The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 14
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CHAPTER XIV. On reaching home Yagenka sent a servant straightway to Kresnia to learn if a fight had taken place at the inn, or if any man had challenged another. But he, receiving coin on the road, began to drink with the priest's men, and had no thought of returning. Another, sent to Bogdanets to inform Matsko of a visit from the abbot, returned after he had done his errand, and declared that he had seen Zbyshko playing dice with his uncle. This calmed Yagenka somewhat, for, knowing Zbyshko's skill and experience, she had not such fear of a challenge as of some harsh, severe accident in the inn. She desired to go with the abbot to Bogdanets, but he opposed, for he wished to talk with Matsko about the mortgage, and about another affair, of still greater importance, in which he did not wish to have Yagenka as witness. Moreover he was preparing to spend the night there. When he heard of Zbyshko's happy return, he fell into excellent humor, and commanded his wandering clerics to sing and to shout till the pine woods should quiver, so in Bogdanets itself all the cottagers looked out of their cottages to see if there were not a fire, or if some foe were not attacking. But the pilgrim with curved staff rode ahead and quieted them, declaring that a spiritual person of high dignity was travelling. So they bowed down, and some even made the sign of the cross on their breasts; the abbot, seeing how they respected him, rode on in joyous pride, delighted with the world and full of good-will to men. Matsko and Zbyshko, on hearing the shouts and songs, went to the gate to give greeting. Some of the clerics had been with the abbot in Bogdanets earlier, but some had joined the company recently, and saw the place for the first time. The hearts of these fell at sight of the poor house, which could not be compared with the broad court in which Zyh lived. They were strengthened, however, at sight of smoke making its way through the straw thatch of the roof, and were comforted perfectly when on entering the first room they caught the odor of saffron and various meats, and saw also two tables full of pewter dishes, empty as yet, it is true, but so large that all eyes must be gladdened at sight of them. On the smaller table shone a plate of pure silver, prepared for the abbot, and also a tankard carved wonderfully; both of these had been won with other wealth from the Frisians. Matsko and Zbyshko invited at once to the table; but the abbot, who had eaten heartily before leaving Zyh's house, refused, all the more since something else held him occupied. From the first moment of his coming, he had looked carefully and also unquietly at Zbyshko, as if wishing to find on him traces of fighting; seeing the calm face of the young man, he was evidently impatient, till at last he could restrain his curiosity no longer. "Let us go to the small room," said he, "and talk of the mortgage. Resist not, or I shall be angry!" Then he turned to the clerics and thundered,— "But sit ye here quietly, and let me have no listening at the doorway!" Then he opened the door to the room, in which he could hardly find place, and after him entered Matsko and Zbyshko. There, when they had seated themselves on boxes, the abbot turned to his youthful relative,— "Didst thou go back to Kresnia?" "I did." "Well, and what?" "I gave money to celebrate mass for my uncle's recovery, and returned." The abbot moved impatiently on the box. "Ha!" thought he, "he did not meet Stan or Vilk; maybe they were not there, maybe he did not look for them. I was mistaken!" But he was angry because he thought that he had been mistaken, and because his calculation had failed, so his face grew red at once, and he panted,— "Let us talk of the mortgage," said he, after a while. "Have ye money?—if ye have not, the land is mine." At this Matsko, who knew how to act with him, rose in silence, opened the box on which he was sitting, took out a bag of gryvens already prepared, as it seemed, and said: "We are poor people, but we have money, and we will pay what is proper, as it stands on the 'paper' and as I have promised with the sign of the Holy Cross. If you wish increased pay for the management and the cattle, we will not oppose, we will pay your demand, and embrace your feet, benefactor." Saying this he bowed down to the abbot's knees, and after him Zbyshko did the same. The abbot, who expected disputes and bargaining, was greatly astonished by such action, and even was not at all glad, for in bargaining he wanted to bring forward various conditions, meanwhile the opportunity had vanished. So in delivering the "paper," on which Matsko had drawn the sign of the cross, he said,— "What is this about paying in addition?" "We do not wish to take for nothing," answered Matsko, cunningly, knowing that the more he opposed in this case the more he should win. In fact the abbot grew red in the twinkle of an eye. "Look at them!" said he. "They will not take anything for nothing from a relative! Bread troubles people! I did not receive wildernesses, and I do not return them. If it please me to throw this bag away I will throw it!" "You will not do that! " cried out Matsko. "I will not do it? Here is your mortgage! And here is your money! I gave the money because of good-will; and if I wish I will leave it on the road, that is no concern of yours. This is what I will do!" So saying, he caught the bag by the mouth, and hurled it to the floor, so that coin rolled out through the torn linen. "God reward you! God reward you, father and benefactor!" cried Matsko, who was only waiting for that moment. "From another I would not take it, but I will from a priest and a relative." The abbot looked threateningly for some time, first at Matsko, then at Zbyshko, at last he said,— "I know what I am doing, though I am angry, so keep what you have; for I tell you this, you will not see another grosh from me." "We did not expect the present gift." "But know ye that Yagenka will have what remains after me." "And the land too?" inquired Matsko, innocently. "The land too!" roared the abbot. At this Matsko's face lengthened, but he mastered himself, and said,— "Ei! to think of death! May the Lord Jesus give you a hundred years, or more, but before that a good bishopric." "And even if He should! Am I worse than others?" asked the abbot. "Not worse, but better." These words acted soothingly on the abbot, for in general his anger was short lived. "Yes," said he, "ye are my relatives, while she is only a goddaughter, but I like her and Zyh these many years. A better man than Zyh there is not on earth, nor a better girl than Yagenka. Who will say aught against them?" And he looked around with challenging glance; but Matsko not only made no contradiction, he asserted quickly that it would be useless to search the whole kingdom to find a better neighbor. "And as to the girl," said he, "I could not love my own daughter more. She was the cause of my recovery, and till death I shall never forget it." "Ye will be damned both the one and the other, if ye forget her," said the abbot; "and I shall be the first man to curse you. I wish you no harm, for ye are my blood relatives, hence I have thought out a method by which everything left by me will be yours and Yagenka's. Do ye understand?" "God grant that to happen!" said Matsko. "Dear Jesus! I would walk from the queen's grave in Cracow to Bald Mountain to bow down before the wood of the Holy Cross." The abbot was delighted at the sincerity with which Matsko spoke, so he laughed and continued,— "The girl has the right to be choice; she is beautiful, she has a good dowry, she is of good stock. What is Stan or Vilk to her when a voevoda's son would not be too much? But if I, without alluding to any one, propose a bridegroom, she will marry him; for she loves me, and knows that I would not give bad advice to her." "It will be well for the man whom you find for Yagenka," said Matsko. "And what sayst thou?" asked the abbot, turning to Zbyshko. "I think as uncle does." The honest face of the abbot grew still brighter; he struck Zbyshko with his hand on the shoulder, so that the sound filled the room, and asked,— "Why didst thou not let Stan or Vilk come near Yagenka at church? Why?" "Lest they might think that I feared them, and lest you also might think so." "But thou gavest her holy water." "I did." The abbot struck him a second time. "Then take her!" "Take her!" exclaimed Matsko, like an echo. At this Zbyshko gathered his hair under the net, and answered calmly,— "How am I to take her when I made a vow in Tynets before the altar to Danusia, the daughter of Yurand?" "Thou didst promise peacock-plumes, find them, but take Yagenka now." "No," answered Zbyshko, "when she threw a veil over me I promised to marry her." The abbot's face was filling with blood, his ears became blue, and his eyes were swelling out; he approached Zbyshko, and said in a voice choking with anger,— "Thy vows are chaff, and I am wind, dost understand? Here!" And he blew at his head with such force that his hair net flew off, and the hair was scattered in disorder over his arms and shoulders. Then Zbyshko wrinkled his brows, and, looking straight into the abbot's eyes, answered,— "In my vow is my honor, and I am guardian myself of that honor." When he heard this the abbot, unaccustomed to resistance, lost breath to the degree that speech was taken for a time from him. Next came an ominous silence, which Matsko broke finally,— "Zbyshko!" cried he, "remember thyself. What is the matter with thee?" The abbot now raised his arm, and, pointing at the young man, he shouted,— "What is the matter with him? I know what the matter is. The soul in him is not knightly, and not noble, it is the soul of a hare! This is the matter with him, he is afraid of Vilk and Stan." But Zbyshko, who had not lost his cool blood for an instant, shrugged his shoulders, and said,— "Oh, pshaw! I smashed their heads in Kresnia." "Fear God!" cried Matsko. The abbot looked at Zbyshko for some time with staring eyes, anger struggled in him with admiration; and at the same time his native quick wit began to remind him that from that beating of Vilk and Stan he might gain for his plans some advantage. So, recovering somewhat, he shouted at Zbyshko,— "Why didst thou not mention that?" "I was ashamed. I thought that they would challenge me, as became knights, to battle on foot, or on horseback; but they are robbers, not knights. First, Vilk took a plank from the table, Stan took another, and at me! What was I to do? I caught up a bench, well—you know what!" "But didst thou leave them alive?" asked Matsko. "Alive, though they fainted. But they regained breath before I left the inn." The abbot listened, rubbed his forehead, then sprang up suddenly from the box on which he had been sitting for better thought, and cried,— "Wait! I will tell thee something now." "And what will you tell?" inquired Zbyshko. "I will tell thee this, that if thou hast fought for Yagenka, and broken men's heads for her, thou art her knight, not the knight of another, and thou must take her." Saying this, he put his hands on his sides, and looked triumphantly at Zbyshko. But Zbyshko only smiled and said, "Hei, I knew well why you wished to set me at them; but it has failed you completely." "How failed me?—Tell!" "I told them to acknowledge that the most beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the world was Danusia, the daughter of Yurand; and they took the part of Yagenka exactly, and that was the cause of the battle." When he heard this, the abbot stood in one place for a while, as if petrified, and only by the blinking of his eyes was it possible to know that he was alive yet. All at once he turned in his place, pushed the door open with his foot, rushed into the front room, seized the hooked staff from the hands of the pilgrim, and began to belabor his "play men," bellowing meanwhile like a wounded bison,— "To horse, ye buffoons! to horse, dog-faiths! A foot of mine will never be in this house again. To horse, whoso believes in God! to horse!—" And opening another door he went out, the terrified, wondering clerics followed after. So moving with an uproar to the sheds, they fell to saddling the horses in haste. Matsko ran out after the abbot in vain, in vain did he beg him, implore him, declare in God's name that no fault attached to him—nothing availed! The abbot cursed the house, the people, the fields; and when they gave him his horse, he sprang on without putting his foot in the stirrup, and went at a gallop from the place, and with his great sleeves blown apart by the wind he looked like a red giant bird. The clerics flew after him in fear, like a herd hastening after its leader. Matsko looked at the party till it vanished in the pine wood; then he turned slowly to the house, and, nodding his head gloomily, said to Zbyshko,— "Thou hast done a fine thing!" "This would not have happened had I gone away earlier; I did not go because of you." "How, because of me?" "Yes; for I would not go leaving you in sickness." "But now how will it be?" "Now I will go." "Whither?" "To Mazovia, to Danusia, and to seek peacock-plumes among the Germans." Matsko was silent a while, then he said,— "He has given back the 'paper,' but the pledge is recorded in the court book. The abbot will not forgive us a grosh now." "Let him not forgive. You have money, and I need none for the road. People will receive me everywhere, and give food to my horses; while I have armor on my back, and a sword in my grasp, I have no care for anything." Matsko fell to thinking, and began to weigh everything that had happened. Nothing had gone according to his wish, or his heart. He had desired Yagenka for Zbyshko with all his soul; but he understood that there could be no bread from that flour, and that, considering the abbot's anger, considering Zyh and Yagenka, considering finally the battle with Vilk and Stan, it was better that Zbyshko should go than be the cause of more disputes and quarrels. "Ah!" said he, at last, "thou must seek heads of the Knights of the Cross anyhow; so go, since there is no other way out. Let it happen according to the will of the Lord Jesus; but I must go to Zgorzelitse at once, mayhap I can talk over Zyh and the abbot—I am sorry, especially for Zyh." Here he looked into Zbyshko's eyes, and asked quickly: "But art thou not sorry for Yagenka?" "May God give her health, and all that is best!" replied Zbyshko.
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