The Knights of the Cross/Volume 2/Chapter 49

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER XLIX.

Zbyshko commanded to put him on one of the captured wagons, which was laden with new wheels and axles for that expedition which was advancing to the aid of the castle. He himself mounted another horse and moved on with Matsko in further pursuit of the fleeing Germans. That pursuit was not over-difficult, for German horses were bad for escape, above all on a road softened by spring rains considerably. Matsko especially, having under him a swift and lightly-built mare, which came to him from the dead noble of Lenkavitsa, passed after a few furlongs almost all the Jmud men, and soon overtook the nearest German. He hailed him, it is true, according to knightly custom, intending that he should either surrender as a captive, or turn back to give battle; but when the other, feigning deafness, threw away his shield to relieve his horse, and bending forward put spurs to the animal, the old knight struck him cruelly with his broad axe between the shoulders and hurled him from the saddle.

Thus did he avenge himself on the fugitives for that traitorous arrow which he had received, and they fled before him like a herd of deer, in which each bears in its heart fright unendurable, but in that heart no wish for defence or battle, no wish but that of escape from the terrible pursuer. Some ran into the forest; but one mired near a brook, and him the Jmud men choked with a halter. Whole crowds rushed into the thicket after the fugitives, and then began a wild hunt full of shouts, exclamations, and outcries. For a good while the secret places among trees resounded with yells, till the last man was taken. Then the old knight from Bogdanets, Zbyshko, and Hlava returned to the first field, on which the slain German soldiers were lying. The bodies had been stripped, and some of them mutilated cruelly by the vengeful hands of Jmud warriors.

The victory was considerable, and the men were roused by delight at it. After the recent defeat of Skirvoillo dissatisfaction had begun to seize Jmud hearts, especially as the reinforcements promised by Vitold had not come with such speed as had been expected; but now hope and enthusiasm flashed up again, like a fire when fresh wood is thrown on its embers.

Too many had fallen on both sides for burial, but Zbyshko commanded to dig with spears graves for the two nobles of Lenkavitsa, who had been the main cause of victory, and to bury them under two pine-trees, on the bark of which he cut crosses with his sword-point. Next he intrusted Hlava with guarding De Lorche, who was still unconscious; then he moved his men on, and marched hurriedly by that same road toward Skirvoillo, so as to give effective aid, if needed. He marched long before he struck upon the battlefield, but the action was over; it was covered, like the first field, with bodies of Jmud men and Germans. Zbyshko understood easily that the terrible Skirvoillo must have won also a notable victory; for if he had been beaten, they would have met Germans marching toward the castle. The victory must have been bloody, however, since farther on, beyond the real field of battle, the bodies of slain men were lying closely together. The experienced Matsko concluded from this that a part of the Germans had been able to retreat from the disaster. Whether Skirvoillo had overtaken them or not was difficult to determine, since the trails were deceptive and effaced one by another. Still, Matsko inferred that the battle had taken place there much earlier,—earlier, perhaps, than Zbyshko's battle, for the bodies were blackened and swollen, and some were gnawed by wolves, which fled to the thicket when armed men approached them.

In view of this, Zbyshko resolved not to wait for Skirvoillo, but to go back to the last and safe camping-place. Reaching there late in the evening, he found the Jmud leader, who had arrived somewhat earlier. His face, usually gloomy, was lighted up now with an ominous pleasure. He inquired immediately about Zbyshko's battle, and learning of the victory, said, with a voice like the croaking of a raven,—

"I am pleased with thee and pleased with myself. Reinforcements will not come soon; but if the Grand Prince comes, he too will be pleased, for the castle will belong to us."

"Whom have they taken as prisoners?" asked Zbyshko.

"Only roaches; no pike. There was one, there were two, but they got away. Pikes with sharp teeth! they bit through our men and vanished."

"God gave me one," said Zbyshko. "A rich knight, and distinguished, though a layman—he is a foreigner."

The terrible commander put his hands at both sides of his neck, then made a gesture, as if pointing upward, and indicated a rope going from his neck in that direction.

"It will be thus for him," said he, "as well as for the others—this way!"

Zbyshko frowned.

"Hear me, Skirvoillo," said he. "It will not be that way for him, or any way like that; he is my friend and captive. Prince Yanush belted us at the same time, and I will not let thee lay a finger on him."

"Thou wilt not?"

"I will not."

And they looked each into the eyes of the other, frowning, wherewith Skirvoillo's face contracted and resembled the head of a bird of prey. It seemed that both might burst out in passion; but Zbyshko, unwilling to quarrel with the old leader, whose virtue he knew, and whom he respected, and having moreover a heart that was quivering from the events of the day, seized him by the shoulders suddenly, pressed him to his bosom, and asked,—

"Can it be possible that thou wouldst take him from me, and with him my last hope? Why do me an injustice?"

Skirvoillo did not ward off the embrace, and at last, sticking his head forth from between Zbyshko's arms, he looked at him from under his eyebrows, and panted.

"Well," said he, after a moment of silence, "to-morrow I shall give command to hang my captives, but if thou need one, I will give him."

Then they embraced a second time and parted in good feeling, to the great delight of Matsko, who said,—

"It is evident that with him thou canst effect nothing through harshness, but by kindness thou mayst mould him as wax."

"That is the nature of the people," answered Zbyshko; "but the Germans do not know it."

Then he gave command to bring to the fire De Lorche, who was resting in the hut; Hlava soon brought him, without his weapons, without his helmet, but in a skin coat, on which his armor had left traces, and with a red cap on his head. De Lorche had learned from Hlava whose prisoner he was; but for that very reason he came cold, haughty, with a face on which, by the light of the fire, one could read contempt and decision.

"I thank God," said Zbyshko to him, "that He gave thee into my hands, for from me nothing threatens thee."

And he stretched his hand toward him with friendliness, but De Lorche did not move even.

"I will not give a hand to knights who have disgraced knightly honor, and who are fighting at the side of Saracens against Christians."

One of the Mazovians present interpreted these words, the meaning of which Zbyshko himself divined; so that at the first moment the blood boiled up in him as water in a caldron.

"Idiot!" shouted he, grasping, in spite of himself, the hilt of his misericordia.

But De Lorche reared his head.

"Kill me!" said he, "for I know that ye spare no prisoners."

"But do ye spare them?" exclaimed the Mazovian, unable to endure such words quietly. "Were ye not the men who hanged on the shore of the island all those whom ye captured in the battle before this? In return, Skirvoillo hangs your men."

"They were hanged," replied De Lorche, "but they were Pagans."

One might detect a certain shame in his answer, and it was not difficult to divine that in his soul he had no praise for such an action.

Meanwhile Zbyshko recovered himself, and said with calm dignity,—

"De Lorche, we received belts and spurs from the same hand; thou knowest me, therefore, and knowest that the honor of knighthood is dearer to me than life and happiness; so listen to what I will say under an oath on Saint George: Many of the people hanged were baptized long before yesterday, and those who are not Christians yet are stretching their hands to the Cross as to redemption; but knowest thou who hinder them, who keep them from redemption and baptism?"

The Mazovian interpreted Zbyshko's words in a minute, so De Lorche looked with inquiring glance at Zbyshko's face.

"The Germans."

"Impossible!" cried the Knight of Lorraine.

"By the lance and the spurs of Saint George, it is the Germans! for if the Cross should prevail here they would lose the excuse for invasions, and for lording it over this land and oppressing the unfortunate people. Moreover, thou hast learned them, De Lorche, and knowest better if their acts are caused by justice."

"I thought that it destroys sin to fight with Pagans, and bend them to baptism."

"But the Germans baptize them with a sword and with blood, not with the water of salvation. Read this letter, and thou wilt know straightway if thou art not serving those men of injustice, those robbers and elders of hell, against the faith and the love of the Saviour."

And he handed De Lorche the letter of the Jmud men to kings and princes, which letter had been sent around everywhere. De Lorche took the letter and began to run his eyes over it near the firelight.

He read it quickly, for reading was no strange trick to him; he was astonished beyond measure.

"Is all this true?" asked he.

"It is, so help me, and thee, God! who knows best that I am serving, not my own cause alone, but the cause also of justice."

De Lorche was silent for a time, and then said,—

"I am your prisoner."

"Give thy hand," replied Zbyshko. "Thou art my brother, not my prisoner."

So they gave their right hands to each other and sat down to a common supper, which Hlava had commanded the attendants to make ready. During the meal De Lorche learned with no less astonishment that Zbyshko, in spite of the letters, had not discovered Danusia, and that the comturs had denied the validity of his safe-conduct because of the outbreak of war.

"Now I understand why thou art here," said he, "and I thank God that He gave me to thee as a prisoner, for I think that the Knights of the Cross will exchange for me the one for whom thou art looking; otherwise there would be a great outcry in the West, for I come from a great family."

Here he struck his hand on his cap suddenly, and said,—

"By all the relics in Aix La Chapelle! At the head of the reinforcements which were moving toward Gotteswerder were Arnold von Baden and old Siegfried de Löwe. We know this from letters which have come to the castle. Are they not taken prisoners?"

"No!" answered Zbyshko, springing up. "None of the more important were taken. But, as God lives, thou givest me great tidings. As God lives! there are other prisoners, from whom I shall know before they hang them whether Siegfried was not bringing some woman."

He summoned the attendants to bring torches and ran to the place where Skirvoillo's captives were; De Lorche, Matsko, and Hlava ran with him.

"Listen to me," said De Lorche on the way. "Let me out on my word; I myself will search all Prussia through for her, and if I find her I will return to thee, and then thou canst exchange me for her."

"If she is living! if she is living!" said Zbyshko.

By this time they had run to where Skirvoillo's captives were. Some of them were lying on their backs, others were near the trees, lashed to them cruelly with bark ropes. The torch gleamed brightly over Zbyshko's head, so that the eyes of all those unfortunates were turned toward him.

Then from the depth came a shrill voice full of terror,—

"Oh, my lord and defender! save me!"

Zbyshko snatched from the hands of the attendant a couple of flaming torches, sprang to the tree from beneath which the voice came, and raising the torches cried,—

"Sanderus!"

"Sanderus!" exclaimed Hlava, astounded.

But Sanderus, unable to move his stiffened arms, stretched his neck up, and again cried,—

"Mercy! I know where the daughter of Yurand is! Save me!"