meanwhile he was in the dark forest. Here Zbyshko came to himself—and he came to himself, not merely because he saw the dark forest, but for the reason that from afar behind him was heard a certain rustling. He grasped the fork in his hands more firmly, held his ear forward, and listened . The rustling approached and after a time became perfectly clear. Dry limbs crackled under cautious footsteps, the fallen leaves and the berry bushes gave out their sounds. Something was advancing. At times the rustling ceased, as if the beast halted at trees, and then such silence set in that there was noise in Zbyshko's ears; then again were heard slow and careful footsteps. In general there was something so cautious in that approach that amazement seized Zbyshko. "It must be that the 'Old Fellow' fears the dogs which have been at the hut here," said he to himself; "but perhaps a wolf sniffs me." Meanwhile the steps ceased. Zbyshko heard clearly that something had halted, perhaps twenty or thirty steps behind him, and had sat down, as it seemed. He looked around once and a second time, but, though the trees were outlined clearly enough in the darkness, he could not see anything. There was no other way but to wait. And he waited so long that astonishment seized him a second time. "A bear would not come here to sleep under the bee nest, and a wolf would have smelt me and would not wait here till morning." Suddenly shivers passed from head to foot through him. "Had something 'foul' crawled from the swamps and come up from behind toward him? Would the slippery arms of some drowned one grasp hold of him unexpectedly, or the green eyes of a vampire leer into his face, or something laugh dreadfully there at his back, or some blue head on spider legs creep out from beyond a pine tree?" And he felt that the hair was rising under his iron helmet. But after a while rustling was heard in front, this time more distinctly than ever. Zbyshko drew a breath of relief. He admitted, it is true, that the same "wonder" had gone around him, and was approaching now from the front; but he preferred this. He grasped the fork well, rose in silence, and waited. At that moment he heard the sound of the pine trees above his head, on his face he felt a strong breeze from the swamp, and the same instant there flew to his nostrils the odor of a bear. There was not the least doubt now, the bear was approaching! In a moment Zbyshko ceased to fear, and, inclining his head, he exerted his sight and his hearing. The steps came up, heavy, distinct, the odor grew sharper; soon panting and growling were heard. "If only two are not coming!" thought Zbyshko. But at that moment he saw before him the great and dark form of a beast which advancing with the wind could not smell him till the last moment, especially as the beast was occupied with the odor of honey rubbed on the tree trunks. "Come on, grandfather!" cried Zbyshko, pushing out from behind the pine. The bear gave a short roar, as if frightened by the unexpected vision, but was too near to save itself by flight, so in one instant it rose on its hind legs, opening its forelegs, as if to embrace. This was just what Zbyshko was waiting for; so, collecting himself, he sprang like lightning, and with all the power of his strong arms, together with his own weight, drove the fork into the bosom of the beast. The whole forest trembled then from a penetrating roar. The bear seized the fork with his paws wishing to tear it away, but the barbs at the points held it in; so, feeling pain, he thundered till the more terribly. Trying to reach Zbyshko he pressed onto the fork and drove it into himself the more effectually. Zbyshko, not knowing whether the points had sunk deeply enough, did not let go the handle. The man and the beast pulled and struggled. The pine wood trembled unceasingly from the roar, in which rage and despair were united. Zbyshko could not use the axe till he had first planted the other sharp end of the fork in the earth, and the bear, grasping the handle with his paws, shook both it and Zbyshko, as if understanding what the struggle meant, and, despite the pain caused by every movement of the deeply buried barbs, he did not let himself be "planted." In this way the terrible struggle continued, and Zbyshko understood that his strength would be worn out at last. He might fall, too, and in that case be lost; so he collected himself, stretched his arms, planted his feet apart, bent forward, like a bow, so as not to be thrown on his back, and in his excitement repeated through set teeth,— "My death, or thine!" Finally such rage possessed him, and such resolution, that really he would have preferred at the moment to die, rather than let that bear go. At last his foot struck a root of the pine; he tottered and would have fallen had it not been that a dark figure stood by him; another fork "propped" the beast, and a voice right at his ear cried,— "With the axe!" Zbyshko in the ardor of battle did not stop for the twinkle of an eye to learn whence the unexpected aid had come, but grasped his axe and struck terribly. The fork handle cracked, then broke from the weight and the last convulsions of the bear, which, as if struck by a lightning flash tumbled to the earth, and groaned there. But the groaning stopped immediately. Silence followed, broken only by the loud panting of Zbyshko, who leaned against the tree, for the legs were tottering under him. He raised his head only after a while, looked at the figure standing by his side, and was frightened, thinking that, perhaps, it was not a person. "Who art thou?" asked he, in alarm. "Yagenka!" answered a thin female voice. Zbyshko was dumb from amazement, not believing his own ears. But his doubt did not last long, for Yagenka's voice was heard again. "I will strike a fire," said she. At once the steel sounded against the flint, sparks flew, and with their twinkling light Zbyshko saw the white forehead and dark brows of the maiden, her lips pushed forward in blowing the lighted punk. Only then did he think that she had come to that forest to help him, that without her fork it might have gone ill with him, and he felt such immense gratitude that, without thinking long, he grasped her by the waist and kissed both her cheeks. Her punk and steel fell to the ground. "Let me go! What is this?" said she, in a smothered voice; still she did not push his face away; on the contrary, her lips even touched his, as if by accident. He let her go, and said,— "God reward! I know not what might have happened without thee." Yagenka, feeling around in the darkness to find the punk and steel, began to explain,— "I feared that something might harm thee. Bezduh went out also with a fork and an axe, but the bear tore him. God guard from that! Matsko would suffer; as it is, he is barely breathing. Well, I took the fork and came." "So that was thou behind the pines there?" "I." "And I thought it was the 'evil one.'" "No small fear seized me too, for here around the Radzikov swamp it is not well in the night without fire." "Why didst thou not call?" "I was afraid that thou mightst drive me away." Then she struck fire again, and placed dry hemp-stalks on the punk; these shot up a bright flame immediately. "I have two handfuls, but do thou collect dry limbs in a hurry; there will be a fire." After a time a really cheerful fire burst forth, the flames of which shone on the enormous ruddy carcass of the bear, which was lying in a pool of blood. "Ei! a savage creature!" said Zbyshko, with a certain boastfulness. "But the head is almost cut in two! O Jesus!" When she said this she bent down and buried her hand in the bear's fur to learn if he had much fat; then she raised it with a gladsome face. "There will be fat for a couple of years!" "But the fork is broken. Look!" "That is a pity; what can I say at home?" "What dost thou need to say?" "Something, for papa would not have let me come to the forest, so I had to wait till all were in bed." After a while she added,— "Say not that I was here, so that they may not wonder at me." "But I will conduct thee home, for the wolves might attack thee, and thou hast no fork." "Well, do so!" And they conversed thus for some time by the cheerful light of the fire, near the body of the bear, both like some young creatures of the forest. Zbyshko looked at Yagenka's charming face, lighted by the gleam of the flame, and said in involuntary astonishment: "Another girl like thee there is not in the whole world, I think. Thou shouldst go to the war!" She looked into his eyes for a moment, then answered almost sadly,— "I know—but do not laugh at me."
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