The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 2

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER II.

Meanwhile the princess passed in. She was a smiling faced, middle-aged lady, dressed in a red mantle and a green, closely fitting robe; at her hips was a golden girdle, which dropped downward in front and was fastened low with a great clasp. Behind the lady walked damsels of her court, some older, others not full-grown yet; most of them had garlands of roses and lilies on their heads, and lutes in their hands. Some carried whole bunches of fresh flowers, evidently plucked along the road. The room was filled, for after the damsels came a number of courtiers and young boys. All entered briskly, with gladness in their faces, conversing loudly, or singing, as if intoxicated with the beautiful evening and bright moonlight. Among the courtiers were two choristers, one with a lute, the other with a guitar at his girdle. One of the damsels, quite young yet, perhaps twelve years of age, carried behind the princess a lute adorned with brass nails.

"May Jesus Christ be praised!" said the princess, halting in the middle of the room.

"For the ages of ages. Amen!" answered those present, making low bows as they spoke.

"But where is the host?"

The German, hearing the summons, pushed forward and knelt in German fashion.

"We shall stop here for rest and refreshment," said the lady. "But move about briskly, for we are hungry."

The citizens had departed already, but now the two city nobles, and Matsko of Bogdanets with young Zbyshko, unwilling to disturb the court, bowed a second time with the intention of leaving the room; but the princess detained them.

"Ye are nobles, ye will not interrupt! Make the acquaintance of our courtiers. Whence is God conducting you?"

At once they announced their names, their escutcheons, their service, and the villages by which they entitled themselves. It was only when the lady heard from Matsko whence he was returning that she clapped her hands, and said,—

"See, here is luck! Tell us of Vilno; tell of my brother and sister. Will Prince Vitold come to the delivery of the queen and to the christening?"

"He would like to come, but not knowing whether he will be able, he has sent a silver cradle in advance by priests and boyars, as a gift to the queen. I and my nephew have come to guard this cradle on the road."

"Then is the cradle here? I should like to see it. Is it all silver?"

"All silver, but it is not here. They have taken it to Cracow."

"But what are ye doing in Tynets?"

"We have turned back to visit the procurator of the cloister, our relative, and confide to the care of the worthy monks what war has given us, and what the Prince has bestowed."

"Then God has shown favor? Was the booty considerable? But tell us why my brother was uncertain of coming."

"Because he is preparing an expedition against the Tartars."

"I know that, but it troubles me, since the queen has prophesied an unhappy end to it, and what she prophesies always comes true."

Matsko smiled.

"Our lady is saintly, there is no denying that," said he,—but a host of our knighthood will go with Prince Vitold, splendid men; to meet them will not be easy for any force."

"And ye will not go?"

"No, for I was sent with others to take the cradle; besides I have not taken armor from my body for five years," said Matsko, pointing to the impressions of the armor on his elkskin coat. "Only let me rest, then I will go; and if I should not go I will give Zbyshko, this nephew of mine, to Pan Spytek of Melshtyn, under whose lead all our knights will enroll themselves."

Princess Anna looked at the stately figure of Zbyshko, but further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a monk from the cloister, who, when he had greeted the princess, began humbly to reproach her for not having sent a courier with the announcement of her coming, and for not halting at the monastery instead of a common inn, which was unworthy of her dignity. There was no lack in the monastery of houses and edifices in which even an ordinary person could find entertainment, and what would be done in case of majesty, especially that of the spouse of a prince from whose ancestors and relatives the abbey had received so many benefactions?

"We have stopped only to rest our limbs," said the princess, good-humoredly ; "in the morning we must go to Cracow. We have slept enough in the day, and are travelling at night, because it is cool; and as it was past cock-crow I did not wish to rouse the pious monks, especially with a company which has singing and dancing more in mind than rest."

But when the monk continued to insist, she added,—

"No. We will remain here. A good hour will pass in listening to worldly songs; we shall be at the church for morning mass, to begin the day with God."

"There will be a mass for the prosperity of the gracious prince and princess," said the monk.

"The prince, my consort, will come only after four or five days."

"The Lord God has power to send fortune from afar; but meanwhile let it be permitted us poor people to bring even wine from the cloister."

"We shall thank you for it gladly," said the princess.

"Hei! Danusia, Danusia!" called she, when the monk had gone; "come out on the bench and rejoice our heart with that same song which thou gavest us in Zator."

Thereupon the courtiers placed a bench quickly in the middle of the room. The choristers sat, one at each end of it, between them stood that young girl who had borne behind the princess the lute adorned with brass nails. On her head was a garland, her hair was flowing over her shoulders; her robe was blue, her shoes red, with long tips. Standing on the bench she seemed a child, but at the same time a wonderful child,—a church statue, as it were, or a marionette. It was evident also that this was not the first time that she stood up and sang to the princess, for not the slightest confusion was evident in her.

"Go on, Danusia, go on! " cried the damsels.

She held the lute in front of her, raised her head like a bird about to sing, and closing her eyes, began in her silvery voice,—

"Oh had I wings as a wild goose,
I would fly after Yasek,
I would fly after him to Silesia!"

The choristers accompanied her promptly, one on a guitar, the other on a large lute; the princess, who loved worldly songs beyond everything, swayed her head from side to side, and the little maiden sang on in a thin, childlike, fresh voice. It was like the singing of birds in a forest in springtime.

"I would sit on a fence in Silesia,
Look at me, Yasek dear,
Look at the poor little orphan."

And again the choristers accompanied.

Young Zbyshko of Bogdanets, accustomed from childhood to war and its stern images, had never seen anything like that in his life. He nudged in the shoulder a Mazovian standing near by, and inquired,—

"Who is she?"

"She is a maiden of Princess Anna's suite. There is no lack of choristers with us who amuse the court; but she is the dearest little chorister of all, and the princess listens to no person's songs with such eagerness as to hers."

"That is no wonder to me. I thought her a real angel, and I cannot gaze at her sufficiently. What is her name?"

"But have you not heard?—Danusia. Her father is Yurand of Spyhov, a wealthy and valiant count, who is of those in advance of the banner."

"Hei! human eyes have not seen the like of her."

"All love her, for her singing, and her beauty."

"But who is her knight? "

"She is a child yet."

Conversation was interrupted a second time by Danusia's singing.

From one side Zbyshko gazed at her,—at her bright hair, her raised head, her half-closed eyes, and at her whole figure, illuminated both by the light of the wax candles and the light of the moon-rays coming in through the open window; and he was more and more astonished. It seemed to him that he had seen her sometime, but he could not remember where,—in a dream, or at Cracow, in a church window. Then he pushed the courtier, and asked in a low voice,—

"Is she of your court, then?"

"Her mother came from Lithuania with Princess Anna Danuta, who gave her in marriage to Yurand of Spyhov. She was beautiful and of a great family, beloved of the princess beyond other damsels, and loving the princess herself. For this reason she named her daughter Anna Danuta. Five years ago, when the Germans fell upon our court at Zlotoria, she died of fright. Princess Anna took the little girl at that time, and is rearing her. Her father comes often to the court, and is glad when he sees his child in good health and beloved of the princess. But, as often as he looks at her, he sheds tears thinking of his dead one; and then he turns against the Germans, to seek vengeance for the terrible wrong which they wrought on him. No man loved his own wife more than he up to that time in all Mazovia, and he has slain a host of Germans already in revenge for her."

Zbyshko's eyes gleamed in one moment, and the veins thickened on his forehead.

"Then did the Germans kill her mother?" asked he.

"They killed her, and they did not kill her. She died of fright. Five years ago there was peace; no one was thinking of war, and each man went about with no feeling of danger. The prince went to build a castle in Zlotoria, without troops, but with his court, as is usual in peace time. Just then the German traitors attacked us without declaration of war, without cause. Forgetting the fear of God, and all the benefactions which they had received from his ancestors, they lashed the prince to a horse, bore him away, and slew his people. The prince sat long in captivity among them, and only when King Vladislav threatened war did they set him free, out of fear; but during that attack Danusia's mother died, for her heart rose in her throat, and it choked her."

"And you were present? What is your name? I have forgotten."

"I am Mikolai of Dlugolyas; my surname is Obuh. I was present at the attack. I saw a German, with peacock-plumes on his helmet, strap Danusia's mother to his saddle, and saw her grow white before his eyes. They cut me down with a halberd, the mark of which I bear yet."

Then he showed a deep scar which extended from beneath his hair to his brow.

A moment of silence followed. Zbyshko fell to gazing at Dannsia again, and inquired,—

"And you say that she has no knight?"

But he did not await the answer, for at that moment the singing ceased. One of the choristers, a large, weighty man, stood up on a sudden ; by this the bench tipped at one end; Danusia tottered, spread out her arms; but before she could fall, or jump off, Zbyshko sprang forward with the speed of a wildcat, and caught her in his arms. The princess, who at the first moment screamed out from fear, began at once to laugh, and said,—

"Here is Danusia's knight! Come hither, young knight, and give us our dear little songstress!"

"He caught her gallantly!" cried voices among the courtiers.

Zbyshko went toward the princess, holding Danusia at his breast; she, clinging to his neck with one arm, raised the lute high with the other, fearing lest she might break it. Her face was smiling and gladdened, though she was somewhat frightened.

Meanwhile the youth, on reaching the princess, placed Danusia before her; then kneeling and raising his head, he said, with a boldness marvellous at his age,—

"Let it be according to your words, gracious lady! It is time for this charming maiden to have her knight; and it is time, too, for me to have my lady, whose beauty and virtue I shall recognize; so with your leave I will make vows to this one, and be faithful to her unto death in all trials."

Astonishment shot over the face of the princess, not because of Zbyshko's words, but because all had happened so suddenly. The custom of knightly vows was not Polish, it is true; but Mazovia, being on the German boundary, and seeing knights frequently from even distant lands, was acquainted with that custom better than other provinces, and accepted it rather early. The princess had heard of it also still earlier, at the court of her renowned father, where all Western customs were looked on as law, and as models for the noblest warriors. For these reasons she did not find in Zbyshko's wish anything to offend her or Danusia. On the contrary, she was glad that this little girl, who was dear to her, should begin to attract the hearts and eyes of knights. So with delighted face she turned to the little maid.

"Danusia, Danusia! dost wish to have thy knight?"

The blond-haired Danusia sprang up three times in her red shoes, and then, seizing the princess by the neck, began to cry, with as much delight as if they had offered her a plaything permitted only to older persons for amusement:

"I do, I do, I do!"

The princess laughed till her eyes were filled with tears, but at last the lady, freeing herself from Danusia's arms, said to Zbyshko,—

"Well! make the vow! make the vow! What dost thou vow to her?"

Zbyshko, who amidst the laughter had preserved an unshaken dignity, spoke up with equal seriousness, without rising from his knee,—

"I vow to her that when I reach Cracow I will hang my shield in front of an inn, and on it a declaration, which a cleric learned in letters will write for me: that Panna Danusia, daughter of Yurand, is the most beautiful and virtuous among the damsels who inhabit all kingdoms. And should any man deny this I will do battle with him till I perish or he perishes, unless he should prefer to go into slavery."

"Well done! It is clear that thou knowest knightly customs. And what more?"

"And, since I have learned from Pan Mikolai that Panna Danusia's mother yielded her last breath through the act of a German with peacock-plumes on his helmet, I vow to gird my body with a hempen cord, and, though it should eat me to the bone, I will not remove the cord till I have slain three German knights, torn three such plumes from their helmets, and placed them at the feet of my lady."

At this the princess grew serious and inquired,—

"Art thou not making this vow to raise laughter?"

"So help me God and the Holy Cross," answered Zbyshko, "I will repeat this vow in the church before priests."

"It is praiseworthy to give battle to the fierce enemy of our race, but I grieve for thee, since thou art young and mayst perish easily."

Then pushed forward Matsko of Bogdanets. Till that moment, like a man of past times he had merely shrugged his shoulders; now he thought fit to speak.

"As to that be not troubled, gracious lady. Death in battle may meet any man, and to a noble, whether old or young, this is even praiseworthy. But war is no wonder to this lad, for though years are lacking him, it has happened him more than once to fight on horseback and on foot with lance or axe, with a long or a short sword, with a shield or without one. For a knight to make vows to a damsel whom he looks on with gladness is a novel custom, but as Zbyshko has promised his three peacock-plumes I make no reproach. He has harried the Germans, let him harry them again; and if from that harrying a pair of German heads should burst, he will have only the more glory."

"I see that the affair is not with some common youth," said the princess, and she turned to Danusia. " Sit thou in my place, as the first person at present, but do not laugh, for it is not becoming."

Danusia took Princess Anna's place and wished to feign seriousness, but her blue eyes laughed at the kneeling Zbyshko, and she was unable to restrain herself from moving her feet through delight.

"Give him thy gloves," said the princess.

Danusia drew off her gloves which she gave to Zbyshko, who took them with great respect.

"I will fasten these to my helmet," said he, pressing them to his lips, "and whoso tries to get them, woe to him."

Then be kissed Danusia's hands, and after the hands her feet, and rose. But that moment his former seriousness deserted him, and great joy filled his heart because thenceforth he would pass as a mature man before all that court; so, shaking Danusia's gloves, he cried, half in joy, half in anger,—

"Come on, dog brothers with your peacock-plumes! Come on!"

But at that moment the same monk entered the inn who had been there before; and with him two others, older than he. Behind them monastery servants bore wicker baskets, and in them vessels of wine, and various dainties collected quickly. Those two fell to greeting the princess and reproaching her for not having gone to the monastery; but she explained a second time that, since she had slept and the whole court had slept in the daytime, they were travelling at night, hence needed no sleep; and not wishing to rouse the distinguished abbot, or the worthy monks, she preferred to halt at the inn and rest their limbs there.

After many courteous phrases they decided finally on this: that after matins and early mass the princess and her court would accept a meal and rest in the monastery. Besides the Mazovians, the hospitable monks invited the landowners of Cracow, and Matsko of Bogdanets, who intended in every case to go to the monastery and leave there the property which he had won in war, or had received as gifts from the bountiful Vitold, and which was intended to free Bogdanets from pledge. Young Zbyshko had not heard the invitations, for he had run to his own and his uncle's wagons, which were under guard of their attendants, so as to dress and stand in more befitting costume before Danusia and the princess. Taking his boxes from the wagon, he commanded to bear them to the servants' room, and he dressed there. First he arranged his hair hurriedly and thrust it into a silk net, in which were interwoven amber beads with real pearls in front. Then he put on a "jacket" of white silk embroidered with gold griffins, and at the bottom with ornamented border; above this he girded himself with a double gilded girdle, from which depended a small sword in a scabbard inlaid with silver and ivory. All this was new, gleaming, and not stained with any blood, though taken as booty from a young Frisian knight, serving with the Knights of the Cross. Next, Zbyshko put on very beautiful trousers, one leg of which was striped red and green, the other yellow and violet: both ended above in many-colored squares. When he had put on purple shoes with long, pointed toes, splendid and fresh, he betook himself to the general room.

When he stood on the threshold the sight of him made indeed a strong impression on all. The princess, when she saw what a beautiful knight had made vows to Danusia, was delighted still more, and Danusia at the first moment sprang toward him like a deer. But, whether she was restrained by the beauty of the youth, or the voices of admiration from the courtiers, she stopped before she had run to him; so that, halting a step distant from Zbyshko, she dropped her eyes suddenly, and clasping her hands began, blushing and confused, to twist her fingers.

But after her came up others: the princess herself, the courtiers, the damsels, the choristers and the monks; for all wished to look at him more closely. The Mazovian maidens gazed at Zbyshko as at a rainbow, each regretting that he had not chosen her. The elder ones admired the costliness of the dress; and round him was formed a circle of the curious; Zbyshko stood in the centre with a boastful smile on his face, turning somewhat on the spot where he stood, so that they might look at him better.

"Who is that?" asked one of the monks.

"That is a young knight, the nephew of this lord here" replied the princess, pointing to Matsko; "he has just now made a vow to Danusia."

The monks showed no astonishment, since such vows bound to nothing. Vows were made frequently to married ladies, and in notable families, among whom Western customs were known, almost every lady had her knight. If a knight made vows to a damsel, he did not become her betrothed thereby; on the contrary, she took another for husband most frequently; but he, in so far as he possessed the virtue of constancy, did not cease in fealty to her, but he married another.

Danusia's youth astonished the monks somewhat more, but not over much, for in that age youths of sixteen became castellans. The great queen Yadviga herself was only fifteen when she came from Hungary, and girls of thirteen were given in marriage. Besides, they were looking more in that moment at Zbyshko than Danusia, and were listening to Matsko, who, proud of his nephew, had begun to relate how the young man had come to possess such famous apparel.

"A year and nine weeks ago," said he, "we were invited to feasts by Saxon knights; and with them as guest was a certain knight from the distant nation of the Frisians, who dwell far away at the edge of the ocean, and he had with him his son, three years older than Zbyshko. Once at a feast that son told Zbyshko unbecomingly that he had neither beard nor moustache. Zbyshko, being quick-tempered, would not listen to this calmly, but seizing him at once by the lips plucked out all the hair from them, for which afterward we fought for death or servitude."

"How is that? Did you fight?" asked Mikolai.

"I did, for the father took his son's part, and I Zbyshko's; so we fought, four of us, in presence of the guests, on a space of trampled earth. We made an agreement of this sort, that whoso conquered should take the wagons and horses and servants of the conquered. And God favored us. We slew those Frisians, though with no little toil, for they lacked neither courage nor strength; and we took famous booty. There were four wagons, for each wagon a pair of draught-horses four immense stallions, nine servants, and two excellent suits of armor, such as one might find rarely with our people. The head-pieces we broke, it is true, in the battle, but the Lord Jesus consoled us with other things, for in a box bound famously with iron were suits of costly apparel, and that suit in which Zbyshko has now arrayed himself was with them."

At this the two nobles from Cracow, and all the Mazovians looked with greater respect on the uncle and nephew, and Mikolai, surnamed Obuh, said,—

"Ye are, I see, unyielding, stern men."

"We believe now that this young man will get the three peacock-plumes."

Matsko smiled, wherewith in his stern face there was something quite predatory.

Meanwhile the monastery servants had drawn forth from the wicker baskets wine and tidbits, and from the servants' quarters girls had begun to bring plates full of smoking fried eggs flanked with sausages from which went forth a pronounced and savory odor of wild-boar flesh. At sight of this a desire to eat seized all, and they moved toward the tables.

No one, however, took a place earlier than the princess. When she had sat down at the middle of the table she commanded Danusia and Zbyshko to sit side by side, and then said to Zbyshko,—

"It is proper that thou eat from one dish with Danusia, but act not as other knights do with their ladies, bring not thy foot to hers under the table, touch not her knees, for she is too young."

"I will not, gracious lady," replied he, "unless after two or three years, when the Lord Jesus will permit me to perform my vow, and when this berry will ripen; and as to treading on her feet, I could not do that if I wished, for they are hanging in the air."

"True!" answered the princess, "and it is pleasant to see that thou hast decent manners."

Then followed silence, for all had begun to eat. Zbyshko cut the fattest bits of sausage and gave them to Danusia, or put them directly into her mouth, and she, glad that so stately a knight was serving her, ate with full cheeks, blinking and smiling, now at him, now at the princess. After the plates had been cleared the monastery servants poured out sweet, fragrant wine, to men in abundance, to women sparingly; but Zbyshko's knightliness appeared specially when they brought in full measures of nuts from the monastery; native wild nuts, and, rare in that time, Italian nuts brought from afar, which the company seized very eagerly, so that after a while throughout the whole room nothing was heard save the noise of nutshells cracked between jaws. It would be vain to suppose that Zbyshko thought only of himself, for he preferred to show the princess and Danusia his knightly strength and abstinence rather than lower himself in their eyes through greed for dainties. Taking from moment to moment a handful of nuts, whether Italian or native, he did not put them between his teeth as did others, but squeezed them with his iron fingers, cracked the shells, and gave clean kernels to Danusia. He invented even an amusement for her. After he had removed the kernels he put his hand to his lips and blew the shells suddenly with his mighty breath to the ceiling. Danusia laughed so much that the princess, fearing lest the girl might choke herself, commanded him to abandon the amusement. Seeing, however, Danusia's delight, she asked,—

"Well, Danusia, is it nice to have thy knight?"

"Oi, nice!" answered the maiden. And putting forth a rosy finger she touched Zbyshko's white silk jacket, withdrew the finger suddenly, and asked,—

"And will he be mine to-morrow?"

"To-morrow, in a week, and till death," answered Zbyshko.

The supper came to an end when, after the nuts, sweet pancakes full of berries were brought to them. Some of the courtiers wished to dance, others preferred to hear the singing of the choristers, or of Danusia; but toward the end of the supper Danusia's eyelids began to grow heavy; her head dropped first to one side, then to the other; once and a second time she looked at the princess, then at Zbyshko; again she rubbed her eyes with her fists and immediately rested with great confidence against the knight's shoulder, and fell asleep.

"Is she asleep?" asked the princess. "Now thou hast thy 'lady.'"

"She is dearer to me sleeping than another in a dance," answered Zbyshko, sitting erect and motionless so as not to rouse the maiden.

But not even the playing and singing of the choristers roused her. Some kept time to the music with their feet, others accompanied by beating the dishes, but the greater the noise the better she slept, with her mouth open, like a little fish. She woke only when, at cock-crow and the sound of church bells, all moved from the table crying,—

"To matins! to matins!"

"We will go on foot to praise God," said the princess.

And taking the awakened Danusia by her hand, she went forth first from the inn, and after her the whole court. The night had grown pale. On the eastern sky a slight brightness was visible, green at the top, rosy below that, and under all a narrow golden ribbon as it were, which widened as one looked at it. On the west the moon seemed to withdraw before that brightness. The dawn became rosier and clearer each instant. The world awoke wet from abundant dew, refreshed and joyful.

"God has given fine weather, but the heat will be Violent," said the courtiers.

"That is no harm," answered Pan Mikolai, quieting them, "we shall take a sleep at the cloister and reach Cracow about evening."

"For another feast, surely."

"There are feasts every day now in Cracow, and after the tournaments there will be greater ones."

"We shall see how Danusia's knight will exhibit himself."

"Ei! They are in some sort men of oak! Have ye heard what they said of that battle of four?"

"Perhaps they will join our court, for they are counselling together about something."

And really they were counselling, for Matsko was not greatly rejoiced over what had happened; moving, therefore, in the rear of the retinue, and lingering purposely, so as to speak more at freedom, he said,—

"In truth there is no profit for thee in this. I shall push up to the king somehow, even with this court, and mayhap I shall gain something. I should like wonderfully to get some little castle or town. Well, we shall see. In good time we shall redeem Bogdanets from pledge, for what thy fathers possessed we must possess also. But whence are we to get men? Those who the abbot settled he will take back again; land without men has no value, so mark what I say: Make vows to whom it may please thee, or make them not, but go with Pan Melshtyn to Prince Vitold against the Tartars. Should the expedition be summoned before the queen's delivery, wait not for delivery or tournaments, but go, for there may be profit. Thou knowest how bountiful Prince Vitold is, and he knows thee already; acquit thyself manfully, he will reward thee well. And above all, if God favor, thou mayst get captives beyond number. The Tartars are like ants in the world. In case of victory there will be sixty for each warrior."

Here Matsko, who was greedy for land and labor, began to imagine,—

"God give me a blessing to drive in about fifty men and settle them in Bogdanets. We should open a strip of wilderness and increase, both of us. And knowest thou, that nowhere wilt thou collect so many men as thou mayst collect there."

But Zbyshko shook his head.

"Oh, I should find horse boys who live on horse carrion, people unused to land work! What good would they be in Bogdanets? Besides, I have vowed to get three German peacock-plumes. Where should I find them among Tartars?"

"Thou hast vowed, for thou art stupid, and so are the vows."

"But my noble and knightly honor, how with that?"

"How was it with Ryngalla?"

"Ryngalla poisoned the prince, and the hermit absolved me."

"The abbot in Tynets will absolve thee. An abbot is better than a hermit; that man looked more like a robber than a monk."

"I want no absolution."

Matsko stopped, and asked with evident anger,—

"Well, how will it be?"

"Go yourself to Vitold, for I will not go."

"Thou knecht! But who will bow down before the king? And art thou not sorry for my bones?"

"A tree might fall on your bones and not break them. But even were I sorry for you I am unwilling to go to Vitold."

"What wilt thou do? Wilt thou be a falconer, or a chorister at the Mazovian court?"

"Is a falconer something evil? Since it is your wish to grumble rather than listen, then grumble."

"Where wilt thou go? Is Bogdanets nothing to thee? Wilt thou plow in it with thy nails, without men?"

"Not true! you have argued bravely with your Tartars. Have you heard what the people of Rus say,—'Thou wilt find as many Tartars as there are corpses of them on the field, but no man will seize a captive, for no man can overtake a Tartar in the steppe.' On what could I overtake one! On those heavy stallions which we took from the Frisians? And what booty could I find? Mangy sheepskin coats, nothing else! And only when I return rich to Bogdauets will they call me comes (count)."

Matsko was silent, for there was much justice in Zbyshko's words, and only after a while did he say,—

"But Prince Vitold would reward thee."

"Oh yes! you know; he rewards one man too much and gives another nothing."

"Then tell me, whither art thou going?"

"To Yurand, of Spyhov."

Matsko twisted the belt of his skin kaftan with anger, and said,—

"God daze thy eyes!"

"Listen," answered Zbyshko, calmly. "I have talked with Pan Mikolai, and he says that Yurand is seeking vengeance on the Germans for his wife. I will go and assist him. You have said, first of all, that it is nothing wonderful for me to fight with Germans, for I know them, and I know methods against them. Secondly, I shall find the peacock-plumes there at the boundary more quickly, and third, you know that no common man wears a peacock-plume above his head, so that if the Lord Jesus will grant the crests, he will grant booty at the same time. Finally, a captive taken there is not a Tartar. To settle such a one in the forest is not the same as—⁠Pity me, O God!"

"What! hast lost thy reason, boy? There is no war now, and God knows when there will be."

"Oh, simplicity! The bears have made peace with the bee-keepers; bears injure no bee-nests now, they eat no honey. Ha! ha! But is it news to you that, though great armies are not warring, and though the king and the Grand Master have put their seals to parchment, there is always a terrible uproar on the boundary? If some one takes cattle, a number of villages will be burnt for each cow, and castles will be attacked. But what as to seizing boys and maidens and merchants on the highways? Do you remember earlier times, of which you yourself have told me? Was it hard for that Nalench who seized forty men who were going to the Knights of the Cross? He put them under the ground and would not let them out till the Grand Master sent him a wagon full of coin. Yurand of Spyhov does nothing else but seize Germans, and near the boundary there is work at hand always."

For a while they walked on in silence; meanwhile the daylight came, and bright sun-rays lighted the cliffs on which the monastery was built.

"God can give luck everywhere," said Matsko at last, with a satisfied voice. "Pray that He give it thee."

"It is sure that His favor is everything!"

"And think of Bogdanets, for thou wilt not persuade me that thou hast the wish to go to Bogdanets, and not to Yurand of Spyhov, for that chatterer."

"Speak not in that way, or I shall be angry. I look on her with gladness and do not deny it; that is a different vow from the one to Ryngalla. Hast thou met a more beautiful maiden?"

"What is her beauty to me? Take her when she grows up, if she is the daughter of a great comes."

Zbyshko's face grew bright with a kindly smile.

"That may happen too. No other lady, no other wife. When your bones grow weak you will nurse my grandchildren and hers."

Then Matsko smiled in turn, and he said, entirely pacified:

"Hail! Hail! Storms of them, and let them be like hail! Joy for old age, and salvation after death. Give that to us, O Jesus."