The Knights of the Cross/Volume 2/Chapter 52
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CHAPTER LII. Neither mild words nor fondling nor imploring availed; Danusia recognized no person, and did not regain her senses. The one feeling which had mastered her whole being was a trembling terror, like that which birds show when captured. She would eat nothing in presence of any one, though, when food was brought, from the greedy looks which she cast at it hunger was evident, perhaps even hunger of long standing. When left alone she rushed to eat with the greed of a wild beast; but when Zbyshko entered the hut she sprang away and hid behind a bundle of dry hops in one corner. Vainly did her husband open his arms, vainly did he stretch his hands toward her, vainly did he implore, while repressing his tears. She would not leave that hiding-place even when the fire was stirred, and when by its light she could recognize Zbyshko. Memory seemed to have left her together with her reason. But he gazed at her and at her thin face, which had on it an expression of terror grown rigid; he gazed at her sunken eyes, at the torn rags of clothing which covered her, and the heart whined in the man from pain and rage at the thought of what kind of hands she had been in, and how they had treated her. At last such fierce and mad anger mastered him that he grasped his sword, rushed at Siegfried, and would have slain him surely had Matsko not seized his arm. Uncle and nephew wrestled then almost as enemies, but the young man was so weakened by recent struggling with Arnold that the old knight overcame him and held his hand twisted. "Art mad?" asked he. "Let me go!" answered Zbyshko, gritting his teeth, "or the soul will tear apart in me." "Let it tear apart! I will not free thee! Better break thy head on a tree-trunk than disgrace thyself and our family." And pressing Zbyshko's hand as in an iron vice, he said, threateningly,— "Look here! Revenge will not escape thee, and thou art a belted knight. How is this? Wilt thou slaughter a bound captive? Thou wilt not help Danusia by doing so, and what wilt thou gain? Nothing save infamy. Wilt thou say that kings and princes have slain captives? They may have done so, but not in our land. And what the world forgives them it would not forgive thee. They had kingdoms, cities, castles, but what hast thou? Knightly honor. The man who would not blame them would spit in thy eyes. Master thyself, in God's name!" A moment of silence followed. "Unhand me!" repeated Zbyshko, gloomily; " I will not kill him." "Go to the fire; we will take counsel." Matsko led him to a fire which the attendants had made near the tarpits. When he was seated the old knight thought a while, and said,— "Remember, too, that thou hast promised to deliver this old hound to Yurand. Yurand will avenge the tortures which he has passed through, and also Danusia's sufferings. He will repay Siegfried, have no fear! And it is thy duty to yield to Yurand in this case. It belongs to him. Besides, what is not permitted thee is free to Yurand. He did not take the prisoner, but he will get him as a gift from thee. Without disgrace, nay, without blame, he may skin him alive if he wishes. Dost understand?" "I understand. Thou speakest with reason." "It is evident that reason is coming back to thee. Should the devil tempt a second time, remember this among other things: thou hast vowed to fight Lichtenstein and other knights; shouldst thou slay a captive, and the deed be bruited about by attendants, no knight would meet thee, and he would be right not to do so. God preserve thee from such a plight! There is no lack of trouble in any case, but whatever happens let no disgrace come. Let us talk now rather of what we are to do, and how we are to manage." "Talk on," said Zbyshko. "I would counsel this way: that serpent who is attending Danusia might be killed, but it would not beseem knights to stain themselves with woman's blood, so we will deliver her to Prince Yanush. She was plotting treason even in the hunting-lodge, in presence of the prince and princess: let Mazovian courts judge her, then, and if they fail to break her on the wheel, they will offend God's justice. Till we find another woman to attend Danusia, she will be needed; after that she may be tied to the tail of a horse. Now we must go hence to the Mazovian wilderness at the quickest." "Not this moment, of course, for it is night. Perhaps also God will give more memory to Danusia to-morrow. Let the horses rest well. We will move at daybreak." Further conversation was interrupted by Arnold von Baden, who, lying on his back at some distance, and bound with his own sword behind his knees, had begun to cry out something in German. Old Matsko rose and went to him, but unable to understand his speech well he looked around for Hlava. Hlava was unable to come at once, for he was occupied. When the two men had begun their talk at the fire, he went to the serving-woman of the Order, put his hand on her neck, and shaking her like a pear-tree, said,— "Listen! Thou wilt go to the hut and spread a bed of skins for the lady; but first thou wilt put on her thy own good clothing, and take for thyself the rags in which ye have forced her to travel. Thy mother is in hell!" And he, also unable to restrain his sudden anger, shook her with such force that the eyes were creeping out of her head. He might have broken her neck, perhaps, but as she seemed to him of use yet, he let her go at last, saying,— "We will choose out a limb later on for thee." She seized his knee in terror, but when in answer he kicked her, she ran into the hut, and threw herself at Danusia's feet. "Defend me!" screamed she. "Do not give me up!" Danusia merely closed her eyes, and from her lips came the usual panting whisper,— "I'm afraid! I'm afraid! I'm afraid!" And then she grew rigid altogether, for every approach of that woman had caused this result always. She let herself be unclothed and dressed in the new garments. The serving-woman spread the bed, and laid Danusia on it as she might a figure of wax or wood; then she sat by the fire, not daring to leave the hut. But Hlava came in after a while and, turning to Danusia, said,— "You are among friends, my lady; sleep quietly, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit." He made the sign of the cross, then, without raising his voice, lest he might frighten Danusia, he said to the woman of the Order,— "Thou wilt lie bound outside the door; but if thou make an outcry and frighten her I will break thy neck the next minute. Stand up, and go!" Leading her out of the hut he bound her, as he had promised, strongly, then he went to Zbyshko. "I gave command to dress the lady in the clothing which that lizard herself wore," said he. "The bed is spread and the lady is sleeping. Better not go in, lest she be frightened. God grant that she regain her mind to-morrow after sleep; and think now of food for yourself, and rest." "I will lie at the threshold of the hut," answered Zbyshko. "In that case I will take the woman aside to that corpse with the red hair; but you must eat, for there is a long road and no small toil before you." So saying he went to bring dried meat and dried turnips, which they had taken in Skirvoillo's camp for the road, but barely had he put a supply before Zbyshko when Matsko sent him to Arnold. "Find out carefully," said he, "what that mountain roller wants, for though I know some of their words I cannot understand this fellow." "I will bring him to the fire; then, lord, you may talk with him." And ungirding himself Hlava put his belt under Arnold's arms and drew him onto his back. He bent greatly under the weight of the giant, but being a strong fellow he bore him to the fire and threw him down like a bag of peas near Matsko. "Take the bonds from me," said the knight. "I may do so," answered Matsko, "through Hlava, if thou wilt swear by thy knightly honor to hold thyself a prisoner. And even without that I will command to take the sword from beneath thy knees and unbind thy arms so thou mayest sit near us, but I will not take the bonds from thy feet till we have bargained." And he beckoned to Hlava, who cut the ropes on the German's arms, and then helped him to sit upright. Arnold looked haughtily at Matsko and Zbyshko, and inquired,— "What sort of people are ye?" "How darest thou inquire? What is that to thee? Discover for thyself." "It is this to me, that I can swear on knightly honor only to knights." "Then look!" And Matsko, pushing aside his coat, showed the belt of a knight above his hips. At this Arnold was greatly astonished, and inquired only after a while,— "How is this? And still ye plunder people through the forest, and help pagans against Christians." "Thou liest!" exclaimed Matsko. And the conversation began thus, unfriendly, haughty, at moments like fighting. But when Matsko shouted angrily that it was the Order alone which prevented the baptism of Lithuania, and when he brought forward all the arguments, Arnold was astonished again, and stopped talking, for the truth became so evident that it was impossible not to see it, or to deny it. The German was struck specially by these words from Matsko, who made the sign of the cross as he uttered them,— "Who knows whom ye serve really,—if not all, then, some of you?" and he was struck because there was in the Order itself a suspicion that certain comturs rendered honor to Satan. No action was brought against them, lest infamy might result to all, but Arnold knew well that those reports were whispered among the Brothers, and that stories of that kind were current. Meanwhile Matsko, knowing Siegfried's strange deeds from what Sanderus had told, alarmed the simple-minded giant Arnold thoroughly. "And that Siegfried with whom thou wert marching to the war," said he. "Is he serving God and Christ? Hast thou never heard how he talks with evil spirits, how he whispers to them and laughs or gnashes his teeth in their company?" "It is true!" muttered Arnold. But Zbyshko, to whose heart sorrow and anger flowed in a new current, shouted suddenly,— "And thou art talking of knightly honor! Shame on thee, for thou hast helped a hangman and a hell-dweller! Shame on thee, for thou hast looked calmly at the torture of an unprotected woman, a knight's daughter, and perhaps thou hast tortured her thyself. Shame on thee!" Arnold stared and said, making the sign of the cross,— "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit! How is this? Do you speak of that possessed girl in whose head twenty-seven devils are living? I—?" "Woe! woe!" broke in Zbyshko with a hoarse voice. And seizing the hilt of his misericordia he looked again with a wild glance toward Siegfried, who was lying in the dark at some distance. Matsko put his hand on his nephew's arm quietly and squeezed it with all his might to restore thought to the young man, and turning toward Arnold, he said,— "That woman is the daughter of Yurand of Spyhov, and is the wife of this knight. Thou canst understand now why we tracked thee and thy company, and why thou hast become our prisoner." "In God's name!" said Arnold. "Whence? How? Her mind is disturbed!" "For the Knights of the Cross stole her away as they might steal an innocent lamb, and brought her by torture to that state." At the words "innocent lamb" Zbyshko brought his fist to his lips and pressed his knuckles against his teeth, while from his eyes great tears of irresistible pain dropped one after another. Arnold sat thoughtfully. Hlava told him in a few words of Danveld's treachery, the seizure of Danusia, the torture of Yurand, and the duel with Rotgier. When he had finished there was a silence unbroken save by the sound of the forest and the crackling of sparks in the camp-fire. They sat thus for some time, till at last Arnold raised his head. "I swear," said he, "not only on knightly honor, but on the cross of Christ, that I have hardly seen that woman, that I knew not who she was, and that I have moved no hand to torture her in any way, at any time." "Swear now that thou wilt go with us of thy own will, without trying to escape, and I will command to unbind thee altogether," said Matsko. "Let it be as thou sayest; I swear! Whither wilt thou take me?" "To Mazovia, to Yurand of Spyhov." Thus speaking, Matsko himself cut the ropes on Arnold's legs and pointed to the meat and the turnips. After a while Zbyshko rose and went to lie at the threshold of the hut, where he did not find the serving- worn an of the Order, for the attendants had taken her to their place among the horses. Zbyshko lay on a skin which Hlava brought him, and resolved to wait without sleep, hoping that daylight would bring a happy change to Danusia. Hlava returned to the fire, for something was weighing on his soul, which he wished to tell the old knight from Bogdanets. He found him sunk also in thought, paying no heed to the snoring of Arnold, who after his toil had eaten of meat and turnips immensely and was sleeping as soundly as a stone. "But are you awake?" inquired Hlava. "Sleep flies from my lids," answered Matsko. "God grant a good morrow." Then he looked toward the stars. "The Great Bear is in the sky, and I am thinking how all this will turn out." "I too have no thought of sleep, for the lady of Zgorzelitse is in my head." "Hei, true, a new trouble! She is in Spyhov, that is true." "Yes, in Spyhov. We took her from her home. Why did we take her?" "She herself wished to go," was the impatient answer of Matsko, who talked of this matter reluctantly, for in his soul he felt guilty. "True, but what now?" "Ah, what? I will take her home, and let the will of God be done; " but after a while he added: "Very well, let the will of God be done; if only Danusia were in health and like other people we should know at least what to do. But now, the devil knows! If she does not recover—and if she does not die— May the Lord Jesus incline either to this or to that side—" But Hlava at that moment was thinking of Yagenka. "You see, your Grace," said he, "when I left Spyhov and took farewell of the lady, she said: 'In case something happens, come hither thou before Zbyshko and Matsko; they must send some one with news, let them send thee, and thou wilt take me to Zgorzelitse.'" "Oh! it is true," answered Matsko, "that when Danusia comes it would be awkward for Yagenka in Spyhov. It is sure that she would need to go home immediately. I am sorry for the orphan, I am sorry, but, since the will of God did not favor, the position is difficult! How arrange this? Wait—thou sayest that she commanded thee to return before us with the news, and take her home?" "She commanded as I have told thee faithfully." "Well, then, thou mayest go before us. There is need also to tell Yurand that his daughter is found, so as not to kill the man with sudden joy. As God is dear to me there is nothing better to be done. Return; say that we have recovered Danusia and will come soon with her, and do thou take that poor girl and conduct her home." The old knight sighed. In truth he was sorry for Yagenka, and those plans which he had cherished in his soul. After a while he said,— "Thou art a man of wit, and thou art stalwart I know that, but wilt thou be able to guard her against wrong or accident? On the road the one or the other may happen." "I shall be able, even were I to lay down my head. I can take a number of good men whom the master of Spyhov will not begrudge me, and conduct her safely to the end of the earth were it needed." "Do not trust over much in thyself. Remember too that thou must have an eye on Vilk and Stan in Zgorzelitse—but I am not speaking to the point; we had need to watch them while there was another man in view, but as she has no hope now of Zbyshko she must marry some one." "Still I shall guard the lady even from those two knights, for Pan Zbyshko's wife, the poor thing, is barely breathing—she is just as if dead!" "True, as God is dear to me, the poor thing is barely living, she is as if dead." "We must leave that to the Lord God; and now let us think only of the lady." "In justice," said Matsko, "I ought to conduct her to her father's house. But the position is difficult. For various great reasons I cannot leave Zbyshko. Thou sawest how he gritted his teeth and rushed at that old comtur to stab him, as one would a wild boar. Should that girl die on the road, as thou sayest, I am not sure that even I could restrain him. Should I be absent nothing could hold him back, and infamy would fall on him and our whole family forever. God avert this, amen!" "There is a simple method," said Hlava. "Give me Siegfried. I will not lose him, and only in Spyhov will I shake him out of the bag before Pan Yurand." "God give thee health! Oh thou hast wit!" cried Matsko, delighted. "A simple thing! a simple thing! Take him, and if thou deliver him alive at Spyhov, do with him as thou choosest." "Give me also that Schytno bitch. If she does not resist on the road, I will take her also to Spyhov; should she resist I will hang her on a limb." "Terror might leave Danusia sooner, and she might come to her mind more quickly were she freed from the sight of those two. But if thou take her what are we to do without the help of a woman?" "You will surely meet people in the forest, or find fugitives with women. Take the first woman you come upon; any will be better than that wretch. Meanwhile Pan Zbyshko's care will suffice." "To-day thou art speaking with more wit than common. That too is true. She may come to herself more quickly when she sees Zbyshko always near her. He can be to her a father and a mother. Let it be so. When wilt thou start?" "I shall not wait for the dawn, but lie down now. It is not midnight yet, I think." "The Great Bear is still shining, but the triangle has not appeared." "Praise be to God that we have settled on something, for I was cruelly saddened." Hlava stretched then before the dying fire, covered himself with a shaggy skin, and was asleep in a moment. But the sky had not whitened in the least, and it was deep night when he woke, crawled forth from under the skin, looked at the stars, stretched his limbs, which were somewhat stiffened, and roused Matsko. "For me it is time to be off," said he. "But whither?" asked Matsko, half asleep, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "To Spyhov." "Oh, true? Who is this snoring beside us? He would wake a dead man." "Knight Arnold. I will throw limbs on the fire and go to the attendants." He went, but returned with a hurried step and called in a low voice from some distance,— "I have news, lord,—and bad news!" "What has happened?" cried Matsko, springing up. "The serving-woman has fled. The attendants took her to their place among the horses—may the thunderbolts split them!—when they fell asleep she slipped out, like a snake, from among them, and fled. Come, lord." Matsko was alarmed and moved quickly with Hlava toward the horses, but they found only one attendant; the others had rushed off in search of the fugitive. But that search was a stupid one, through darkness and among thickets; in fact, they returned soon with their heads down. Matsko belabored them with his fists, but without words; then he went back to the fire, for there was nothing else to do. Zbyshko came soon from his post of sentry at the hut door. Sleepless he had heard the tramping and wished to learn what the trouble was. Matsko told him of the arrangement with Hlava, then of the escape of the servingwoman. "That is no great misfortune," said he. "She will die of hunger in the forest, or be found by people who will beat her, unless wolves find her earlier. The one pity is that punishment in Spyhov has missed her." Zbyshko was sorry that punishment had missed her, but otherwise he received the news calmly. He did not oppose the departure of Hlava with Siegfried, for everything which did not touch Danusia directly was to him indifferent. He began at once to speak of her,— "I will take her to-morrow on the horse, in front of me, and we shall travel on in that way." "Is she sleeping?" inquired Matsko. "Sometimes she whines a little, but I cannot tell whether she is awake or asleep. I am afraid to go in, lest I frighten her." Further conversation was interrupted by Hlava, who, seeing Zbyshko, said,— "Oh, your Grace is up also? Well, it is time for me to go. The horses are ready, and the old devil is tied to the saddle. It will be dawn soon, for the nights are short at this season. God be with you, your Graces." "Go with God, and be well!" But Hlava drew Matsko aside, and said,— "I wished to make an earnest request of you. If something happens, some misfortune, or—what shall we call it?—hurry a man off directly to Spyhov, and if we have gone from there let him overtake us." "Very good," said Matsko, "I forgot to tell thee to take Yagenka to Plotsk. Go to the bishop there, tell him who she is, say that she is the goddaughter of the abbot, that he, the bishop, holds a will in her favor, and mention the guardianship over her, for that is in the will also." "But if the bishop commands us to remain in Plotsk?" "Obey him in all things, and do what he advises." "Thus will it be, lord. With God!" "With God!"
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