The Knights of the Cross/Volume 2/Chapter 80
|
CHAPTER LXXX. Father Bartosh of Klobuko had finished one mass, Yarosh, the parish priest of Kaliska, was soon to begin a second, and the king had gone out in front of the tent to straighten his knees wearied somewhat with kneeling, when a noble, Hanko Ostoichyk, rushed up on a foaming horse, like a whirlwind, and shouted before he sprang from the saddle,— "Germans! Gracious lord!—they are coming!" At these words the knights started, the king's face changed; he was silent during the twinkle of an eye, and then exclaimed,— "Praised be Jesus Christ! Where didst thou see them, and how many regiments?" "I saw one regiment at Grünwald," answered Hanko, with a panting voice;" but beyond the hill dust is moving, as if more were advancing." "Praised be Jesus Christ," repeated the king. Hereupon Vitold, to whose face the blood rushed at the first word from Hanko, and whose eyes began to burn like coals, turned to the courtiers, and cried,— "Defer the second mass! Bring a horse for me!" The king placed his hand on Vitold's shoulder, and said: "Go thou, brother, but I will remain and hear the second mass." Vitold and Zyndram sprang to their horses; but just at the moment when they turned toward the camp, Peter Oksha, a second scout, flew up shouting from a distance,— "The Germans! the Germans! I saw two regiments!" "To horse!!" called voices among the courtiers and the knights. But Peter had not ceased shouting, when again the clatter of horse-hoofs was heard, and a third scout rushed up, after him a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth. All had seen German regiments advancing in greater and greater numbers. There was no longer a doubt that the whole army of the Order would bar the road to the troops of Yagello. The knights scattered in a twinkle; each rushed to his own regiment. With the king at the chapel tent remained only a company of courtiers, priests, and attendants. At that moment a bell sounded, in sign that the parish priest of Kaliska was beginning the second mass, so Yagello, stretching out his arms, placed his hands together piously, and raising them toward heaven, entered the tent with deliberate step. When, after the second mass, the king went out again in front of the tent, he could convince himself with his own eyes that the scouts had spoken truly, for on the edges of the broad sloping plain something seemed black, as if a pine wood had grown up suddenly on the empty fields, while above that pine wood, colors played and changed in the sunlight, a rainbow of banners. Still more distant, far off beyond Grünwald and Tannenberg, a gigantic cloud of dust was rising toward the sky. The king took in at a glance that whole tremendous horizon, then turning to the reverend vice-chancellor Mikolai, he inquired,— "Who is the saint of to-day?" "This is the day of the sending of the Apostles," answered the vice-chancellor. The king sighed, and said in a sad, broken voice,— "So the day of the apostles will be the last in life, for the many thousands of Christians who will fall on this field." And he indicated with his hand the broad, empty plain in the middle of which, about half-way to Tannenberg, stood a group of oaks centuries old. Meanwhile, his horse was led up, and in the distance appeared sixty lancers whom Zyndram had sent to be the king's body-guard. This guard was led by Alexander, the youngest son of the Prince of Plotsk, a brother of that Ziemovit who, gifted with exceptional "wisdom in war," had sat in the military council. Next to Alexander in command was Zygmunt Korybut, a Lithuanian, and nephew of the monarch, a youth of great hopes and great destinies, but of restless spirit. Of the knights most famous were: Yasko Monjyk of Dombrova, a genuine giant, almost equal in bulk to Pashko, and in strength yielding but little to Zavisha Charny; Zolava, a Bohemian baron, small and slender, but of immense skill, famous at the courts of Bohemia and Hungary for duels, in which he had brought down between ten and twenty Austrian nobles; and Sokol, another Bohemian, an archer above archers; Beniash Verush of Great Poland, and Peter of Milan, and the Lithuanian boyar Senko of Pohost, whose father, Peter, led a Smolensk regiment; and Prince Fedushko, a relative of the king; Prince Yamont, and finally Polish knights "chosen from thousands;" these had all sworn to defend the king from every mishap of war, to the last drop of their blood. And immediately near the person of Yagello were the reverend vice-chancellor Mikolai, and the royal secretary Zbigniev of Olesnitsa, a young man of learning, skilled in letters and in writing, who at the same time surpassed in strength men of his years considerably. The king's weapons were cared for by three armor-bearers: Chaika of Novy Dvor, Mikolai of Moravitsa, and Danilko of Rus, who carried the king's bow and quiver. The suite was completed by some tens of attendants who, mounted on swift horses, were to rush to the armies with orders. The armor-bearers arrayed their lord in brilliant, glittering mail, then they led up to him a chestnut steed, also "chosen from thousands," which snorted, as a good omen, beneath its steel head-piece, and, filling the air with a neigh, reared somewhat, like a bird about to fly. The king, when he felt the steed under him and a spear in his hand, changed in a flash. Sadness vanished from his face, his small dark eyes glittered, and on his cheeks appeared a flush; but that was only during an instant, for when the reverend vice-chancellor began to make the sign of the cross on him he grew serious again and bent humbly his head, which was covered with a silvery helmet. Meanwhile the German army, descending gradually from the elevated plain, passed Grünwald, passed Tannenberg and halted at the middle of the plain in complete battle array. From below, from the Polish camp, that tremendous line of gigantic knights and horses enclosed in mail, was perfectly visible. In so far as was permitted by the wind which moved the banners, quick eyes distinguished accurately various designs embroidered on them, such as crosses, eagles, griffins, swords, helmets, lambs, bison and bear heads. Old Matsko and Zbyshko, who had warred previously with Knights of the Order and knew their troops and escutcheons, showed their Sieradz friends two regiments of the Master himself, in which served the very flower and choice of the knighthood, and the grand banner of the whole Order, which was carried by Friedrich von Wallenrod, and the banner of Saint George with a red cross on a white ground—and many other banners of the Order. But unknown to them were the standards of the various foreign guests, thousands of whom had come from every country in Europe: from Austria, Bavaria, Suabia, Switzerland, from Burgundy, famous for its knighthood, from rich Flanders, from sunny France,—whose knights, as Matsko had declared on a time, even if prostrate on the earth, would still utter words of bravery,—and from England beyond the sea, the birthplace of terrible archers whom Mazovian hunters alone could equal—and even from distant Spain, where amid ceaseless struggles with Saracens manhood and honor had flourished in a way to surpass all other countries. And the blood began to storm in the veins of those strong nobles from Sieradz, Konietspole, Kresnia, Bogdanets, Rogov, and Brozova, as well as from other Polish lands, at the thought that they would have soon to join battle with the Germans, and with all that brilliant knighthood of Europe. The faces of the older men grew stern and serious, for they knew how dreadful and merciless that work would be; while the hearts of the young men began to whine, just as hunting dogs whine when, held on a leash, they see the wild beast at a distance. So some of them, grasping more firmly in their hands lances, hilts of swords, and handles of axes, reined back their horses, as if to let them go at a dash; others breathed hurriedly, as if for them it had grown too narrow in their armor. But the more experienced warriors calmed the younger men by saying: "It will not miss you; there will be plenty for each—God grant that there be not too much." But the Knights of the Cross, looking from above at that forest plain, saw on the edge of the pine wood only a few Polish regiments, and they were not at all certain that the army with the king at the head of it was before them. It was true that on the left, at the lake, were visible also gray crowds of warriors, and in the bushes glittered something like lance-points, that is, light spears used by Lithuanians. That, however, might be only a considerable scouting party of Poles. Spies from captured Gilgenburg, a number of whom had been brought before the Master, were the first to declare that in front of him stood all the Polish-Lithuanian forces. But in vain did they speak of the strength of those forces. The Grand Master would not believe them, for from the beginning of that war he believed only what was favorable to him, and which augured inevitable victory. He sent out neither scouts nor spies, thinking that there must be a general battle in every case, and that the battle could end only in dreadful defeat for the enemy. Confident in a force such as no previous Grand Master had ever brought to the field he despised his opponent, and when the comtur of Gniev, who had made investigations himself, explained to him that Yagello's troops were more numerous than those of the Order, he answered: "What troops are they? With the Poles alone shall we have to struggle somewhat but the rest, even if greater in number, are the last of men, better at a spoon than a weapon." And, hastening with all his forces to the battle, he was flushed with great delight, for all at once he found himself face to face with the enemy. The purple of the grand banner of the kingdom, seen on the dark background of the forest, permitted no further doubt that before him the main army had its position. It was impossible, however, for the Germans to attack the Poles standing near the pine wood and in it, for the Knights of the Order were formidable only on the open field; they did not like battle in dense forests, and knew not how to fight in them. Therefore they assembled in brief council, at the side of the Grand Master, to determine how to entice the enemy out of the forest. "By Saint George!" exclaimed the Grand Master. "We have ridden ten miles without resting; the heat is oppressive and our bodies are covered with sweat beneath our armor. We shall not wait here till it please the enemy to come forth to meet us!" To this Count Wende, a man important through age and knowledge, replied,— "My words have been ridiculed here already, and ridiculed by those who, as God knows, will flee from this field on which I shall fall" (here he looked at Werner von Tetlingen), "but I shall say what my conscience commands as well as my love for the Order. The Poles lack not courage, but, as I know, the king is hoping till the last moment for messengers of peace." Werner von Tetlingen made no reply; he merely snorted with contemptuous laughter. Wende's words were not pleasing to the Grand Master, so he answered,— "Is it a time now to think of peace? We have to counsel about another affair." "There is time always for God's business," answered Von Wende. But Heinrich, the fierce comtur of Chluhov, who had sworn that he would have two naked swords borne before him till he could plunge both in Polish blood, turned his thick, sweating face to the Master and exclaimed in great anger,— "Death is dearer to me than infamy, and even were I alone, I should attack with these swords the whole Polish army!" Ulrich frowned somewhat. "Thou art speaking against discipline!" said he. Then he said to the comturs, "Take counsel only as to how we shall entice the enemy out of the forest." So different men gave different counsels, till finally Gersdof's plan pleased both the comturs and the foremost guests, namely: to despatch two heralds to the king with the announcement that the Grand Master sends two swords to him, and challenges the Poles to mortal combat; and if they have not field enough, he will withdraw somewhat with his army so as to yield proper space to them. The king was going just then from the edge of the lake to the left wing of the Polish regiments, where he had to belt a whole assembly of knights, when on a sudden he was informed that two heralds were coming from the army of the Order. Vladislav Yagello's heart beat with hope. "Now they are coming with a just peace!" "God grant!" said the priests. The king sent for Vitold, but he, occupied with marshalling his troops, could not go to Yagello. Meanwhile the heralds, without hurry, approached the camp. In the bright sunlight they were perfectly visible on immense war-horses covered with housings; one of the men had on his shield the black eagle of the Cæsar on a golden ground, the other, who was a herald of the Prince of Stettin, had a griffin on a white ground. The ranks opened in front of them; they dismounted and stood for a while before the king, and then kneeling, but not to show honor, accomplished their mission. "The Grand Master Ulrich," said the first herald, "challenges thy majesty, O lord, and Prince Vitold to mortal battle, and to rouse the bravery which evidently is lacking you, he sends these two naked swords." When he had said this he placed the swords at the king's feet. Yasko Monjyk of Dombrova interpreted these words, but barely had he finished, when the second herald pushed forth and spoke thus,— "The Grand Master Ulrich has commanded to inform you also, lord, that if the field for battle is too narrow he will withdraw his troops somewhat so that you should not remain idle in the forest." Yasko again interpreted his words, and silence followed. But in the king's suite the knights gritted their teeth in secret at such insolence and insults. Yagello's last hopes were dissipated like smoke. He had waited for an embassy of peace and concord; an embassy of pride and war had come. He raised his tearful eyes, and answered,— "We have swords in abundance, but I accept these as a presage of victory which God himself sends into my hands through you. And the field of battle will be determined also by Him, to whose justice I turn now and make complaint of the wrongs done my people, and of your pride and injustice." Two great tears flowed down his sunburnt cheeks. Meanwhile the voices of the knights in the suite were heard saying,— "The Germans are withdrawing. They are giving the field!" The heralds rode away, and after a while they were seen again advancing up the hill on their immense horses, and seemed brilliant in the sunlight from silk which they wore above their armor. The Polish armies advanced somewhat from the forest and thickets in regular order. In front marched the body which was called "the forehead," formed of the most formidable knights; behind them the "main body," and after the main body infantry and mercenaries. In that way was formed between the bodies two long streets through which Zyndram and Vitold were flying; the latter, without a helmet on his head, in splendid armor, was like a flame driven forward by the wind. The knights took deep breaths into their breasts and fixed themselves firmly in their saddles. The battle was to begin right there. The Grand Master was looking meanwhile at the king's army which had come out of the forest. He looked long at the immensity of it, at the wings spread out like those of an enormous bird, at the banners moved by the wind, and suddenly the heart was pressed in him by some terrible, unknown feeling. It may be that he saw with the eyes of his soul piles of corpses and rivers of blood. He had no fear of man, but perhaps he feared God, who up there in the heights of heaven was holding the scales of victory. For the first time it came to his mind what a ghastly day that would be, and for the first time he felt the responsibility which he had taken on his shoulders. His face grew pale, his lips quivered, and from his eyes came abundant tears. The comturs glanced at their leader with amazement. "What is troubling thee, lord?" inquired Count Wende. "Indeed this is a fitting time for tears!" said the fierce Heinrich, comtur of Chluhov. The grand comtur, Kuno Lichtenstein, pouted, and said,— "I censure this openly, Master, for now it becomes thee to rouse the hearts of the knights, and not weaken them. In truth we have never seen thee thus up to this moment." But in spite of all efforts tears flowed to the Grand Master's black beard, as if some other person were weeping within him. At last, however, he controlled himself somewhat, and turning stern eyes on the comturs he commanded,— "To the regiments!" They sprang each man to his own regiment, for the Master had uttered his words with great power; and stretching his hand to the armor-bearer, he said,— "Give me the helmet!" Men's hearts in both armies were beating like hammers, but the trumpets had not given the call yet for battle. A moment of expectation had come, which was more grievous perhaps than battle itself. On the field, between the Germans and the army of the king, there towered up, on the side toward Tannenberg, a group of oaks, centuries old, on to which peasants of the neighborhood had climbed, so as to gaze at the struggle of those armies more gigantic than the world had seen within time to be remembered. But apart from this one group of trees the whole field was vacant, gray, ghastly, resembling a lifeless steppe. Nothing moved on it but the wind, while above it death was hovering in silence. The eyes of the knights turned in spite of them to that ominous and silent plain. Clouds which rushed over the sky hid the sun at intervals, and the gloom of death settled down in those moments. A whirlwind rose up now. It roared through the forest tearing thousands of leaves away; it rushed into the field, seized dry grass-blades, whirled clouds of dust upward, and bore them into the eyes of the Knights of the Order. At that very moment the air quivered from the shrill sound of horns, crooked trumpets, whistles; and the entire Lithuanian wing rose like a countless flock of birds when ready to fly. They started, as was their custom, at a gallop. The horses, stretching their necks and dropping their ears, tore forward with all the strength that was in them; the riders flew on with a terrible shout, raising their swords and lances, against the left wing of the Knights of the Order. The Grand Master was there just at that moment. His emotion had passed, and from his eyes sparks issued now instead of tears. Seeing the hurrying legions of Lithuania, he turned to Friedrich Wallenrod, who led the left wing of the Order, and said,— "Vitold has attacked first. Begin you—in the name of God!" And with a movement of his right hand he sent forward fourteen regiments of the Knights encased from head to foot in iron. "Gott mit uns (God with us)!" cried Wallenrod. The regiments, lowering their lances, began to advance at a walk. Then, precisely like a rock pushed from a mountain side which falls and gains ever increasing impetus, they from a walk passed to a trot, and then to a gallop, and rushed forward irresistible, like an avalanche which must rub out and crush everything in front of it. The earth groaned and bent under them. The battle might extend any moment and flame up along the whole line, hence the Polish regiments began to sing the ancient war hymn of Saint Voytseh. A hundred thousand heads covered with iron, and a hundred thousand pairs of eyes were upraised, and from a hundred thousand breasts came forth one gigantic voice which was like the thunder of heaven,— "Mother of God, Virgin, And there was such an immense, such a tremendous and conquering force in those voices and in that hymn, as if indeed the thunders of heaven had begun to tear themselves free. Spears quivered in the hands of the knights, banners and flags quivered, the air quivered, tree branches quivered in the forest, and the echoes roused in the pine wood began to answer in the depths, to call, and, as it were, to repeat to the lakes, to the fields, to the whole land in the length and the breadth of it,— "Obtain for us—pardon of sins! And they sang on, "This is the holy time The echo repeated in answer, "Kyrie Eleiso-o-o-on!" Meanwhile, on the right wing a stubborn battle had commenced, and it moved more and more toward the centre. The uproar, the squealing of horses, the terrible shouts of men were mingled with the hymn. But at moments the shouts ceased, as if breath failed the combatants, and during one of those intervals it was possible once more to distinguish those thundering voices,— "Adam, thou God's assistant, And again the echo "Kyrie eleiso-o-on!" rushed through the pine wood. The shouts on the right wing increased, but no one could see or distinguish what was taking place there, for the Grand Master Ulrich, looking from above at the battle, hurled on the Poles in that moment twenty regiments under the lead of Kuno Lichtenstein. Zyndram rushed like a thunderbolt to the Polish head legion, in which the very foremost knights were, and pointing with his sword to the approaching host of Germans, he cried so piercingly that the horses in the first rank rose on their haunches,— "At them!—Strike!" Then the knights, bending forward over the shoulders of their horses, and pointing their spears out in front of them, started. The Lithuanians bent beneath the terrible onrush of the Germans. The first ranks, formed of the best armed and richest boyars, fell to the ground as flat as a bridge. The following ones closed in rage with the Knights of the Order; but no bravery, no endurance, no human power could save them from defeat and destruction. And how could it be otherwise, since on one side fought a knighthood completely enclosed in armor, and on horses protected also with armor; on the other, large men, it is true, and strong, but on small horses, and protected themselves by skins only? In vain, therefore, did the stubborn Lithuanians seek to reach the skin of the Germans. Spears, sabres, lance-points, clubs set with flint or nails rebounded from the metallic "plates" as they would from a cliff, or the wall of a castle. The weight of the German warriors and horses crushed Vitold's unfortunate legions; they were cut by swords and axes, their bones were pierced and crushed by halberds, they were trampled by horse-hoofs. Prince Vitold hurled vainly into those jaws of death new legions; vain was persistence, useless was rage, fruitless contempt of death, and rivers of blood were unavailing! The Tartars fled first, then the Bessarabians with Wallachians; and soon the Lithuanian wall burst, and wild panic seized all the warriors. The greater part of the Lithuanian troops fled in the direction of Lake Luben, and after them chased the main German forces, making such a terrible harvest that the whole shore was covered with corpses. Meanwhile the second and smaller part, in which were three regiments of Smolensk, withdrew toward the Polish wing pressed by six German regiments, and later by those also who returned from pursuing. But the men of Smolensk, better armed, gave more effective resistance. The battle here turned into a slaughter. Every step, almost every hand's breadth of land was bought with torrents of blood. One of the Smolensk regiments was almost cut to pieces, but two others defended themselves with desperation and rage, resembling that of a wild boar when attacked by a company of bears. Nothing, however, could stop the irrepressible Germans. Some of their regiments were seized by the frenzy of battle. Single knights, spurring their rearing steeds, rushed on at random with upraised axe or sword into the densest throng of the enemy. The blows of their swords and axes were almost preterhuman; the whole body, thrusting, trampling, and crushing horses and riders of the Smolensk regiments, came at last to th flank of the main forehead, and main Polish legion, for two regiments during more than an hour had struggled with the Germans led by Kuno Lichtenstein. The task was not so easy for the Knights of the Order in that spot, since there was equality of arms and horses, and similar knightly training. So the Polish "wood" even stopped the Germans and pushed them back, especially when three terrible regiments struck them: the Cracow, the light horse, under Yendrek of Brohotsitse, and the household regiment, which was led by Povala of Tachev. But the battle raged with the greatest din when, after the spears had been broken, men took to swords and axes. Shield struck shield then, man struggled with man, horses fell, banners were hurled to the earth; under the blows of hammers and axes, helmets, shoulder-pieces and breastplates burst, iron was covered with blood, heroes dropped from their saddles as pines fall when their trunks are chopped through. Those Knights of the Cross who at Vilno had been in battles with the Poles, knew how "unbending" and "persistent" a people they were, but new men and guests from abroad were seized at once with amazement akin to terror. Many a knight reined in his steed without thinking, looked ahead with doubt, and before he could decide what to do he had perished. And just as hail falls unsparingly from bronze-colored clouds on to wheat fields, so thickly did merciless blows fall, swords struck, axes struck—they struck without halt, without pity; they sounded like iron plates in a forge; death extinguished lives as a whirlwind puts out tapers; groans were wrested from breasts, eyes were quenched, and the whitened faces of youth sank into endless night. Upward flew sparks struck out by iron, fragments of lance-handles, shreds of flags, ostrich and peacock plumes. Horsehoofs slipped on bloody armor lying on the ground, and on bodies of horses. Whoso fell wounded was mashed by horseshoes. But of the foremost Polish knights no one had fallen thus far, and they advanced in a throng and an uproar, shouting the names of their patrons, or the war cry of their families. They went as fire sweeps along a parched steppe, fire which devours grass and bushes. The foremost, Lis of Targovisko seized the comtur of Osterode, Gamrat, who, losing his shield, wound his white mantle around his arm and shielded himself from blows with it. But Lis cut through the mantle and the armor and crushed the German shoulder-blade with a thrust; he pierced the comtur's stomach, and his sword-point gritted against the man's spinal column. The people of Osterode screamed with fear on seeing the death of their leader, but Lis rushed in among them as an eagle among cranes, and when Stashko and Domarat hurried to help him, the three together shelled lives out dreadfully, just as bears shell pods after entering a field in which green peas are growing. There Pashko killed a brother of the Order, Kune Adelsbach; Kune, when he saw the giant before him, grasping a gory axe on which were blood and matted hair, was terrified in heart and wished to yield himself captive; but to his destruction Pashko did not hear in the din, and rising in his stirrups split the man's head with its steel helmet as one might cut an apple. Immediately afterward he quenched Loch of Mexlenburg and Klingenstein, and the Swabian Helmsdorf of a great countly family, and Limpach of Mayence, and Nachtervits also from Mayence, till at last the Germans began to retreat before him to the left and the right in terror; but he struck at them as at a tottering wall, and every moment it was seen how he rose in his saddle for a blow, then were visible the gleam of his axe and a German helmet going down between horses. There also was the powerful Yendrek of Brohotsitse, who, when he had broken his sword on the head of a Knight who had an owl's face on his shield, and a visor in the form of an owl's head, seized him by the arm, crushed him, and snatching the man's sword, took his life from him with it immediately. He also seized the young Knight Dünnheim, whom, seeing without a helmet, he had not the heart to kill; being almost a child, Dünnheim looked at him with the eyes of a child. Yendrek threw him, therefore, to his attendants, not thinking that he had taken a son-in-law, for that young knight afterward married his daughter and remained thenceforth in Poland. Now the Germans pressed on with rage, wishing to rescue young Dünnheim, who came of a wealthy family of counts on the Rhine, but the knights before the banner, Sumik and two brothers from Plomykov, and Dobko Okwia, and Zyh Pykna, pushed them back, as a lion pushes back a bull, and pressed them toward the banner of Saint George, spreading destruction and ruin among them. With the knightly guests fought the royal household regiment, which was led by Tsiolek of Zelihov. There Povala of Tachev overturned men and horses with his preterhuman strength, and crushed steel helmets as if they had been eggshells. He struck a whole crowd alone; and with him went Leshko of Goray, also another Povala, of Vyhuch, and Mstislav of Skrynev, and two Bohemians, Sokol and Zbislavek. Long did the struggle last here, for three German regiments fell on that single one; but when Yasko of Tarnov came with the 27th regiment to assist, the forces were more or less equal, and the Germans were driven back almost half the shot of a crossbow from the point where the first encounter had happened. But they were hurled still farther by the great Cracow regiment, which Zyndram himself brought, and at the head of which among the men before the banner went the most formidable of all Poles, Zavisha Charny. At his side fought his brother Farurey, and Florian Yelitchyk, and Skarbek. Under the terrible hand of Zavisha valiant men perished, as if in that black armor death were advancing in person to meet them. He fought with frowning brow and distended nostrils, calm, attentive, as if performing some ordinary labor; at times he moved his shield slightly, warded off blows, but at each flash of his sword the terrible cry of a stricken man gave answer, while he did not even look around, but advanced, toiling forward, like a black cloud out of which from moment to moment a lightning flash crashes. The regiment of Poznan, having for its ensign a crownless eagle, fought also for life and death, while the archbishop's regiment and the three Mazovian regiments advanced with it in rivalry. But all the others too surpassed one another in venom and in valor. In the Sieradz regiment Zbyshko of Bogdanets rushed like a raging wild boar into the thickest of the throng; at his side went old Matsko, terrible, fighting with judgment, as a wolf fights which bites to kill and not otherwise. Matsko sought Kuno Lichtenstein with his eyes on all sides, but, unable to see him in the throng, he selected others, those who wore the richest armor, and he hewed persistently. Not far from the two knights of Bogdanets the ominous Stan of Rogov fought wildly. At the first encounter his helmet was broken; so he fought bareheaded, terrifying the Germans with his hairy and bloody face which seemed not human, but the face of some monster of the forest which they saw before them. But hundreds and then thousands of knights, on both sides, covered the earth—till at last, under the blows of raging Poles, the battered German wall began to totter; then something happened capable of changing the fate of the whole battle in one moment. Returning from the pursuit of the Lithuanians, heated and intoxicated with victory, the German regiments saw before them the flank of the Polish wing. Judging that all the king's armies were beaten and the battle won decisively, they were returning in great unordered crowds, with shouting and singing, when they beheld all at once in front of them a savage slaughter, and the Poles, almost victorious, surrounding the German legions. So these Knights of the Order, lowering their heads, looked with astonishment through the openings of their visors at what was happening, and then where each one stood he thrust spurs into his horse's flanks and rushed into the whirl of battle. And so throng followed throng, till soon thousands hurled themselves at the Polish regiments now wearied with battle. The Germans shouted with delight when they saw approaching aid, and began to strike at the Poles with new ardor. A desperate battle seethed up throughout the whole line; torrents of blood flowed along the earth; the sky grew cloudy and dull thunder rolls were heard, as if God himself wished to interfere between the combatants. But the victory was inclining toward the Germans. Disorder was just beginning in the Polish body; the legions of the Knights of the Order were growing frenzied, and had begun in one voice to sing the hymn of triumph,— "Christ ist erstanden! (Christ has arisen!)" But just then something still more tremendous took place. One of the Knights of the Order while lying on the ground opened with a knife the belly of the horse ridden by Martsin of Vrotsimovitse, who bore the grand banner of Cracow, a crowned eagle, which was sacred for all the king's armies. Steed and rider went down on a sudden; with them the banner tottered and fell. In one moment hundreds of arms were stretched out to grasp the banner. From all German breasts a roar of delight burst forth. It seemed to them that the end had come, that terror and panic would seize the Poles straightway, that the hour of defeat, death, and slaughter was at hand, that they would have merely to hunt and cut down the fugitives. But just there a bloody deception was in wait for them. The Polish armies shouted as one man, in desperation at sight of the falling banner, but in that shout, and in that desperation there was no fear, only rage. One might have said that living fire had fallen on their armor; the most formidable men of both armies, not thinking of rank, without order, each from where he stood, rushed to one spot like raging lions. That was not a battle now around the banner, but a storm let loose. Warriors and horses were packed into one monstrous whirl, and in that whirl men's arms moved like whips, swords clanked, axes bit, steel gritted against steel; there was a groaning, there were wild cries from men whom others were slaughtering. All these sounds were mingled in one ghastly roar which was as terrifying as if the damned had torn free on a sudden from the abyss of hell. Dust rose and out of it rushed, blinded from terror, riderless horses with bloodshot eyes and manes scattered wildly. But this lasted only a brief time. Not one German came out of that tempest. After a while the rescued banner waved again over the Polish legions. The wind stirred it, unfurled it, and it bloomed forth in splendor, like a gigantic flower,— a sign of hope, a sign of God's wrath against Germans,—and of victory for the knights of Poland. The whole army greeted the banner with a shout of triumph; and they fell upon the Germans with such rage as if every regiment had come with double strength and twice as many warriors. Now the Germans were attacked without mercy, without rest, without even such an interval as is needed to draw a single breath. They were pressed on all sides, cut unsparingly with blows of swords, scythes, axes, and maces; they began to totter and—withdraw. Here and there were heard voices calling for quarter. Here or there fell out of action some foreign knight with face white from fear and astonishment, and he fled in frenzy whithersoever he was borne by his no less terrified steed. The majority of the white mantles, which brothers of the Order wore over their armor, were lying now on the field of battle. Grievous alarm seized the hearts of the leaders of the Order, for they understood that their only salvation was in the Grand Master, who up to that time stood ready at the head of sixteen reserve regiments. He, looking from above on the battle, understood also that the moment had come, and he moved his iron legions as a storm moves heavy waves, which bring ruin to ships on the sea. But still earlier, on a raging steed appeared Zyndram before the third Polish line, which had not taken part yet in the conflict. Zyndram watched over everything and was mindful of the course of the battle. There, among the Polish infantry, were some companies of heavy Bohemian infantry. One of these had hesitated earlier before the engagement, but repentant in season it remained on the field, and, rejecting its leader, was flaming now with desire for battle, so as to redeem with its valor a moment of weakness. The main power, however, was made up of Polish regiments composed of cavalry, but unarmored, poor landholders, and of infantry from towns, and, more numerous than others, free land-tillers armed with pikes, heavy lances, and scythes point downward. "Make ready! Make ready!!" shouted Zyndram, in his tremendous voice, as he flew along the ranks with lightning swiftness. "Make ready!!" repeated the inferior leaders. Understanding that the hour had come to them these men rested the handles of their spears, flails, and scythes on the ground, and making the sign of the holy cross they fell to spitting on their immense and toil-marked hands. And that ominous spitting was heard through the whole line; then each man seized his weapon, and drew breath. At that moment an attendant rushed up to Zyndram with a command from the king, and with panting voice whispered something in his ear. But Zyndram, turning to the infantry, waved his sword, and shouted,— "Forward!" "Forward!!" was shouted by the leaders. "Advance! On the dog brothers! At them!!" They moved. To go with even steps and not break ranks they all began to repeat at once,— "Hail—Ma—ry—full—of—gra—ce—the Lord—is—with—thee!!" And they advanced like an inundation. The mercenary regiments advanced, the town infantry, the free land-tillers from Little and Great Poland, and the Silesians who before the war had taken refuge in the kingdom, and the Mazovians who had fled from the Knights of the Order. The whole field glittered and gleamed from their scythes, pikes, and lances. At last they arrived. "Strike!" shouted the leaders. "Uch!" Each man grunted as a strong woodcutter grunts when he strikes the first blow with his axe, and they began with all the strength that they had, and all the breath that was in them. The uproar and shouts reached the sky. The king, who from a height had followed the whole battle, continued to send messengers in every direction. He had grown hoarse from giving orders, and, seeing at last that all the troops were engaged, he began himself to be eager for conflict. His attendants would not permit this, out of fear for the sacred person of their sovereign. Polava seized the horse's bridle, and though the king struck him with a lance on the hand he did not let go. Others stopped the way, begging, imploring, and representing that he could not change the battle by taking part in it. But all at once the greatest danger hung over the king and his whole retinue. The Grand Master, following the example of those who had returned after the dispersal of the Lithuanians, and wishing also to attack the Polish flank, advanced in the arc of a circle; in consequence of this his sixteen chosen regiments had to pass very near the eminence on which stood the king, Vladislav Yagello. The danger was noted, but there was no time to withdraw. They merely furled the royal banner, and at the same time the king's secretary, Zbigniev of Olesnitsa, rushed with all speed on horseback to a neighboring regiment which was just making ready for the oncoming enemy, and which was led by the knight Mikolai Kielbasa. "The king is in danger! To the rescue!" cried Zbigniev. But Kielbasa, having lost his helmet, pulled away from his head a piece of cloth wet with blood and sweat, and showing it to the messenger shouted in terrible anger,— "Look if we are idle here! Madman! Dost thou not see that that cloud is sweeping down on us, and we should merely lead it to the king were we to leave this place? Be off, or I shall put a sword through thee!" And unmindful of the man with whom he was speaking, panting, borne away with anger, he aimed really at Zbigniev, who, seeing with whom he had to deal, and what was more, that the old warrior was right, raced back to the king and repeated what he had heard. Hence the royal suite pushed forward in close rank to protect the sovereign with their breasts. This time, however, the king permitted no one to restrain him, he stood in the first rank. But barely had they taken their places when the German regiments were so near that the escutcheons on their shields could be distinguished perfectly. The sight of these regiments was indeed sufficient to fill the most daring hearts with a quiver, for that was the very flower and pick of the knighthood. Arrayed in brilliant armor, on horses as immense as bisons, not wearied by battle, in which they had taken no part up to that hour, they advanced like a hurricane, with a thundering of horse-hoofs, with a roaring, with a rustling of flags and banners, and the Grand Master himself flew before them in a broad white mantle, which, spread out by the wind, looked like the giant wings of an eagle. The Grand Master had passed the king's retinue and was rushing to the main battle, for what did a handful of knights standing at one side signify to his mind? He did not suspect that the king was among them, and did not recognize him. But from one of the regiments sprang forth a gigantic German, and whether it was that he recognized Yagello, or was enticed by silvery armor, or wished to show his knightly valor, he bent his head forward, levelled his spear, and rushed directly at Yagello. The king put spurs to his horse and before his suite could detain him he had sprung toward the German. And they would have met without fail in mortal combat had it not been for that same Zbigniev, the youthful secretary of the king, who was skilled in the knightly calling as well as in Latin. He, having a piece of a lance in his hand, rode against the German from one side, and striking him on the head with it crushed his helmet and brought him to the earth. That moment the king struck the man with a sword on the naked forehead and killed him. Thus perished a famous German knight, Dippold von Köckeritz. Prince Yamont seized the horse, and the German knight lay, mortally stricken, in his white mantle above his steel armor, and with a gilded girdle. The eyes turned in his head, but his feet dug the earth for some time yet, till death, the greatest pacifier of mankind, covered his head with night and put him to rest forever. Knights from that same regiment of Helmno wished to avenge the death of their comrade, but the Grand Master, shouting, "Herum! herum!" barred the way, and hurried them on to where the fate of that bloody day was to be decided, that is, to the main battle. And again something wonderful happened. Mikolai Kielbasa, who was nearest the field, recognized the enemy, it is true, but in the dust, the other Polish regiments did not recognize them, and thinking them Lithuanians returning to the battle, did not hasten to meet them. Dobko of Olesnitsa was the first to spring out before the oncoming Grand Master, and recognized him by his mantle, his shield and the great gold reliquary, which he wore on his breast outside the armor. But the Polish knight dared not strike the reliquary with his lance, though he surpassed the Grand Master in strength immensely; Ulrich, therefore, threw up the knight's spear-point, wounded his horse somewhat, then the two, passing each other, described a circle, and each went to his own people. "Germans! The Grand Master himself!" shouted Dobko. When they heard this the Polish regiments rushed with the greatest impetus toward the enemy. Mikolai Kielbasa was the first to strike them with his regiment, and again raged the battle. But whether it was that the knights from the province of Helmno, among whom there were many of Polish blood, did not strike earnestly, or that nothing could restrain the rage of the Poles, it suffices that this new attack did not produce the effect which the Grand Master had looked for. It had seemed to him that his would be the finishing blow to the power of Yagello; meanwhile he saw soon that it was the Poles who were pushing, advancing, beating down, cleaving, taking, as it were, in iron vices his legions, while his knights were rather defending themselves than advancing. In vain did he urge them with his voice, in vain did he push them with his sword to the battle. They defended themselves, it is true, and defended themselves mightily, but there was not in them either that sweep or that fire which victorious armies bear with them, and with which Polish hearts were inflamed. In battered armor, in blood, in wounds, with dinted weapons, their voices gone from their breasts, the Polish knights rushed on irresistibly to the densest throng of the Germans, as wolves rush at flocks of sheep; and the Germans began to restrain their horses, then to look around behind, as if wishing to learn whether those iron vices were not surrounding them more and more terribly, and they drew back slowly, but continually, as if desiring to withdraw unobserved from the murderous enclosure. But now from the direction of the forest new shouts sounded suddenly. This was Zyndram, who had led out and sent the country people to battle. Soon was heard the biting of scythes on iron and the hammering of flails on armor; bodies began to fall more and more densely; blood flowed in a stream on the trampled earth; and the battle became like one immense flame, for the Germans, seeing salvation only in the sword, defended themselves desperately. And both sides fought in that way, uncertain of success, till huge clouds of dust rose all at once on the right flank of the king's army. "The Lithuanians are returning!" roared Polish voices in gladness. They had divined the truth. The Lithuanians, whom it was easier to disperse than to conquer, were returning, and, with an unearthly uproar, they rushed, like a whirlwind, on their swift horses to the conflict. Then some comturs, and at the head of them Werner von Tetlingen, raced up to the Grand Master. "Save thyself, lord!" cried the comtur of Elblang, with pallid lips. "Save thyself and the Order, before their circle encloses us!" But the knightly Ulrich looked on him gloomily, and waving his hand toward heaven, he cried,— "May God not permit me to leave this field on which so many brave men have fallen! May God not permit me!" And, shouting to his men to follow, he hurled himself into the density of the battle. Meanwhile the Lithuanians had rushed up, and such a chaos and such a seething began that in it the eye of man could distinguish nothing. The Grand Master was struck in the mouth by the point of a Lithuanian lance and twice wounded in the face. He warded off blows for a time with his failing right hand, but thrust finally with a spear in the neck he fell to the earth, like an oak tree. A crowd of warriors dressed in skins covered him completely. Werner von Tetlingen with some regiments fled from the field of battle, but an iron ring closed around all the remaining regiments, a ring formed of Yagello's warriors. The battle turned into a slaughter, and the defeat of the Knights of the Cross was so exceptional in all human history that few have happened which we might compare with it. Never in Christian times, from the days that Romans struggled with Goths, or with Attila, and Charles Martel with the Arabs, did armies fight with each other so mightily. But now, like reaped grain, one of the two forces lay on the field for the greater part. Those regiments which the Grand Master had led last to the battle surrendered. The Helmno men planted their flags on the ground. Other Knights sprang from their horses, in sign that they were willing to go into captivity, and knelt on the blood-covered earth. The entire regiment of Saint George, in which foreign guests served, surrendered also, with the Knight leading it. But the battle continued yet, for many regiments of the Order chose to die rather than beg for captivity or quarter. The Germans fought then, according to their military custom, in an immense ring and defended themselves as wild boars do when wolves have surrounded them. The Polish-Lithuanian circle enclosed that ring, as a serpent encloses the body of a bull, and became narrower and narrower. Again arms thrashed, flails thundered, scythes bit, swords cut, spears pierced, and axes hewed. The Germans were cut down as a forest is cut and they died in silence, gloomy, immense, unterrified. Some raising their visors, took farewell of comrades, giving one to another the last kiss before death; some hurled themselves blindly into the seething battle, as if seized by insanity, others struggled as in a dream; in cases they killed each other, one thrusting his misericordia into the throat of another, or one opened his breast to a comrade with the prayer, "Stab!" The rage of the Poles soon broke the great circle into a number of smaller groups, and then again it was easier for single Knights to escape. But in general those separate groups fought with rage and despair. There were few at that stage who knelt down begging for quarter, and when the terrible onset of the Poles dispersed the smaller groups also, even single Knights would not yield themselves alive to the victors. That was for the Order and all Western knighthood, a day of the greatest disaster, but also of the greatest glory. Under the gigantic Arnold von Baden, who was surrounded by country infantry, a rampart of Polish bodies had been piled up, while he, mighty and invincible, stood above it, as stands a boundary pillar on an eminence, at last Zavisha Charny himself came to him; but seeing the knight without a horse, and not wishing to attack him from behind contrary to knightly usage, he sprang off his horse and called to him from a distance. "Turn thy head, German, and surrender, or meet me." Arnold turned and recognizing Zavisha by his black armor, and his shield, said in his gloomy soul,— "Death is present, and my hour has come, for no one can escape that man alive. But if I could conquer him I should win immortal glory, and save my life perhaps." Then he sprang toward him and they struggled like two tempests on that ground covered with corpses. But Zavisha surpassed all men in strength so tremendously that unfortunate were the parents to whose children it happened to meet him in battle. In fact Arnold's shield, forged in Malborg burst, his steel helmet cracked like an earthen pot, and the giant fell with his head split in two. Heinrich, the comtur of Chluhov, that most inveterate enemy of the Polish race, who had sworn that he would have two swords borne in front of him till he plunged both in Polish blood, was rushing from the field stealthily, as a fox slips away when surrounded by a legion of hunters, when Zbyshko of Bogdanets barred the road to him. "Erbarme dich meiner! (Have pity on me!)," cried the comtur, when he saw the sword above his head, and he clasped his hands in terror. The young knight, hearing this, was unable indeed, to withhold his hand and the blow, but he was able to turn his sword and strike only with the side of it, the fat and sweating face of the comtur. He pushed the man then to his attendant, who tied a rope around his neck and took him, like an ox, to the place whither they conducted all captive Knights of the Order. Old Matsko searched the bloody field for Kuno Lichtenstein, and the fate of that day, for the Poles lucky in everything, gave the man into his hands finally. A handful of Knights of the Cross, fleeing from the dreadful defeat, had secreted themselves in the forest. The sunlight reflected from their armor betrayed their presence to pursuers. All fell on their knees and surrendered immediately, but Matsko, learning that the grand comtur of the Order was among the prisoners, commanded Lichtenstein to stand before him, and removing the helmet from his own head, he inquired,— "Kuno Lichtenstein, dost thou know me?" Wrinkling his brows, and fixing his eyes on the face of the old knight, he replied after a while,— "I saw thee in Plotsk, at the court." "Not there." answered Matsko; "thou didst see me before that! Thou didst see me in Cracow, when I begged thee for the life of my nephew, who, for an inconsiderate attack on thee was condemned to loss of life. At that time I made a vow to God, and swore on my knightly honor, that I would find thee and meet thee in mortal combat." "I know," answered Lichtenstein, and he pouted his lips haughtily, though immediately afterward he grew very pale. "But now I am thy prisoner, and thou wouldst disgrace thyself wert thou to raise a sword on me." At this, Matsko's face contracted ominously, and it became, as was usual on such occasions, exactly like a wolf's face. "Kuno Lichtenstein," said he, "I will not raise a sword on a disarmed man, but I tell thee this: If thou refuse me battle, I will command to hang thee with a rope, like a dog." "I have no choice. Come out!" cried the grand comtur. "To the death, not to captivity," forewarned Matsko. "To the death!" And after a while, they fought in presence of the German and Polish knights. Kuno was younger and more adroit, but Matsko surpassed so much in strength of arms and legs his opponent that in the twinkle of an eye, he brought him to the ground, and pressed his breast with his knee. The comtur's eyes turned in his head with terror. "Spare!" groaned he, throwing out foam and saliva from his lips. "No!" answered the implacable Matsko. And putting the misericordia to the neck of his opponent, he thrust it in twice. Kuno coughed dreadfully; a wave of blood burst through his lips, death quivers shook his body, then he stretched and the great pacifier of knights put him to rest forever. The battle became now a pursuit and a slaughter. Whoso would not surrender perished. There were many battles and conflicts in the world during those centuries, but no man remembered a defeat so dreadful. Before the king had fallen, not only the Order of the Cross, but all the Germans who as the most brilliant knighthood assisted that "Teutonic vanguard," which was eating more and more deeply into the Slav body. Of about seven hundred "white mantles," who as leaders went before that Germanic deluge, there remained barely fifteen. More than forty thousand bodies (of the Knights of the Cross and guests) lay on that blood-stained field in endless sleep. The various banners which as late as midday waved over that immense army of the Order had all fallen into the bloody and victorious hands of the Poles, not a single banner was saved; and now the Polish and Lithuanian knights threw them down at the feet of Yagello, who, raising his pious eyes heavenward, repeated with emotion,— "O God! thou hast wished this!" The foremost captives were presented to his Majesty. Abdank Skarbek brought in Prince Kazimir of Stetten; the Bohemian knight of Trotsnov[1] brought Conrad, prince in Olesnitsa; Predperko of Koplidov brought Gersdof, who was fainting from wounds; he had led all the foreign knights under the banner of Saint George. Twenty-two nations had taken part in that battle of the Order against the Poles, and now the king's secretaries were writing, and they recorded the prisoners who, kneeling before his Majesty, begged for pardon, and a return home when ransomed. The entire army of the Order had ceased to exist. The Polish pursuit captured the immense camp of the Knights of the Cross, and in it, besides those who had escaped, a great number of wagons laden with fetters for the Poles, and wine to be used at a great feast after victory. The sun was near its setting. A brief, abundant shower had laid the dust. The king, Vitold, and Zyndram, were preparing to visit the field of battle, when men bore in before them bodies of fallen leaders. The Lithuanians brought the body of the Grand Master, Ulrich von Jungingen, pierced with spears, covered with dust and clotted blood, and placed it before Yagello. The king sighed with pity, and looking at the immense body lying on the ground, face upward, he said,— "Here is the man who, this morning, thought himself superior to every potentate on earth—" Then tears began to flow like pearls along his cheeks; after a while he said,— "But he died the death of the valiant; so we will celebrate his manfulness, and honor him with a proper Christian burial." And immediately, he issued an order to wash the body carefully in the lake, array it in splendid robes, and cover the coffin with a mantle of the Order. Meanwhile, they brought in more and more bodies, which the captives recognized. They brought in Kuno Lichtenstein, his throat cut terribly with a misericordia, and Friedrich Wallenrod, the marshal of the Order; the grand keeper of the wardrobe, Count Albrecht von Schwartzberg, and the grand treasurer, Thomas Mercheim, and Count Wende, who fell at the hand of Povala of Tachev, and more than six hundred bodies of famous comturs and brothers. The servants placed them one by the other, and they lay, like felled trees, with faces looking heavenward, and white as their mantles, with open, glassy eyes, in which rage, pride, the frenzy of battle, and terror had grown fixed. At their heads were planted the captured banners—all of them! The evening breeze now furled, now unfurled the colored banners, and they rustled above those men lying there as if in sleep. From afar, about twilight, were visible Lithuanian divisions bringing in captured cannon, which the Knights used for the first time in open battle, but which had not caused any harm to the conquerors. Around the king on the eminence, had assembled the greatest Polish knights, and breathing with wearied breasts they looked at those flags, and at those corpses lying at their feet, just as reapers, wearied from heat, look at cut and bound sheaves. Grievous had the day been, and terrible the fruit of that harvest; but now the great, divine, gladsome evening had come. Hence, immeasurable happiness brightened the faces of the conquerors, for all understood that that evening had put an end to the suffering and toils not only of that day, but of whole centuries. The king, though conscious of the immensity of that defeat of the Order, looked still as if in amazement before him, and at last he inquired,— "Is the whole Order lying here?" To this the vice-chancellor, Mikolai, who knew the prophecies of Saint Bridget, said,— "The time has come when their teeth are broken, and the right hand cut from them!" Then he raised his hand, and began to make the sign of the cross, not only on those who lay near, but on the whole field between Grünwald and Tannenberg. In the air, which was bright from gleams after the setting sun, and purified by the rain, they could see distinctly the immense battlefield steaming and bloody, bristling with fragments of spears, lances, and scythes, with piles of bodies of horses and men, amid which were thrust upward dead hands and feet and hoofs; and that sad field of death extended, with its tens of thousands of bodies, farther than the eye could reach. Camp followers were moving about over that immense cemetery, collecting arms and removing armor from the dead bodies. But above in the ruddy air were storming and circling flocks of eagles, crows, and ravens, screaming and croaking with delight at sight of the food before them. And not only was the perfidious Order of the Knights lying there stretched at the feet of the king, but all the German might, which up to that battle had been flooding unfortunate Slav lands like a sea, had broken itself against Polish breasts on that great day, that day of purification and redemption. So to thee, great festival of the past, and to thee, blood of sacrifice, be praise, honor, and glory through all ages.
|