CHAPTER II.

Zbyszko had left Bogdaniec with a sad heart indeed. In the first place he

felt strange without his uncle, from whom he had never been separated

before, and to whom he was so accustomed, that he did not know how he

would get along without him during the journey, as well as in the war.

Then he regretted Jagienka. Although he was going to Danusia whom he

loved dearly, still he had been so comfortable and happy with Jagienka,

that now he felt sad without her. He was surprised himself at his grief,

and even somewhat alarmed about it. He would not have minded if he longed

for Jagienka only as a brother longs for a sister; but he noticed that he

longed to embrace her, to put her on horseback, to carry her over the

brooks, to wring the water from her tress, to wander with her in the

forest, to gaze at her, and to converse with her. He was so accustomed to

doing all this and it was so pleasant, that when he began to think about

it, he forgot that he was going on a long journey to Mazury; instead of

that, he remembered the moment when Jagienka helped him in the forest,

when he was struggling with the bear. It seemed to him as though it

happened only yesterday; also as though it were only yesterday when they

went to the Odstajny lake for beavers. Then he recalled how beautifully

she was dressed when going to church in Krzesnia, and how surprised he

was that such a simple girl should appear like the daughter of a mighty

lord. All these thoughts filled his heart with uneasiness, sweetness, and

sadness.

"Had I only bid her good-bye," he said to himself, "perhaps I would feel

easier now."

Finally he became afraid of these reminiscences, and he shook them from

his mind like dry snow from his mantle.

"I am going to Danusia, to my dearest," he said to himself.

He noticed that this was a more holy love. Gradually his feet grew colder

in the stirrups, and the cold wind cooled his blood. All his thoughts now

turned to Danusia Jurandowna. He belonged to her without any doubt; but

for her, he would have been beheaded on the Krakowski square. When she

said in the presence of the knights and burghers: "He is mine!" she

rescued him from the hands of the executioners; from that time, he

belonged to her, as a slave to his master. Jurand's opposition was

useless. She alone could drive him away; and even then he would not go

far, because he was bound by his vow. He imagined, however, that she

would not drive him away; but rather that she would follow him from the

Mazowiecki court, even to the end of the world. Then he began to praise

her to himself to Jagienka's disadvantage, as if it were her fault, that

temptations assailed him and his heart was divided. Now he forgot that

Jagienka cured old Macko; he forgot that without her help, the bear would

have torn him to pieces; and he became enraged with her, hoping in this

way to please Danusia and to justify himself in his own eyes.

At this moment the Czech, Hlawa, sent by Jagienka, arrived, leading a

horse.

"Be blessed!" said he, with a low bow.

Zbyszko had seen him once or twice in Zgorzelice, but he did not

recognize him; therefore he said:

"Be blessed for ages and ages! Who are you?"

"Your servant, famous lord."

"What do you mean? These are my servants," said Zbyszko, pointing to the

two Turks, given to him by Sulimczyk Zawisza, and to two sturdy men who

sitting on horseback, were leading the knight's stallions; "these are

mine; who sent you?"

"_Panna_ Jagienka Zychowna of Zgorzelice."

"_Panna_ Jagienka?"

A while ago, Zbyszko had been angry with her and his heart was still full

of wrath; therefore he said:

"Return home and thank the _panna_ for the favor; I do not want you."

But the Czech shook his head.

"I cannot return. They have given me to you; besides that, I have sworn

to serve you until death."

"If they gave you to me, then you are my servant."

"Yours, sir."

"Then I command you to return."

"I have sworn; although I am a prisoner from Boleslawiec and a poor boy,

still I am a _wlodyczka_."[87]

Zbyszko became angry:

"Go away! What; are you going to serve me against my will? Go away,

before I order my servants to bend their crossbows."

But the Czech quietly untied a broadcloth mantle, lined with wolf-skins,

handed it to Zbyszko and said:

"_Panna_ Jagienka sent you this, also, sir."

"Do you wish me to break your bones?" asked Zbyszko, taking a spear from

an attendant.

"Here is also a bag of money for your disposal," answered the Czech.

Zbyszko was ready to strike him with the lance, but he recollected that

the boy, although a prisoner, was by birth a _wlodyka_, who had remained

with Zych only because he did not have money to pay his ransom;

consequently Zbyszko dropped the spear.

Then the Czech bent to his stirrups and said:

"Be not angry, sir. If you do not wish me to accompany you, I will follow

you at a distance of one or two furlongs; but I must go, because I have

sworn to do so upon the salvation of my soul."

"If I order my servants to kill you or to bind you?"

"If you order them to kill me, that will not be my sin; and if you order

them to bind me, then I will remain until some good people untie me, or

until the wolves devour me."

Zbyszko did not reply; he urged his horse forward and his attendants

followed him. The Czech with a crossbow and an axe on his shoulder,

followed them, shielding himself with a shaggy bison skin, because a

sharp wind carrying flakes of snow, began to blow. The storm grew worse

and worse. The Turks, although dressed in sheepskin coats, were chilled

with cold; Zbyszko himself, not being dressed very warmly, glanced

several times at the mantle lined with wolf-fur, which Hlawa had brought

him; after a while, he told one of the Turks to give it to him.

Having wrapped himself with it carefully, he felt a warmth spreading all

over his body. He covered his eyes and the greater part of his face with

the hood of the mantle, so that the wind did not annoy him any more.

Then, involuntarily, he thought how good Jagienka had been to him. He

reined in his horse, called the Czech, and asked him about her, and about

everything that had happened in Zgorzelice.

"Does Zych know that the _panna_ sent you to me?" he said.

"He knows it," answered Hlawa.

"Was he not opposed to it?"

"He was."

"Tell me then all about it."

"The _pan_ was walking in the room and the _panna_ followed him. He

shouted, but the _panienka_ said nothing; but when he turned toward her,

she kneeled but did not utter one word. Finally the _panisko_[88] said:

'Have you become deaf, that you do not answer my questions? Speak then;

perhaps I will consent.' Then the _panna_ understood that she could do as

she wished and began to thank him. The _pan_ reproached her, because she

had persuaded him, and complained that he must always do as she wished;

finally he said: 'Promise me that you will not go secretly to bid him

good-bye; then I will consent, but not otherwise.' Then the _panienka_

became very sorrowful, but she promised; the _pan_ was satisfied, because

the abbot and he were both afraid that she would see you. Well, that was

not the end of it; afterward the _panna_ wanted to send two horses, but

the _pan_ would not consent; the _panna_ wanted to send a wolf-skin and a

bag of money, but the _pan_ refused. His refusal did not amount to

anything, however! If she wanted to set the house on fire, the _panisko_

would finally consent. Therefore I brought two horses, a wolf-skin and a

bag of money."

"Good girl!" thought Zbyszko. After a while he asked:

"Was there no trouble with the abbot?" The Czech, an intelligent

attendant, who understood what happened around him, smiled and answered:

"They were both careful to keep everything secret from the abbot; I do

not know what happened when he learned about it, after I left Zgorzelice.

Sometimes he shouts at the _panienka_; but afterward he watches her to

see if he did not wrong her. I saw him myself one time after he had

scolded her, go to his chest and bring out such a beautiful chain that

one could not get a better one even in Krakow, and give it to her. She

will manage the abbot also, because her own father does not love her any

more than he does."

"That is certainly true."

"As God is in heaven!"

Then they became silent and rode along amidst wind and snow. Suddenly

Zbyszko reined in his horse; from the forest beside the road, there was

heard a plaintive voice, half stifled by the roar of the wind:

"Christians, help God's servant in his misfortune!"

Thereupon a man who was dressed partly in clerical clothing, rushed to

the road and began to cry to Zbyszko:

"Whoever you are, sir, help a fellow-creature who has met with a dreadful

accident!"

"What has happened to you, and who are you?" asked the young knight.

"I am God's servant, although not yet ordained; this morning the horse

which was carrying my chests containing holy things, ran away. I remained

alone, without weapons; evening is approaching, and soon the wild beasts

will begin to roar in the forest. I shall perish, unless you succor me."

"If I let you perish," answered Zbyszko, "I will be accountable for your

sins; but how can I believe that you are speaking the truth. You may be a

highway robber, like many others wandering on the roads!"

"You may believe me, sir, for I will show you the chests. Many a man

would give a purse full of gold for what is in them; but I will give you

some of it for nothing, if you take me and the chests with you."

"You told me that you were God's servant, and yet you do not know that

one must give help, not for earthly recompense, but for spiritual reward.

But how is it that you have the chests now if the horse carried them

away?"

"The wolves devoured the horse in the forest, but the chests remained; I

brought them to the road, and then waited for mercy and help."

Wishing to prove that he was speaking the truth, he pointed to two chests

made of leather, lying under a pine tree. Zbyszko still looked at him

suspiciously, because the man did not look honest, and his speech

indicated that he came from a distant part of the country. He did not

refuse to help him, however, but permitted him to ride the horse led by

the Czech and take the chests, which proved to be very light.

"May God multiply your victories, valiant knight!" said the stranger.

Then, seeing Zbyszko's youthful face, he added softly:

"And the hairs of your beard, also."

He rode beside the Czech. For a time they could not talk, because a

strong wind was blowing, and roaring in the forest; but when it

decreased, Zbyszko heard the following conversation behind him.

"I don't deny that you were in Rome; but you look like a beer drunkard,"

said the Czech.

"Look out for eternal damnation," answered the stranger; "you are talking

to a man who last Easter ate hard boiled eggs with the holy father. Don't

speak to me in such cold weather about beer; but if you have a flask of

wine with you, then give me two or three swallows of it, and I will

pardon you a month of purgatory."

"You have not been ordained; I heard you say you had not. How then can

you grant me pardon for a month of purgatory?"

"I have not received ordination, but I have my head shaved, because I

received permission for that; beside, I am carrying indulgences and

relics."

"In the chests?" asked the Czech.

"Yes, in the chests. If you saw all I have there, you would fall on your

face, not only you, but all the pines in the forest and all the wild

beasts."

But the Czech, being an intelligent and experienced attendant, looked

suspiciously at this peddler of indulgences, and said:

"The wolves devoured your horse?"

"Yes, they devoured him, because they are the devil's relatives. If you

have any wine, give me some; although the wind has ceased, yet I am

frozen, having sat by the road so long."

The Czech would not give him any wine; and they rode along silently,

until the stranger began to ask:

"Where are you going?"

"Far. At first to Sieradz. Are you going with us?"

"I must. I will sleep in the stable, and perhaps to-morrow this pious

knight will give me a present of a horse; then I will go further."

"Where are you from?"

"From under Prussian lords, not far from Marienburg."

Having heard this, Zbyszko turned and motioned to the stranger to come

nearer to him.

"Did you come from Marienburg?" said he

"Yes, sir."

"But are you a German? You speak our language very well. What is your

name?"

"I am a German, and they call me Sanderus; I speak your language well,

because I was born in Torun, where everybody speaks that language; then I

lived in Marienburg, and there it is the same. Bah! even the brothers of

the Order understand your language."

"How long since you left Marienburg?"

"I was in the Holy Land, then in Constantinople, and in Rome; thence

through France I came to Marienburg and from there I was going to

Mazowsze, carrying the holy relics which pious Christians buy willingly,

for the salvation of their souls."

"Have you been in Plock or in Warszawa?"

"I was in both cities. May God give good health to both of the

princesses! Princess Alexandra is greatly esteemed even by the Prussian

lords, because she is a pious lady; the princess Anna Januszowna is also

pious."

"Did you see the court in Warszawa?"

"I did not see it in Warszawa but in Ciechanow, where both the princesses

received me hospitably, and gave me munificent presents, as God's servant

deserves to receive. I left them relics, which will bring them God's

blessing."

Zbyszko wanted to ask about Danusia; but he understood that it would be

unwise to make a confidant of this stranger, a man of low origin.

Therefore, after a short silence, he asked:

"What kind of relics are you carrying?"

"I carry indulgences and relics; the indulgences are different kinds;

there are total indulgences, some for five hundred years, some for three

hundred, some for two hundred and some for less time, which are cheaper,

so that even poor people can buy them and shorten the torments of

purgatory. I have indulgences for future and for past sins; but don't

think, sir, that I keep the money I receive for them. I am satisfied with

a piece of black bread and a glass of water--that is all for me; the rest

I carry to Rome, to accumulate enough for a new crusade. It is true,

there are many swindlers who carry false indulgences, false relics, false

seals and false testimonials; and they are righteously pursued by the

holy father's letters; but I was wronged by the prior of Sieradz, because

my seals are authentic. Look, sir, at the wax and tell me what you think

of them."

"What about the prior of Sieradz?"

"Ah, sir! I fear that he is infected with Wiklef's heresy. If, as your

shield-bearer told me, you are going to Sieradz, it will be better for me

not to show myself to him, because I do not want to lead him into the sin

of blasphemy against holy things."

"This means, speaking frankly, that he thinks that you are a swindler."

"If the question were about myself, I would pardon him for the sake of

brotherly love; but he has blasphemed against my holy wares, for which, I

am very much afraid, he will be eternally damned."

"What kind of holy wares have you?"

"It is not right to talk about them with covered head; but this time,

having many indulgences ready, I give you, sir, permission to keep your

cowl on, because the wind is blowing again. For that you will buy an

indulgence and the sin will not be counted against you. What have I not?

I have a hoof of the ass on which the Holy Family rode during the flight

into Egypt; it was found near the pyramids. The king of Aragon offered me

fifty ducats for it. I have a feather from the wings of the archangel

Gabriel, which he dropped during the annunciation; I have the heads of

two quails, sent to the Israelites in the desert; I have the oil in which

the heathen wanted to fry St. John; a step of the ladder about which

Jacob dreamed; the tears of St. Mary of Egypt and some rust of St.

Peter's keys. But I cannot mention any more. I am very cold and your

shield-bearer would not give me any wine."

"Those are great relics, if they are authentic!" said Zbyszko.

"If they are authentic? Take the spear from your attendant and aim it,

because the devil is near and brings such thoughts to you. Hold him, sir,

at the length of the spear. If you do not wish to bring some misfortune

on yourself, then buy an indulgence from me; otherwise within three weeks

somebody whom you love, will die."

Zbyszko was frightened at this threat, because he thought about Danusia,

and said:

"It is not I, but the prior of the Dominicans in Sieradz who does not

believe."

"Look, sir, for yourself, at the wax on the seals; as for the prior, I do

not know whether he is still living, because God's justice is quick."

But when they came to Sieradz they found the prior alive. Zbyszko went to

see him, and purchased two masses; one of which was to be read to insure

success for Macko's vow, and the other to insure success for his vow to

obtain three peacocks' crests. The prior was a foreigner, having been

born in Cylia; but during his forty years' residence in Sieradz, he had

learned the Polish language very well, and was a great enemy of the

Knights of the Cross. Therefore, having learned about Zbyszko's

enterprise, he said:

"A still greater punishment will fall upon them; but I shall not dissuade

you, because you promised it upon your knightly honor; neither can there

be punishment enough administered by Polish hands for the wrongs they

hare perpetrated in this land."

"What have they done?" asked Zbyszko, who was anxious to hear about the

iniquities of the Knights of the Cross.