The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 4

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER IV.

It was well on in the afternoon when the princess with her retinue moved out of hospitable Tynets for Cracow. Knights of that period, before entering the larger cities or castles to visit notable personages, arrayed themselves frequently in full battle armor. It was the custom, it is true, to remove this immediately after passing the gates. At castles the host himself invited them with the time-honored words, "Remove your armor, noble lords, for ye have come to friends;" none the less, however, the "war" entrance was considered the most showy, and enhanced the significance of the knight. In accordance with this showiness, Matsko and Zbyshko arrayed themselves in their excellent mail and shoulder-pieces which they had won from the Frisian knights,—bright, gleaming, and adorned on the edges with an inlaid thread of gold. Pan Mikolai, who had seen much of the world and many knights in his life, and who was no common judge of military matters, saw at once that that mail was forged by armorers of Milan, the most famous in the world,—mail of such quality that only the richest knights could afford it; a suit was equal in value to a good estate. He inferred from this that those Frisians must have been famous knights in their nation, and he looked with increased respect at Matsko and Zbyshko. Their helmets, though also not of the poorest, were less rich; but their gigantic stallions, beautifully caparisoned, roused admiration and envy among the courtiers. Matsko and Zbyshko, sitting on immensely high saddles, looked down on the whole court. Each held a long lance in his hand; each had a sword at his side, and an axe at his saddle. They had sent their shields, it is true, for convenience, to the wagons; but even without them, they looked as if marching to battle, not to the city.

Both rode near the carriage, in which, on the rear seat, was the princess with Danusia, In front, the stately lady Ofka, the widow of Krystin of Yarzambek, and old Pan Mikolai. Danusia looked with great interest at the iron knights; and the princess, taking from her bosom repeatedly the tube with the relic of St. Ptolomeus, raised it to her lips.

"I am terribly curious to know what bones are inside," said she at last; "but I will not open it myself, through fear of offending the saint. Let the bishop open it in Cracow."

"Oh, better not let it out of your hands," said the cautious Pan Mikolai; "it is too desirable."

"Mayhap you speak justly," said the princess, after a moment's hesitation; then she added: "No one has given me such consolation for a long time as that worthy abbot,—first with this gift, and second because he allayed my fear of the Knights of the Cross."

"He speaks wisely and justly," said Matsko. "The Germans had at Vilno various relics, especially because they wished to convince their guests that the war was against pagans. Well, and what came of this? Our people saw that if they spat on their hands and struck out with the axe straight from the ear, a helmet and a head fell. The saints give aid; it would be a sin to say otherwise; but they aid only the honest who go in a right cause to do battle in God's name. So I think, gracious lady, that when it comes to a great war, though all other Germans were to help the Knights, we shall beat them to the earth, since our people are more numerous; and the Lord Jesus has put greater strength in our bones. And as to relics, have we not in the monastery of the Holy Cross the wood of the Holy Cross?"

"True, as God is dear to me!" answered the princess.

"But it will remain in the monastery, and they will take theirs to the field with them."

"It is all one! Nothing is far from God's power."

"Is that true? Will you tell how it is?" asked the princess, turning to the wise Mikolai.

"Every bishop will bear witness to this," answered he. "It is far to Rome, but the pope governs the world,—what must it be in the case of God!"

These words calmed the princess completely; so she turned the conversation to Tynets and its magnificence. In genera! the Mazovians were astonished, not only by the wealth of the cloister, but by the wealth and also the beauty of the whole country through which they were passing. Round about were large and wealthy villages; at the sides of these, gardens full of fruit trees, linden groves, with storks' nests on the lindens, and on the ground beehives with straw covers. Along the road on one side and the other extended grain fields of all sorts. At moments the wind bent a sea of wheat ears still partly green; among these, thick as stars in the sky, twinkled heads of the blue-star thistle and the bright red poppy. Here and there, far beyond the fields, darkened a pine wood; here and there, bathed in sunlight, oak and alder groves rejoiced the eye; here and there were damp, grassy meadows, and wet places above which mews were circling; next were hills occupied by cottages, and then fields. Clearly, that country was inhabited by a numerous and industrious people enamoured of land; and as far as the eye saw, the region seemed to be not only flowing with milk and honey, but happy and peaceful.

"This is the royal management of Kazimir," said the princess;" one would like to live here, and never die."

"The Lord Jesus smiles on this land," said Mikolai; "and the blessing of God is upon it. How could it be otherwise, since here, when they begin to ring bells, there is no corner to which the sound does not penetrate? It is known, indeed, that evil spirits, unable to endure this, must flee to the Hungarian boundary, into deep fir woods."

"Then it is a wonder to me," said Pani Ofka, "that Valger the Charming, of whom the monks have been telling us, can appear in Tynets, for they ring the bells there seven times daily."

This remark troubled Mikolai for a moment, and he answered only after some meditation,—

"First, the decisions of God are inscrutable; and second, consider for yourselves that Valger receives a special permission each time."

"Be that as it may, I am glad that we shall not pass a night in the cloister. I should die of terror if such a hellish giant appeared to me."

"Ei! that is not known, for they say that he is wonderfully charming."

"Though he were the most beautiful, I would not have a kiss from one whose mouth is breathing sulphur."

"Ah, even when devils are mentioned, kissing is in your head."

At these words the princess, and with her Pan Mikolai and the two nobles from Bogdanets, fell to laughing. Danusia, following the example of others, laughed without knowing why; for this reason Ofka turned an angry face to Mikolai, and said,—

"I would prefer him to you."

"Ei! do not call the wolf from the forest," answered the Mazovian, joyfully, "for a hellish fury drags along the road frequently between Cracow and Tynets; and especially toward evening he may hear you, and appear the next moment in the form of the giant."

"The charm on a dog!" answered Ofka.

But at that moment Matsko, who, sitting on his lofty stallion, could see farther than those in the carriage, reined in his steed, and said,—

"Oh, as God is dear to me! What is that?"

"What?"

"Some giant is rising from behind the hill before us."

"The word has become flesh!" cried the princess. "Do not say anything!"

But Zbyshko rose in his stirrups, and said: " As I am alive, the giant Valger, no one else!"

From terror the driver stopped the horses, and, without letting the reins out of his hands, fell to making the sign of the cross; for now he too saw from his seat the gigantic figure of a horseman on the opposite eminence.

The princess stood up, but sat down immediately with a face changed by fear. Danusia hid her head in the folds of the princess's robe. The courtiers, the damsels, and the choristers, who rode behind, when they heard the ominous name, began to gather closely around the carriage. The men feigned laughter yet, but alarm was in their eyes; the damsels grew pale; but Mikolai, who had eaten bread from more than one oven, preserved a calm countenance; and, wishing to pacify the princess, he said,—

"Fear not, gracious lady. The sun has not set, and even were it night Saint Ptolomeus could hold his own against Valger."

Meanwhile the unknown horseman, having ascended the prolonged summit of the hill, reined in his horse and stood motionless. He was perfectly visible in the rays of the setting sun, and really his form seemed to exceed the usual dimensions of men. The distance between him and the princess's retinue was not more than three hundred yards.

"Why has he stopped? " asked one of the choristers.

"Because we too have stopped," answered Matsko.

"He is looking toward us, as if to take his choice," remarked the second chorister. "If I knew that he was a man, and not the evil one, I would go and strike him on the head with my lute."

The women, now thoroughly terrified, began to pray aloud, but Zbyshko, wishing to exhibit his courage before the princess and Danusia, said,—

"I will go anyhow. What is Valger to me?"

At this Danusia began to call, half in tears: "Zbyshko! Zbyshko!" but he had ridden forward and was advancing more quickly, confident that, even should he find the real Valger, he would pierce him with his lance.

"He seems a giant," said Matsko, who had a quick eye, "because he stands on the hilltop. He is large indeed, but an ordinary man nothing more. I will go, and not let a quarrel spring up between him and Zbyshko."

Zbyshko, advancing at a trot, was thinking whether to lower his lance at once, or only see, when near by, how that man on the eminence looked. He decided to see first, and soon convinced himself that that thought was better, for as he approached the unknown lost his uncommon proportions. The man rode a gigantic steed, larger than Zbyshko's stallion, and was immense himself, but he did not surpass human measure. Besides, he was without armor; he wore a velvet, bell-shaped cap and a white linen mantle, which kept away dust; from under the mantle peeped forth green apparel. Standing on the hilltop the knight's head was raised and he was praying. Evidently he had halted to finish his evening prayer.

"Ei, what kind of a Valger is he?" thought the young man.

He had ridden up so near that he could reach the unknown with a lance. The stranger, seeing before him a splendidly armed knight, smiled kindly, and said,—

"Praised be Jesus Christ."

"For the ages of ages."

"ls not that the court of the Princess of Mazovia down there?"

"It is."

"Then ye are coming from Tynets?"

But there was no answer to that question, for Zbyshko was so astonished that he did not even hear it. He stood for a moment as if turned to stone, not believing his own eyes. About twenty-five rods beyond the unknown man he saw between ten and twenty mounted warriors, at the head of whom, but considerably in advance, rode a knight in complete shining armor and a white mantle, on which was a black cross; on his head was a steel helmet with a splendid peacock-plume on the crest of it.

"A Knight of the Cross!" muttered Zbyshko.

And he thought that his prayer had been heard; that God in His mercy had sent him such a German as he had prayed for in Tynets; that he ought to take advantage of God's favor. Hence, without hesitating an instant, before all this had flashed through his head, before he had time to recover from his astonishment, he bent in the saddle, lowered his lance half the distance to his horse's ear, and giving his family watchword "Hail! hail!" rushed against the Knight of the Cross as fast as his horse could spring.

The knight was astonished also; he reined in his steed and without lowering the lance which was standing in his stirrup, looked forward, uncertain whether the attack was on him.

"Lower your lance!" shouted Zbyshko, striking the iron points of his stirrups into the flanks of his stallion. "Hail! hail!"

The distance between them was decreasing. The Knight, seeing that the attack was really against him, reined in his steed, presented his weapon, and Zbyshko's lance was just about to strike his breast when that instant some mighty hand broke it right near the part which Zbyshko held, as if it had been a dried reed; then that same hand pulled back the reins of the young man's stallion with such force that the beast buried his forefeet in the earth and stood as if fixed there.

"Madman, what art thou doing?" called a deep, threatening voice. "Thou art attacking an envoy, insulting the king!"

Zbyshko looked and recognized that same gigantic man who, mistaken for Valger, had frightened a while before Princess Anna's court ladies.

"Let me go against the German! Who art thou?" cried he, grasping at the handle of his axe.

"Away with the axe! by the dear God! Away with the axe, I say, or I will whirl thee from the horse!" cried the unknown, still more threateningly. "Thou hast insulted the majesty of the king, thou wilt be tried."

Then he turned to the people who were following the knight and shouted,—

"Come hither!"

Meanwhile Matsko had ridden up with an alarmed and ominous face. He understood clearly that Zbyshko had acted like a madman, and that deadly results might come of the affair; still, he was ready for battle. The entire retinue of the unknown knight and of the Knight of the Cross were barely fifteen persons, armed some with darts and some with crossbows. Two men in complete armor might meet them, and not without hope of victory. Matsko thought, therefore, that if judgment were awaiting them in the sequel it might be better to avoid it, break through those people, and hide somewhere till the storm had passed. So his face contracted at once, like the snout of a wolf which is ready to bite, and thrusting his horse in between Zbyshko and the unknown, he inquired, grasping his sword at the same time,—

"Who are you? Whence is your right?"

"My right is from this," answered the unknown, "that the king has commanded me to guard the peace of the region about here; people call me Povala of Tachev."

At these words Matsko and Zbyshko looked at the knight, sheathed their weapons, already half drawn, and dropped their heads. It was not that fear flew around them, but they inclined their foreheads before a loudly mentioned and widely known name; for Povala of Tachev was a noble of renowned stock and a wealthy lord, possessing many lands around Radom; he was also one of the most famous knights of the kingdom. Choristers celebrated him in songs, as a pattern of honor and bravery, exalting his name equally with that of Zavisha of Garbov, and Farurey, and Skarbek of Gora, and Dobko of Olesnitsa, and Yasko Nanshan, and Mikolai of Moskorzov, and Zyndram of Mashkovitse. At that moment he represented the person of the king; hence for a man to attack him was the same as to put his head under the axe of an executioner.

So Matsko, when he had recovered, said, in a voice full of respect,—

"Honor and obeisance to you, O lord, to your glory and bravery."

"Obeisance to you also, O lord, though I should prefer not to make acquaintance with you on such an unpleasant occasion," replied Povala.

"How is that?" inquired Matsko.

But Povala turned to Zbyshko: "What is the best that thou hast done, young lad? On the public highway thou hast attacked an envoy near the king! Knowest thou what awaits thee for that?"

"He attacked an envoy because he is young and foolish; for that reason it is easier for him to act than consider," said Matsko. "But judge him not severely, for I will tell the whole story."

"It is not I who will judge him. My part is merely to put bonds on him."

"How is that?" asked Matsko casting a gloomy glance at the whole assembly of people.

"According to the king's command."

At these words silence came on them.

"He is a noble," said Matsko at length.

"Then let him swear on his knightly honor that he will appear before any court."

"I will swear on my honor!" cried Zbyshko.

"That is well. What is thy name?"

Matsko mentioned his name and escutcheon.

"If of the court of the princess, pray her to intercede for thee before the king."

"We are not of the court. We are journeying from Lithuania, from Prince Vitold. Would to God that we had not met any court! From the meeting misfortune has come to this youth."

Here Matsko began to relate what had happened in the inn; hence he spoke of the meeting with the court of the princess, and Zbyshko's vow, but at last he was seized by sudden anger against Zbyshko, through whose thoughtlessness they had fallen into such a grievous position, and turning to him he cried,—

"Would to God that thou hadst fallen at Vilno! What wert thou thinking of, young wild boar?"

"Oh," said Zbyshko, "after the vow, I prayed to the Lord Jesus to grant me Germans, and I promised Him gifts; so when I saw peacock-plumes, and under them a mantle with a black cross, straightway some voice in me cried: 'Strike the German, for this is a miracle!' Well, I rushed forward—who would not have rushed forward?"

"Hear me," interrupted Povala, "I do not wish you evil, for I see clearly that this youth has offended more through giddiness peculiar to his age than through malice. I should be glad to take no note of his act, and go on as if nothing had happened. But I can do so only in case this comtur should promise not to complain to the king. Pray him on that point; mayhap he will take compassion on the youth."

"I should rather go to judgment than bow before a Knight of the Cross; it does not become my honor as a noble."

Povala looked at him severe!y and said: "Thou art acting ill. Thy elders know better than thou what is proper, and what is not proper, for the honor of a knight. People have heard of me also, and I will say this to thee, that had I done a deed like thine I should not be ashamed to beg forgiveness for it."

Zbyshko blushed, but casting his eyes around, he said: "The ground is even here, if it were a little trampled. Rather than pray the German, I should prefer to meet him on horseback or on foot to the death, or to slavery."

"Thou art stupid!" said Matsko. "How couldst thou do battle with an envoy? It is not for thee to do battle with him, or him with thee, a beardless youth."

"Forgive, noble lord," said he, turning to Povala. "The boy has become insolent because of the war. Better not let him talk to the German, for he would offend him a second time. I will beg, and if after his mission is ended that comtur wishes to fight in an inclosure, man against man, I will meet him."

"He is a knight of great family, who will not meet everyone," answered Povala.

"Is he? But do I not wear a belt and spurs? A prince might meet me."

"That is true, but speak not to him of battle unless he mentions it himself; I fear lest he might grow malignant against you. Well, may God aid you!"

"I will go to take thy trouble on myself," said Matsko to his nephew, "but wait here."

Then he approached the Knight of the Cross, who, having halted some yards distant, was sitting motionless on his horse, which was as large as a camel. The man himself looked like a cast-iron statue, and listened with supreme indifference to the above conversation. Matsko, during long years of war, had learned German; so now he began to explain to the comtur in that language what had happened. He laid blame on the youth and impulsive character of the young man to whom it had seemed that God himself had sent a knight with a peacock-plume, and finally began to beg forgiveness for Zbyshko.

But the comtur's face did not quiver. Stiff and erect, with raised head, he looked with his steel eyes at the speaking Matsko with as much indifference and at the same time with as much unconcern as if he were not looking at the knight or even at a man, but at a stake or a fence. Matsko noted this, and though his words did not cease to be polite, the soul in him began evidently to storm; he spoke with increasing constraint, and on his sunburnt cheeks a flush appeared. It was evident that in presence of that cool insolence he struggled not to grit his teeth and burst out in awful anger.

Povala saw this, and, having a good heart, resolved to give aid. He too, during the years of his youth, had sought various knightly adventures at the Hungarian, Austrian, Burgundian, and Bohemian courts, adventures which made his name widely famous; he had learned German, so now he spoke to Matsko in that language, in a voice conciliatory and purposely facetious,

"You see, gentlemen, that the noble comtur considers the whole affair as not worth one word. Not only in our kingdom, but everywhere, striplings are without perfect reason; such a knight as he will not war against children, either with the sword or the law."

Lichtenstein, in answer, pouted with his yellow moustaches, and without saying a word urged his horse forward, passing Matsko and Zbyshko; but wild anger began to raise the hair under their helmets, and their hands quivered toward their swords.

"Wait, son of the Order! " said the elder master of Bogdanets through his set teeth, "I make the vow now, and will find thee when thou hast ceased to be an envoy."

"That will come later," said Povala, whose heart had begun also to be filled with blood. "Let the princess speak for you now, otherwise woe to the young man."

Then he rode after Lichtenstein, stopped him, and for some time they conversed with animation. Matsko and Zbyshko noticed that the German did not look on Povala with such a haughty face as on them, and this brought them to still greater anger. After a time Povala turned toward the two men, and waiting awhile till the Knight of the Cross had gone forward, he said,—

"I have spoken on your behalf, but that is an unrelenting man. He says that he will refrain from making complaint only in case you do what he wishes."

"What does he wish?"

"'I will stop to greet the princess of Mazovia,' said he; 'let them ride up to where we are, come down from their horses, take off their helmets, and on the ground, with bare heads, beg of me.'" Here Povala looked quickly at Zbyshko, and added: "This is difficult for men of noble birth—I understand, but I must forewarn thee that if thou wilt not do this it is unknown what awaits thee, perhaps the sword of the executioner."

The faces of Matsko and Zbyshko became as of stone. Silence followed a second time.

"Well, and what?" asked Povala.

"Only this," answered Zbyshko, calmly, and with such dignity as if in one moment twenty years had been added to his age: "The power of God is above people."

"'What does that mean?"

"This, that even had I two heads, and were the executioner to cut off both, I have one honor, which I am not free to disgrace."

At this Povala grew serious, and turning to Matsko inquired,—

"What do you say?"

"I say," answered Matsko, gloomily, "that I have reared this lad from infancy; besides, our whole family is in him, for I am old; but he cannot do that, even if he had to die."

Here his stern face quivered, and all at once love for his nephew burst forth in him with such strength that he seized the youth in his iron inclosed arms and cried,—

"Zbyshko! Zbyshko!"

The young knight was astonished, and said, yielding to the embrace of his uncle,—

"Oh, I did not think that you loved me so!"

"I see that you are true knights," said Povala, with emotion, "and since the young man has sworn on his honor to appear, I will not bind him; such people as you may be trusted. Be of good cheer. The German will stay a day in Tynets; so I shall see the king first, and will so explain the affair as to offend him least. It is fortunate that I was able to break the lance—very fortunate!"

"If I must give my head," said Zbyshko, "I ought at least to have had the pleasure of breaking the bones of that German."

"Thou wishest to defend thy honor, but this thou dost not understand, that thou wouldst have disgraced our whole nation," answered Povala, impatiently.

"I understand that, and therefore I am sorry."

"Do you know," continued Povala, turning to Matsko, "that if this stripling escapes in any way you will have to hood him as falcons are hooded; otherwise he will not die his own death."

"He might escape if you gentlemen would conceal from the king what has happened."

"But what shall we do with the German? I cannot tie his tongue in a knot, of course."

"True! true!"

Thus speaking they advanced toward the retinue of the princess. Povala's attendants, who before mixed with Lichtenstein's people, now rode behind them. From afar were visible among Mazovian caps the waving peacock-plumes of the Knight of the Cross, and his bright helmet gleaming in the sun.

"The Knights of the Cross have a wonderful nature," said Povala of Tachev, as if roused from meditation. "When a Knight of the Cross is in trouble he is as reasonable as a Franciscan, as mild as a lamb, and as sweet as honey, so that a better man thou wilt not find in the world; but let him once feel strength behind him, none is more swollen with pride, with none wilt thou find less mercy. It is evident that the Lord Jesus gave them flint instead of hearts. I have observed very many nations, and more than once have I seen a true knight spare the weaker, saying to himself, 'My honor will not be increased if I trample on the prostrate.' But just when the weaker is down the Knight of the Cross is most unbending. Hold him by the head and he will not be proud; if thou act otherwise woe to thee. Take this envoy; he required right away, not merely your prayer for pardon, but your disgrace. I am glad that that will not happen."

"There is no waiting for it!" called out Zbyshko.

After these words they rode up to the retinue and joined the court of the princess.

The envoy of the Knights of the Cross, when he saw them, assumed immediately an expression of pride and contempt. But they feigned not to see him. Zbyshko halted at Danusia's side and told her joyfully that Cracow was clearly visible from the hill. Matsko began to tell a chorister of the uncommon strength of Povala, the lord of Tachev, who broke a spear in Zbyshko's hand as if it had been a dry reed.

"But why did he break it?" asked the chorister.

"Because the young man had levelled it at the German, but only in jest."

The chorister, who was a noble and a man of experience, did not think such a jest very becoming, but seeing that Matsko spoke of it lightly he did not look on the matter with seriousness. Meanwhile such bearing began to annoy the German. He looked once and a second time at Zbyshko, then at Matsko; at last he understood that they would not dismount, and paid no attention to him purposely. Then something, as it were steel, glittered in his eyes, and straightway he took leave. At the moment when he started Povala could not restrain himself, and said to him at parting,—

"Advance without fear, brave knight. This country is in peace and no one will attack you, unless some boy in a jest."

"Though manners are strange in this country, I have sought not your protection, but your society," answered Lichtenstein; "indeed I think that we shall meet again, both at this court and elsewhere."

In the last words sounded a hidden threat; therefore Povala answered seriously,—

"God grant." Then he inclined and turned away; afterward he shrugged his shoulders and said in an undertone, but still loud enough to be heard by those nearest him,—

"Dry bones! I could sweep thee from the saddle with the point of my lance, and hold thee in the air during three 'Our Fathers.'"

Then he began to converse with the princess, whom he knew well. Anna Danuta asked what he was doing on the highway, and he informed her that he was riding at command of the king to maintain order in the neighborhood, where, because of the great number of guests coming from all parts to Cracow, a dispute might arise very easily. And as a proof he related that of which he had been himself a witness a little while earlier. Thinking, however, that there would be time enough to beg the intercession of the princess for Zbyshko when the need came, he did not attach too much significance to the event, not wishing to interrupt gladsomeness. In fact, the princess even laughed at Zbyshko for his haste to get peacock-plumes. Others, learning of the broken lance, admired the lord of Tachev because he had broken it so easily with one hand.

Povala, being a little boastful, was pleased in his heart that they were glorifying him, and at last began to tell of the deeds which had made him famous, especially in Burgundy at the court of Philip the Bold. Once in time of a tournament, after he had broken the spear of a knight of the Ardennes, he caught him by the waist, drew him from his saddle and hurled him up a spear's length in the air, though the man of Ardennes was clad from head to foot in iron armor. Philip the Bold presented him with a gold chain for the deed, and the princess gave him a velvet slipper, which he wore on his helmet thenceforward.

On hearing this narrative all were greatly astonished, except Pan Mikolai, who said,—

"There are no such men in these effeminate days as during my youth, or men like those of whom my father told me. If a noble at present succeeds in tearing open a breastplate, or stretching a crossbow without a crank, or twisting an iron cutlass between sticks he is called a man of might and exalts himself above others. But formerly young girls used to do those things."

"I will not deny that formerly people were stronger," answered Povala, "but even to-day strong men may be found. The Lord Jesus was not sparing of strength in my bones, still I will not say that I am the strongest in the kingdom. Have you ever seen Zavisha of Garbov? He could overcome me."

"I have seen him. He has shoulders as broad as the bell of Cracow."

"And Dobko of Olesnitsa? Once he was at a tournament which the Knights of the Cross held in Torun; he stretched out twelve knights with great glory to himself and our nation."

"But our Mazovian, Stashko Tsolek was stronger than you, or Zavisha, or Dobko. It was said that he took a green stick in his hand and squeezed sap from it."

"I will squeeze sap from one too!" exclaimed Zbyshko. And before any one could ask him for a trial, he sprang to the roadside, broke off a good twig from a tree, and there, before the eyes of the princess and Danusia, he pressed it near one end with such force that the sap began really to fall in drops on the road.

"Ei!" cried Pani Ofka at sight of this, "do not go to war; it would be a pity for such a man to die before marriage."

"It would be a pity," repeated Matsko, growing gloomy on a sudden.

But Pan Mikolai began to laugh, and the princess joined him. Others, however, praised Zbyshko's strength aloud, and since in those times an iron hand was esteemed above all other qualities, the damsels cried to Danusia: "Be glad!" And she was glad, though she did not understand well what she could gain from that morsel of squeezed wood. Zbyshko, forgetting the Knight of the Cross altogether, had such a lofty look that Mikolai, wishing to bring him to moderation, said,—

"It is useless to plume thyself with strength, for there are stronger than thou. I have not seen what thou hast done, but my father was witness of something better which happened at the court of Carolus, the Roman Emperor. King Kazimir went on a visit to him with many courtiers, among whom was this Stashko Tsolek, famous for strength and son of the voevoda Andrei. The emperor boasted that among his men he had a certain Cheh who could grasp a bear around the body and smother him immediately. Then they had a spectacle and the Cheh smothered two bears, one after the other. Our king was greatly mortified, and not to go away shamefaced he said: 'But my Tsolek will not let himself be put to shame.' They appointed a wrestling match to come three days later. Knights and ladies assembled, and after three days the Cheh grappled with Tsolek in the courtyard of the castle; but the struggle did not last long, for barely had they embraced when Tsolek broke the Cheh's back, crushed in all his ribs and only let him out of his arms when dead, to the great glory of our king. Tsolek, surnamed Bonebreaker from that day, once carried up into a tower a great bell which twenty townspeople could not stir from the earth."

"But how many years old was he?" inquired Zbyshko.

"He was young."

Meanwhile Povala, riding at the right near the princess, bent at last toward her ear and told her the whole truth concerning the seriousness of what had happened, and at the same time begged her to support him, for he would take the part of Zbyshko, who might have to answer grievously for his act. The princess, whom Zbyshko pleased, received the intelligence with sadness, and was greatly alarmed.

"The bishop of Cracow has a liking for me," said Povala. "I can implore him, and the queen too, for the more intercessors there are, the better for the young man."

"Should the queen take his part a hair will not fall from his head," said Anna Danuta; "the king honors her greatly for her saintliness and her dower, especially now when the reproach of sterility is taken from her. But in Cracow is also the beloved sister of the king, Princess Alexandra; go to her. I too will do what I can, but she is his sister while I am a cousin."

"The king loves you also, gracious lady."

"Ei, not as her," replied, the princess, with a certain sadness; "for me one link of a chain, for her a whole chain; for me a fox skin, for her a sable. The king loves none of his relatives as he does Alexandra. There is no day when she goes away empty-handed."

Thus conversing they approached Cracow. The road, crowded beginning with Tynets, was still more crowded. They met landholders going to the city at the head of their men; some were in armor, others in summer garments and straw hats; some on horseback, others in wagons with their wives and daughters, who wished to see the long promised tournaments. In places the entire road was crowded with the wagons of merchants, who were not permitted to pass Cracow, and thus deprive the city of numerous toll dues. In those wagons were carried salt, wax, wheat, fish, oxhides, hemp, wood. Others leaving the city were laden with cloth, kegs of beer, and the most various merchandise of the city. Cracow was now quite visible; the gardens of the king, of lords and of townspeople surrounded the city on all sides; beyond them were the walls and the church towers. The nearer they came, the greater the movement, and at the gates it was difficult to pass amid the universal activity.

"This is the city! there is not in the world another such," said Matsko.

"It is always like a fair," said one of the choristers. "Is it long since you were here?"

"Long. And I wonder at Cracow as if I were looking at it for the first time, as we come now from wild countries."

"They say that Cracow has grown immensely through King Yagello."

"That is true. From the time that the Grand Prince of Lithuania ascended the throne, the vast regions of Lithuania and Rus have become open to the traffic of Cracow; because of this the city has increased day by day in population, in wealth, and in buildings; it has become one of the most important in the world."

"The cities of the Knights of the Cross are respectable too," said the weighty chorister again.

"If we could only get at them!" said Matsko. "There would be a respectable booty!"

But Povala was thinking of something else, namely, that young Zbyshko, who had offended only through stupid impulsiveness, was going into the jaws of the wolf as it were. The lord of Tachev, stern and stubborn in time of war, had a real dovelike heart in his mighty breast ; since he knew better than others what was waiting for the offender, pity for the youth seized the knight.

"I am meditating and meditating," said he to the princess, "whether to tell the king what has happened, or not tell him. If the German knight does not complain, there will be no case, but it he is to complain it would be better to tell earlier, so that our lord should not flame up in sudden anger."

"If the Knight of the Cross can ruin any man, he will ruin him," said the princess. "But I first of all will tell the young man to join our court. Perhaps the king will not punish a courtier of ours so severely."

Then she called Zbyshko, who, learning what the question was, sprang from his horse, seized her feet, and with the utmost delight agreed to be her attendant, not only because of greater safety, but because he could in that way remain near Danusia.

"Where are you to lodge?" asked Povala of Matsko.

"In an inn."

"There is no room in the inns this long time."

"Then I will go to a merchant, an acquaintance, Amyley, Perhaps he will shelter us for the night."

"But I say to you, come as guests to me. Your nephew might lodge in the castle with the courtiers of the princess, but it will be better for him not to be under the hand of the king. What the king would do in his first anger, he would not do in his second. It is certain also that you will divide your property, wagons, and servants, and to do that, time is needed. With me, as it is known to you, you will be safe and comfortable."

Matsko, though troubled a little that Povala was thinking so much of their safety, thanked him with gratitude, and they entered the city. But there he and Zbyshko forgot again for a time their troubles at sight of the wonders surrounding them. In Lithuania and on the boundary they had seen only single castles, and of more considerable towns only Vilno,—badly built, and burnt, all in ashes and ruins. In Cracow the stone houses of merchants were often more splendid than the castle of the Grand Prince in Lithuania. Many houses were of wood, it is true, but many of those astonished the beholder by the loftiness of the walls and the roofs, with windows of glass, the panes fitted into lead sashes, panes which so reflected the rays of the setting sun that one might suppose the house burning. But along streets near the market were large houses of red brick, or entirely of stone, lofty, ornamented with plates and the cross charm on the walls. They stood one at the side of the other, like soldiers in line, some wide, others narrow, as narrow as nine ells, but erect, with arched ceiling—often with the picture of the Passion, or with the image of the Most Holy Virgin over the gate. On some streets were two rows of houses, above them a strip of sky, below a street entirely paved with stones, and on both sides as far as the eye could see, shops and shops, rich, full of the most excellent, ofttimes wonderful or wholly unknown goods, on which Matsko, accustomed to continual war and taking of booty, looked with an eye somewhat greedy. But the public buildings brought both to still greater astonishment; the church of the Virgin Mary in the square, then other churches, the cloth market, the city hall with an enormous "cellar" in which they sold Schweidnitz beer, cloth shops, the immense mercatorium intended for foreign merchants, also a building in which the city weights were kept, barber-shops, baths, places for smelting copper, wax, gold, and silver, breweries, whole mountains of kegs around the so-called Schrotamt,—in a word, plenty and wealth, which a man unacquainted with the city, even though the wealthy owner of a "town," could not imagine to himself.

Povala conducted Matsko and Zbyshko to his house on Saint Ann Street, commanded to give them a spacious room, intrusted them to attendants, and went himself to the castle; from which he returned for supper rather late in the evening with a number of his friends. They used meat and wine in abundance and supped joyously; but the host himself was somehow anxious, and when at last the guests went away he said to Matsko,—

"I have spoken to a canon skilled in writing and in law; he tells me that insult to an envoy is a capital offence. Pray to God, therefore, that Lichtenstein make no complaint."

When they heard this both knights, though at supper they had in some degree passed the measure, went to rest with hearts that were not so joyous. Matsko could not sleep, and some time after they had lain down he called to his nephew,—

"Zbyshko!"

"But what?"

"Well, taking everything into account, I think that they will cut off thy head."

"Do you think so?" asked Zbyshko, with a drowsy voice. And turning to the wall he fell asleep sweetly, for he was wearied by the road.

Next day the two owners of Bogdanets together with Povala went to early mass in the Cathedral, through piety and to see the guests who had assembled at the castle. Indeed Povala had met a multitude of acquaintances on the road, and among them many knights famous at home and abroad; on these young Zbyshko looked with admiration, promising himself in spirit that if the affair with Lichtenstein should leave him unharmed, he would strive to equal them in bravery and every virtue. One of those knights, Toporchyk, a relative of the castellan of Cracow told him about the return from Rome of Voitseh Yastrembets, a scholastic, who had gone with a letter from the king to Pope Boniface IX., inviting him to Cracow. Boniface accepted the invitation, and though he expressed doubt as to whether he could come in person, he empowered his ambassador to hold in his name the infant at the font, and begged at the same time, as a proof of his love for both kingdoms, to name the child Bonifacius or Bonifacia.

They spoke also of the approaching arrival of Sigismond of Hungary, and expected it surely; for Sigismond, whether invited or not, went always to places where there was a chance of feasts, visits, and tournaments, in which he took part with delight, desiring to be renowned universally as a ruler, a singer, and one of the first of knights. Povala, Zavisha of Garbov, Dobko of Olesnitsa, Nashan, and other men of similar measure remembered with a smile how, during former visits of Sigismond, King Vladislav had begged them in secret not to push too hard in the tournament, and to spare the "Hungarian guest," whose vanity, known throughout the world, was so great that in case of failure it brought tears from his eyes. But the greatest attention among the knighthood was roused by the affair of Vitold. Wonders were related of the splendor of that cradle of pure silver, which princes and boyars of Lithuania had brought from Vitold and his wife Anna. Before divine service groups of people were formed as is usual; these related news to each other. In one of those groups Matsko, when he heard of the cradle, described the richness of the gift, but still more Vitold's intended immense expedition against the Tartars; he was covered with questions about it. The expedition was nearly ready, for great armies had moved to Eastern Rus, and in case of success it would extend the supremacy of King Yagello over almost half the earth, to the unknown depths of Asia,—to the boundaries of Persia, and the banks of the Aral. Matsko, who formerly had been near the person of Vitold, and who was able to know his plans therefore, knew how to tell them in detail, and even so eloquently that before the bell had sounded for mass a crowd of the curious had formed around him in front of the cathedral. "It was a question," he said, "of an expedition in favor of the Cross. Vitold himself, though called Grand Prince, rules Lithuania by appointment of Yagello, and is merely viceroy. His merit, therefore, will fall on the king. And what glory for newly baptized Lithuania, and for Polish power, if their united armies shall carry the Cross to regions in which if the name of the Saviour has ever been mentioned, it was only to be blasphemed, regions in which the foot of a Pole or Lithuanian has never stood up to this time! The expelled Tohtamysh, if Polish and Lithuanian troops seat him again on the last Kipchak throne, will call himself 'son' of King Vladislav and, as he has promised, will bow down to the Cross together with the whole Golden Horde."

They listened to these words with attention, but many did not know well what the question was,—whom was Vitold to assist? against whom was he to war? Hence some said: "Tell us clearly, with whom is the war?"

"With Timur the Lame," answered Matsko.

A moment of silence followed. The ears of Western knighthood had been struck more than once, it is true, by the names of the Golden, Blue, and Azoff Hordes, as well as various others, but Tartar questions and domestic wars between individual Hordes were not clearly known to them. On the other hand, one could not find a single man in Europe of that day who had not heard of the awful Timur the Lame, or Tamerlane, whose name was repeated with not less dread than the name of Attila aforetime. Was he not "lord of the world" and "lord of times," ruler of twenty-seven conquered kingdoms, ruler of Muscovite Rus, ruler of Siberia, China to India, Bagdad, Ispahan, Aleppo, Damascus,—a man whose shadow fell across the sands of Arabia onto Egypt, and across the Bosphorus onto the Byzantine Empire, destroyer of the human race, monstrous builder of pyramids made of human skulls, victor in all battles, defeated in none, "master of souls and bodies"?

Tohtamysh had been seated by Tamerlane on the throne of the Blue aud the Golden Hordes, and recognized as "son." But when Tohtamysh's lordship extended from the Aral to the Crimea, over more lands than there were in all remaining Europe, the "son" wished to be independent; therefore, deprived of his throne by "one finger" of the terrible father, he fled to the Lithuanian prince imploring aid. It was this man precisely whom Vitold intended to conduct back to his kingdom, but to do so he would have first to measure strength with the world-ruling Limper. For this reason his name produced a powerful impression on the listeners, and after a time of silence one of the oldest knights, Kazko of Yaglov, said,

"It is not a dispute with some trifling man."

"But it is about some trifling thing," said Pan Mikolai, prudently. "What profit to us if far off there beyond the tenth land a Tohtamysh, instead of a Kutluk, rules the sons of Belial?"

"Tohtamysh would receive the Christian faith," answered Matsko.

"He would receive it, but he has not received it. Is it possible to believe dog brothers, who do not confess Christ?"

"But it is a worthy deed to lay down one's life for the name of Christ," replied Povala.

"And for the honor of knighthood," added Toporchykj "among us are men who will go. Pan Spytko of Melshtyn has a young and beloved wife, but he has gone to Prince Vitold for the expedition."

"And no wonder," put in Yasko Nashan; "though a man had the foulest sin on his soul, he would receive sure forgiveness for his part in such a war, and certain salvation."

"And glory for the ages of ages," said Povala. "If there is to be a war, let it be a war, and that it is not with some common person is all the better. Timur conquered the world and has twenty-seven kingdoms under him. What a glory for our people to rub him out."

"Why should we not?" answered Toporchyk, "even if he possessed a hundred kingdoms, let others fear him, not we! Ye speak worthily! Only call together ten thousand good lancers we will ride through the world."

"What people should finish the Limper if not ours?"

So spoke the knights, and Zbyshko wondered why the desire had not come to him earlier of going into the wild steppes with Vitold. During his stay in Vilno he had wished to see Cracow, the court, take part in knightly tournaments, but now he thought that here he might find condemnation and infamy, while there, at the worst, he would find a death full of glory. But Kazko of Yaglov, a hundred years old, whose neck was trembling from age, and who had a mind answering to his age, cast cold water on the willingness of the knighthood.

"Ye are foolish," said he. "Has no one of you heard that the image of Christ has spoken to the queen? And if the Saviour himself admits her to such confidence, why should the Holy Ghost, the third person of the Trinity, be less gracious. For this reason she sees future things, as if they were happening in her presence, and she said this—"

Here he stopped, shook his head for a moment, and then continued,—

"I have forgotten what she did say, but I will recall it directly."

And he began to think; they waited with attention, for the opinion was universal that the queen saw future events.

"Aha! I have it!" said he at last. "The queen said that if all the knighthood of this country should go with Prince Vitold against the Limper, pagan power might be crushed. But that cannot be, because of the dishonesty of Christians. It is necessary to guard our boundaries against Chehs, and Hungarians, and against the Knights of the Cross, for it is not possible to trust any one. And if only a handful of Poles go with Vitold, Timur will finish them, or his voevodas will, for they command countless legions."

"But there is peace at present," said Toporchyk, "and the Order itself will give some aid, perhaps, to Vitold. The Knights of the Cross cannot act otherwise, even for shame's sake; they must show the holy father that they are ready to fight against pagans. People say at court that Kuno Lichteustein is here not only for the christening, but also to counsel with the king."

"Ah, hero he is!" exclaimed Matsko, with astonishment.

"True! " said Povala, looking around. "As God lives, it is he! He stayed a short time with the abbot; he must have left Tynets before daybreak."

"He was in haste for some reason," said Matsko, gloomily.

Meanwhile Kuno Lichtenstein passed near them. Matsko recognized him by the cross embroidered on his mantle, but the envoy knew neither him nor Zbyshko, because the first time he had seen them they were in helmets, and in a helmet, even with raised vizor, it was possible to see only a small part of the face. While passing he nodded toward Povala and Toporchyk, then, with his attendants, he ascended the steps of the cathedral, with an important and majestic tread.

Just at that moment the bells sounded, announcing that mass would begin soon, and frightening a flock of daws and doves gathered in the towers. Matsko and Zbyshko, somewhat disturbed by the quick return of Lichtenstein, entered the church with others. But the old man was now the more disturbed, for the king's court took all the young knight's attention. Never in his life had Zbyshko seen anything so imposing as that church and that assembly. On the right and on the left he was surrounded by the most famous men of the kingdom, renowned in counsel, or in war. Many of those whose wisdom had effected the marriage of the Grand Prince of Lithuania with the marvellous young Queen of Poland had died, but some were still living, and on them people looked with uncommon respect. The youthful knight could not gaze enough at the noble figure of Yasko of Tenchyn, the castellan of Cracow, in which severity and dignity were blended with uprightness; he admired the wise and dignified faces of other counsellors, and the strong visages of knights with hair cut straight above their brows and falling in long locks at the sides of their heads and behind. Some wore nets, others only ribbons holding the hair in order. Foreign guests, envoys of the King of Rome, Bohemians, Hungarians, Austrians, with their attendants, astonished with the great elegance of their dresses; the princes and boyars of Lithuania, standing near the side of the king, in spite of the summer and the burning days, for show's sake wore shubas lined with costly fur; the Russian princes, in stiff and broad garments, looked, on the background of the walls and the gilding of the church, like Byzantine pictures.

But Zbyshko waited with the greatest curiosity for the entrance of the king and queen, and forced his way up as much as possible toward the stalls, beyond which, near the altar, were two velvet cushions,—for the royal couple always heard mass on their knees. Indeed, people did not wait long; the king entered first, by the door of the sacristy, and before he had come in front of the altar it was possible to observe him well. He had black hair, dishevelled and growing somewhat thin above his forehead; at the sides it was put back over his ears; his face was dark, entirely shaven, nose aquiline and rather pointed; around his mouth there were wrinkles; his eyes were black, small, and glittering. He looked on every side, as if he wished before reaching the front of the altar to make estimate of all people in the church. His countenance had a kindly expression, but also the watchful one of a man who, elevated by fortune beyond his own hopes, has to think continually whether his acts correspond to his office, and who fears malicious blame. But for this reason specially there was in his face and his movements a certain impatience. It was easy to divine that his anger must be sudden, and that he was always that same prince who, roused by the wiles of the Knights of the Cross, had cried to their envoys: "Thou strikest at me with a parchment, but I at thee with a dart!"

Now, however, a great and sincere piety restrained his native quick temper. Not only the newly converted princes of Lithuania, but also Polish magnates, pious from the example of grandfather and great-grandfather, were edified at sight of the king in the church. Often he put the cushion aside, and knelt, for greater mortification, on the bare stones; often he raised his hands, and held them raised till they fell of themselves from fatigue. He heard at least three masses daily, and heard them almost with eagerness. The exposure of the chalice and the sound of the bell at the Elevation always filled his soul with ecstasy, enthusiasm, and awe. At the end of mass he went forth from the church as if he had been roused from sleep, calmed and mild; soon courtiers discovered that that was the best time to beg him for gifts or forgiveness.

Yadviga entered by the sacristy door. Knights nearest the stalls, when they saw her, though mass had not begun, knelt at once, yielding involuntary honor to her, as to a saint. Zbyshko did the same, for in all that congregation no one doubted that he had really before him a saint, whose image would in time adorn the altars of churches. More especially during recent years the severe penitential life of Yadviga had caused this, that besides the honor due a queen, they rendered her honor well-nigh religious. From mouth to mouth among lords and people passed reports of miracles wrought by her. It was said that the touch of her hand cared the sick; that people deprived of strength in their members recovered it by putting on old robes of the queen. Trustworthy witnesses affirmed that with their own ears they had heard Christ speaking to her from the altar. Foreign monarchs gave her honor on their knees; even the insolent Knights of the Cross respected her, and feared to offend her. Pope Boniface IX. called her a saint and the chosen daughter of the Church. The world considered her acts, and remembered that that was a child of the house of Anjou and of the Polish Piasts; that she was a daughter of the powerful Ludvik; that she was reared at the most brilliant of courts; that she was the most beautiful of maidens in the kingdom; that she had renounced happiness, renounced a maiden's first love, and married as queen the "wild" prince of Lithuania, so as to bend with him to the foot of the Cross the last pagan people in Europe. What the power of all the Germans, the power of the Knights of the Cross, their crusading expeditions, and a sea of blood had not effected, her single word had effected. Never had apostolic labor been joined with such devotion; never had woman's beauty been illuminated by such angelic goodness and such quiet sorrow.

Therefore minstrels in all the courts of Europe celebrated her; knights from the most remote lands came to Cracow to see that "Polish Queen;" her own people, whose strength and glory she had increased by her alliance with Yagello, loved her as the sight of their eyes. Only one great grief had weighed upon her and the nation,—God through long years had refused posterity to this His chosen one.

But when at last that misfortune had passed, the news of the implored blessing spread like lightning from the Baltic to the Black Sea, to the Carpathians, and filled all people of the immense commonwealth with delight. It was received joyfully even at foreign courts, but not at the capital of the Knights of the Cross. In Rome they sang a "Te Deum." In Poland the final conviction was reached that whatever the "holy lady" might ask of God would be given beyond doubt.

So people came to implore her to ask health for them; deputations came from provinces and districts, begging that in proportion as the need might be she would pray for rain, for good weather, for crops, for a favorable harvest, a good yield of honey, for abundance of fish in the lakes, and beasts in the forests. Terrible knights from border castles and towns, who, according to customs received from the Germans, toiled at robbery or war among themselves, at one reminder from her sheathed their swords; freed prisoners without ransom; returned stolen herds; and gave hands to one another in concord. Every misfortune, every poverty hurried to the gates of the castle of Cracow. Her pure spirit penetrated the hearts of men, softened the lot of subjects, the pride of lords, the harshness of judges, and soared like the light of happiness, like an angel of justice and peace above the whole country.

All were waiting then with beating hearts for the day of blessing.

The knights looked diligently at the form of the queen, so as to infer how long they would have to wait for the coming heir or heiress to the throne. Vysh, the bishop of Cracow, who was besides the most skilful physician in the country, and even celebrated abroad, did not predict yet a quick delivery. If they were making preparations, it was because it was the custom of the age to begin every solemnity at the earliest, and continue it whole weeks. In fact, the lady's form, though somewhat more pronounced, preserved so far its usual outlines. She wore robes that were even too simple. Reared in a brilliant court, and being the most beautiful of contemporary princesses, she had been enamoured of costly materials,—chains, pearls, gold bracelets and rings; but at this time, and even for some years, not only did she wear the robes of a nun, but she covered her face, lest the thought of her beauty might rouse worldly pride in her. In vain did Yagello, when he learned of her changed condition, recommend, in the ecstasy of his delight, to adorn the bedchamber with cloth of gold, brocade, and precious stones. She answered that, having renounced show long before, she remembered that the time of birth was often the time of death; and hence it was not amidst jewels, but with silent humility, that she ought to receive the favor with which God was visiting her.

The gold and precious stones went meanwhile to the Academy or to the work of sending newly baptized Lithuanian youths to foreign universities.

The queen agreed to change her religious appearance only in this, that from the time when the hope of motherhood had become perfect certainty she would not hide her face, considering justly that the dress of a penitent did not befit her from that moment forward.

And in fact all eyes rested now in love on that wonderful face, to which neither gold nor precious stones could add ornament. The queen walked slowly from the sacristy to the altar with her eyes uplifted, in one hand a book, in the other a rosary. Zbyshko saw the lily-colored face, the blue eyes, the features simply angelic, full of peace, goodness, mercy, and his heart began to beat like a hammer. He knew that by command of God he ought to love his king and his queen, and he had loved them in his own way, but now his heart seethed up in him on a sudden with great love, which comes not of command, but which bursts forth of itself, like a flame, and is at once both the greatest honor and humility, and a wish for sacrifice. Zbyshko was young and impulsive; hence a desire seized him to show that love and faithfulness of a subject knight, to do something for her, to fly somewhere, to slay some one, to capture something, and lay down his head at the same time. "I will go even with Prince Vitold," said he to himself, "for how else can I serve the saintly lady, if there is no war near at hand?" It did not even come to his head that he could serve otherwise than with a sword, or a javelin, or an axe, but to make up for that he was ready to go alone against the whole power of Timur the Lame. He wanted to mount his horse immediately after mass and begin—what? He himself did not know. He knew only that he could not restrain himself, that his hands were burning, that his whole soul within him was burning.

So again he forgot altogether the danger which was threatening him. He forgot even Danusia for a while, and when she came to his mind because of the childlike singing which was heard all at once in the church, he had a feeling that that was "something else." To Danusia he had promised faithfulness, he had promised three Germans, and he would keep that promise; but the queen was above all women, and when he thought how many he would like to kill for the queen he saw in front of him whole legions of breastplates, helmets, ostrich and peacock plumes, and felt that according to his wish that was still too little.

Meanwhile he did not take his eyes from her, asking in his swollen heart, "With what prayer can I honor her?" for he judged that it was not possible to pray for the queen in common fashion. He knew how to say, "Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen Tuum," for a certain Franciscan in Vilno had taught him those words; perhaps the monk himself did not know more, perhaps Zbyshko had forgotten the rest; it is enough that he was unable to say the whole Pater noster (Our Father), so he began to repeat in succession those few words which in his soul meant, "Give our beloved lady health, and life, and happiness—and think more of her than of all others." And since this was said by a man over whose head judgment and punishment were hanging, there was not in that whole church a more sincere prayer.

At the end of mass Zbyshko thought that if it were permitted him to stand before the queen, fall on his face and embrace her feet, then even let the end of the world come. But the first mass was followed by a second, and then a third; after that the lady went to her apartments, for usually she fasted till mid-day, and took no part in joyful breakfasts at which, for the amusement of the king and guests, jesters and jugglers appeared. But old Pan Mikolai came and summoned him to the princess.

"At the table thou wilt serve me and Danusia, as my attendant," said the princess; "and may it be granted thee to please the king with some amusing word or act, by which thou wilt win his heart to thyself. If the German knight recognizes thee, perhaps he will not make a complaint, seeing that at the king's table thou art serving me."

Zbyshko kissed the princess's hand, then turned to Danusia, and though he was more used to war and battles than to courtly customs, he knew evidently what a knight ought to do on seeing the lady of his thoughts in the morning, for he stepped back and assuming an expression of surprise exclaimed, while making the sign of the cross,—

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"

"But why does Zbyshko make the sign of the cross?" inquired Danusia, raising her blue eyes to him.

"Because, lovely damsel, so much beauty has been added to thee that I wonder."

But Pan Mikolai, as an old man, did not like new foreign knightly customs, hence he shrugged his shoulders, and said,—

"Why wilt thou lose time for nothing and talk about her beauty? That is a chit which has hardly risen above the earth."

Zbyshko looked at him immediately with indignation.

"You are mad to call her that," said he, growing pale from anger. "Know this, that if your years were less I would command at once to trample earth behind the castle, and let my death or yours come!"

"Be quiet, stripling! I could manage thee even to-day!"

"Be quiet!" repeated the princess. "Instead of thinking of thy own head, thou art looking for other quarrels! I ought to have found a more sedate knight for Danusia. But I tell thee this, if thou hast a wish to quarrel move hence to whatever place may please thee, for here such men are not needed."

Zbyshko, put to shame by the words of the princess, began to beg her pardon, thinking, meanwhile, that if Pan Mikolai had a grown-up son he would challenge him to a combat sometime, on foot or on horseback, unless the word were forgiven. He determined, however, to deport himself like a dove in the king's chambers, and not to challenge any one unless knightly honor commanded it absolutely.

The sound of trumpets announced that the meal was ready; so Princess Anna, taking Danusia by the hand, withdrew to the king's apartments, before which lay dignitaries and knights stood awaiting her arrival. The Princess Alexandra had entered first, for as sister of the king she occupied a higher place at the table. Straightway the room was filled with foreign guests, invited local dignitaries, and knights. The king sat at the head of the table, having at his side the bishop of Cracow and Voitseh Yastrembets, who, though lower in dignity than mitred persons, sat as ambassador of the pope, at the right hand of the king. The two princesses occupied the succeeding places. Beyond Anna Danuta in a broad arm-chair, Yan, the former archbishop of Gnesen, had disposed himself comfortably. He was a prince descended from the Piasts of Silesia, a son of Bolko III., Prince of Opole. Zbyshko had heard of him at the court of Vitold, and now, standing behind the princess and Danusia, he recognized the man at once by his immensely abundant hair, twisted in rolls like a holy-water sprinkler. At the courts of Polish princes they called him Kropidlo, and even the Knights of the Cross gave him the name "Grapidla."^[1] He was famed for joyfulness and frivolity. Having received the pallium for the archbishopric of Gnesen against the will of the king he wished to occupy it with armed hand; expelled from the office for this and exiled, he connected himself with the Knights of the Cross, who gave him the poor bishopric of Kamen. Understanding at last that it was better to be in accord with a powerful king, he implored Yagello's forgiveness, returned to the country, and was waiting till a see should be vacant, hoping to receive it from the hands of his kindly lord. In fact he was not deceived; meanwhile he was endeavoring to win the king's heart with pleasant jests. But the former inclination towards the Knights of the Cross had remained with him, and even then, at the court of Yagello, though not looked upon too favorably by knights and dignitaries, he sought the society of Lichtenstein, and was glad to sit next him at table.

Zbyshko, standing behind Princess Anna's chair, found himself so near the Knight of the Cross that he could touch him with his hand. In fact his hands began to itch immediately and to move; but that was involuntary, for he restrained his impulsiveness, and did not permit himself any erratic thought. Still he could not refrain from casting occasional glances that were somewhat greedy at Lichtenstein's flax-colored head, which was growing bald behind, at his neck, his shoulders, and his arms, wishing to estimate at once whether he would have much work were he to meet him either in battle or in single combat. It seemed to him that he would not have overmuch, for, though the shoulder-blades of the knight were rather powerful in outline, under his closely fitting garment of thin gray cloth, he was still a skeleton in comparison with Povala, or Pashko Zlodye, or the two renowned Sulimchiks, or Kron of Koziglove, and many other knights sitting at the king's table.

On them indeed Zbyshko looked with admiration and envy, but his main attention was turned toward the king, who, casting glances on all sides, gathered in, from moment to moment, his hair behind his ears, as if made impatient by this, that the meal had not begun yet. His glance rested for the twinkle of an eye on Zbyshko also, and then the young knight experienced the feeling of a certain fear; and at the thought that surely he would have to stand before the angry face of the king a terrible alarm mastered him. At first he thought, it is true, of the responsibility and the punishment which might fall on him, for up to that moment all this had seemed to him distant, indefinite, hence not worthy of thought.

But the German did not divine that the knight who had attacked him insolently on the road was so near. The meal began. They brought in caudle, so strongly seasoned with eggs, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and saffron, that the odor went through the entire hall. At the same time the jester, Tsarushek, sitting in the doorway on a stool, began to imitate the singing of a nightingale, which evidently delighted the king. After him another jester passed around the table with the servants who were carrying food; he stood behind the chairs without being noticed, and imitated the buzzing of a bee so accurately that this man and that laid down his spoon and defended his head with his hand. At sight of this, others burst into laughter.

Zbyshko served the princess and Danusia diligently, but when Lichtenstein in his turn began to slap his head, which was growing bald, he forgot his danger again and laughed till the tears came. A young Lithuanian prince, son of the viceroy of Smolensk, helped him in this so sincerely that he dropped food from the tray.

The Knight of the Cross, noting his error at last, reached to his hanging pocket, and turning to bishop Kropidlo, said something to him in German which the bishop repeated immediately in Polish.

"The noble lord declares," said he, turning to the jester, "that thou wilt receive two coins; but buzz not too near, for bees are driven out and drones are killed."

The jester pocketed the two coins which the knight had given him, and using the freedom accorded to jesters at all courts, he answered,—

"There is much honey in the land of Dobryn; that is why the drones have settled on it. Kill them, O King Vladislav!"

"Ha! here is a coin from me too, for thou hast answered well," said Kropidlo; "but remember that when a ladder falls the bee-keeper breaks his neck. Those Malborg drones which have settled on Dobryn have stings, and it is dangerous to climb to their nests."

"Oh!" cried Zyndram of Mashkov, the sword-bearer of Cracow, "we can smoke them out."

"With what?"

"With powder."

"Or cut their nests with an axe!" said the gigantic Pashko Zlodye.

Zbyshko's heart rose, for he thought that such words heralded war. But Kuno Lichtenstein understood the words too, for having lived long in Torun and in Helmno he had learned Polish speech, and he failed to use it only through pride. But now, roused by Zyndram's words, he fixed his gray eyes on him and answered,—

"We shall see."

"Our fathers saw at Plovtsi, and we have seen at Vilno," answered Zyndram.

"Pax vobiscum! Pax, pax!" exclaimed Kropidlo. "Only let the reverend Mikolai of Kurov leave the bishopric of Kuyav, and the gracious king appoint me in his place, I will give you such a beautiful sermon on love among nations, that I will crush you completely, for what is hatred if not ignis (fire), and besides ignis infernalis (hell fire),—a fire so terrible that water has no effect on it, and it can be quenched only with wine. With wine, then! We will go to the ops! as the late bishop Zbisha said."

"And from the ops to hell, as the devil said," added the jester.

"May he take thee!"

"It will be more interesting when he takes you; the devil has not been seen yet with a Kropidlo (holy-water sprinkler), but I think that all will have that pleasure."

"I will sprinkle thee first," said Kropidlo. "Give us wine, and long life to love among Christians!"

"Among real Christians ! " repeated Lichtenstein, with emphasis.

"How is that?" asked the bishop of Cracow, raising his head. "Are you not in an old-time Christian kingdom? Are not the churches older here than in Malborg?"

"I know not," answered the Knight of the Cross.

The king was especially sensitive on the question of Christianity. It seemed to him that perhaps the Knight of the Cross wished to reproach him; so his prominent cheeks were covered at once with red spots, and his eyes began to flash.

"What," asked he in a loud voice. "Am I not a Christian king?"

"The kingdom calls itself Christian," answered Lichtenstein coldly, "but the customs in it are pagan."

At this, terrible knights rose from their seats,—Martsin Vrotsimovitse, Floryan of Korytnitsa, Bartosh of Vodzinek, Domarat of Kobylany, Povala of Tachev, Pashko Zlodye, Zyndram of Mashkovitse, Yasha of Targovisko, Kron of Koziglove, Zygmunt of Bobova, and Stashko of Harbimovitse, powerful, renowned, victors in many battles and in many tournaments; at one instant they were flushing with anger, at another pale, at another gritting their teeth they exclaimed, one interrupting another,—

"Woe to us! for he is a guest and cannot be challenged!"

But Zavisha Charny, the most renowned among the renowned, the "model of knights," turned his frowning brows to Lichtenstein, and said,—

"Kuno, I do not recognize thee. How canst thou, a knight, shame a noble people among whom thou, being an envoy, art threatened by no punishment?"

But Kuno endured calmly his terrible Vooks and answered slowly and emphatically,—

"Our Order before coming to Prussia warred in Palestine, but there even Saracens respected envoys. Ye alone do not respect them, and for this reason I have called your customs pagan."

At this the uproar became still greater. Around the table were heard again the cries of "Woe! woe!"

They grew silent, however, when the king, on whose face anger was boiling, clapped his hands a number of times in Lithuanian fashion. Then old Yasko Topor of Tenchyn, the castellan of Cracow, rose,—he was gray, dignified, rousing fear by the truthfulness of his rule,—and said,—

"Noble knight of Lichtenstein, if any insult has met you as an envoy, speak, there will be satisfaction and stern justice quickly."

"This would not have happened to me in any other Christian land," answered Kuno. "Yesterday, on the road to Tynets, one of your knights fell upon me, and though from the cross on my mantle it was easy to see who I was, he attempted my life."

Zbyshko, when he heard these words grew deathly pale and looked involuntarily at the king whose face was simply terrible. Yasko of Tenchyn was astounded, and said,—

"Can that be?"

"Ask the lord of Tachev, who was a witness of the deed."

All eyes turned to Povala who stood for a while gloomy, with drooping eyelids, and then said,—

"It is true!"

When the knights heard this they called out: "Shame! shame! The ground should open under such a one." And from shame some struck their thighs and their breasts with their hands, others twisted the pewter plates on the table between their fingers, not knowing where to cast their eyes.

"Why did'st thou not kill him? " thundered the king.

"I did not because his head belongs to judgment," replied Povala.

"Did you imprison him? " asked the Castellan of Cracow.

"No. He is a noble, who swore on his knightly honor that he would appear."

"And he will not appear!" said Lichtenstein, with a sneer and raising his head.

With that a plaintive youthful voice called out not far from the shoulders of the Knight of the Cross,—

"May God never grant that I should prefer shame to death. It was I who did that, I, Zbyshko of Bogdanets."

At these words the knights sprang toward the hapless Zbyshko, but they were stopped by a threatening beck of the king, who rose with flashing eyes, and called in a voice panting from anger, a voice which was like the sound of a wagon jolting over stones,—

"Cut off his head! cut off his head! Let the Knight of the Cross send his head to the Grand Master at Malborg!"

Then he cried to the young Lithuanian prince, son of the viceroy of Smolensk,—

"Hold him, Yamont!"

Terrified by the king's anger, Yamont laid his trembling hand on the shoulder of Zbyshko, who, turning a pallid face toward him, said,—

"I will not flee."

But the white-bearded castellan of Cracow raised his hand in sign that he wished to speak, and when there was silence, he said,

"Gracious king! Let that comtur be convinced that not thy anger, but our laws punish with death an attack on the person of an envoy. Otherwise he might think the more justly that there are no Christian laws in this kingdom. I will hold judgment on the accused to-morrow!"

He pronounced the last words in a high key, and evidently not admitting even the thought that that voice would be disobeyed, he beckoned to Yamont, and said,—

"Confine him in the tower. And you, lord of Tachev, will give witness."

"I will tell the whole fault of that stripling, which no mature man among us would have ever committed," said Povala, looking gloomily at Lichtenstein.

"He speaks justly," said others at once; "he is a lad yet; why should we all be put to shame through him?"

Then came a moment of silence and of unfriendly glances at the Knight of the Cross; meanwhile Yamont led away Zbyshko, to give him into the hands of the bowmen standing in the courtyard of the castle. In his young heart he felt pity for the prisoner; this pity was increased by his innate hatred for the Germans. But as a Lithuanian he was accustomed to accomplish blindly the will of the grand prince; and, terrified by the anger of the king, he whispered to Zbyshko in friendly persuasion,—

"Knowst what I will say to thee? hang thyself! The best is to hang thyself right away. The king is angry,—and they will cut off thy head. Why not make him glad? Hang thyself, friend! with us it is the custom."

Zbyshko, half unconscious from shame and fear, seemed at first not to understand the words of the little prince; but at last he understood, and stood still from astonishment.

"What dost thou say?"

"Hang thyself! Why should they judge thee? Thou wilt gladden the king!" repeated Yamont.

"Hang thyself, if thou wish!" cried Zbyshko. "They baptized thee in form, but the skin on thee has remained pagan; and thou dost not even understand that it is a sin for a Christian to do such a thing."

"But it would not be of free will," answered the prince, shrugging his shoulders. "If thou dost not do this, they will cut off thy head."

It shot through Zbyshko's mind that for such words it would be proper to challenge the young boyarin at once to a conflict on foot or on horseback, with swords or with axes; but he stifled that idea, remembering that there would be no time for such action. So, dropping his head gloomily and in silence, he let himself be delivered into the hands of the leader of the palace bowmen.

Meanwhile, in the dining-hall universal attention was turned in another direction. Danusia, seeing what was taking place, was so frightened at first that the breath was stopped in her breast. Her face became as pale as linen; her eyes grew round from terror, and, as motionless as a wax figure in a church, she gazed at the king. But when at last she heard that they were to cut off her Zbyshko's head, when they seized him and led him forth from the hall, measureless sorrow took possession of her; her lips and brows began to quiver; nothing was of effect,—neither fear of the king nor biting her lips with her teeth; and on a sudden she burst into weeping so pitiful and shrill that all faces turned to her, and the king himself asked,—

"What is this?"

"Gracious king!" exclaimed Princess Anna, "this is the daughter of Yurand of Spyhov, to whom this ill-fated young knight made a vow. He vowed to obtain for her three peacock-plumes from helmets; and seeing such a plume on the helmet of this comtur, he thought that God himself had sent it to him. Not through malice did he do this, lord, but through folly; for this reason be merciful, and do not punish him; for this we beg thee on bended knees."

Then she rose, and taking Danusia by the hand, hurried with her to the king, who, seeing them, began to draw back.

But they knelt before him, and Danusia, embracing the king's feet with her little hands, cried, "Forgive Zbyshko, O king; forgive Zbyshko!"

And, carried away at the same time by fear, she hid her bright head in the folds of the gray mantle of the king, kissing his knees, and quivering like a leaf. Princess Anna knelt on the other side, and, putting her palms together, looked imploringly at Yagello, on whose face was expressed great perplexity. He drew back, it is true, with his chair, but he did not repulse Danusia with force; he merely pushed the air with both hands, as if defending himself from flies.

"Give me peace!" said he; "he is at fault, he has shamed the whole kingdom! let them cut off his head!"

But the little hands squeezed the more tightly around his knees, and the childlike voice called still more pitifully,—

"Forgive Zbyshko, O king; forgive Zbyshko!"

Then the voices of knights were heard.

"Yurand of Spyhov is a renowned knight, a terror to Germans."

"And that stripling has done much service at Vilno," added Povala.

The king, however, continued to defend himself, though he was moved at sight of Danusia.

"Leave me in peace! He has not offended me, and I cannot forgive him. Let the envoy of the Order forgive him, then I will pardon; if he will not forgive, let them cut off his head."

"Forgive him, Kuno" said Zavisha Charny; "the Grand Master himself will not blame thee."

"Forgive him, lord!" exclaimed the two princesses.

"Forgive him, forgive him!" repeated voices of knights.

Kuno closed his eyes, and sat with forehead erect, as if delighted that the two princesses and such renowned knights were imploring him. All at once, in the twinkle of an eye, he changed; he dropped his head, and crossed his arms on his breast; from being insolent, he became humble, and said, in a low, mild voice,—

"Christ, our Saviour, forgave the thief on the cross, and also his own enemies."

"A true knight utters that!" exclaimed the bishop of Cracow.

"A true knight, a true knight!"

"Why should I not forgive him," continued Kuno,—"I, who am not only a Christian, but a monk? Hence, as a servant of Christ, and a monk, I forgive him from the soul of my heart."

"Glory to him!" thundered Povala of Tachev.

"Glory to him!" repeated others.

"But," added the Knight of the Cross, "I am here among you as an envoy, and I bear in my person the majesty of the whole Order, which is Christ's Order. Whoso offends me as an envoy, offends the Order; and whoso offends the Order offends Christ himself; such a wrong I before God and man cannot pardon. If, therefore, your law pardons it, let all the rulers of Christendom know of the matter."

These words were followed by a dead silence. But after a while were heard here and there the gritting of teeth, the deep breathing of restrained rage, and the sobbing of Danusia.

Before evening all hearts were turned to Zbyshko. The same knights who in the morning would have been ready at one beck of the king to bear Zbyshko apart on their swords were exerting their wits then to see how to aid him. The princesses resolved to go with a prayer to the queen, asking her to persuade Lichtenstein to drop his complaint altogether, or in case of need to write to the Grand Master of the Order, begging that he command Kuno to drop the affair. The way seemed sure, for such uncommon honor surrounded Yadviga that the Grand Master would bring on himself the anger of the pope and the blame of all Christian princes if he refused her such a request. It was not likely that he would, and for this reason, that Conrad Von Jungingen was a calm man, and far milder than his predecessors. Unfortunately the bishop of Cracow, who was also chief physician of the queen, forbade most strictly to mention even one word to her touching the matter. "She is never pleased to hear of death sentences," said he, "and though the question be one of a simple robber, she takes it to heart at once; and what would it be now, when the life of a young man is at stake,—a young man who might justly expect her mercy. Any excitement may easily bring her to grievous illness; her health means more for the whole kingdom than the lives of ten knights." He declared, finally, that if any one dared to disturb the lady in spite of his words, he would bring down on that person the terrible wrath of the king, and lay also the curse of the Church on him or her.

Both princesses feared this declaration, and resolved to be silent before the queen, but to implore the king until he showed some favor. The whole court and all the knights were on the side of Zbyshko. Povala asserted that he would confess the whole truth, but would give testimony favorable to the young man, and would represent the entire affair as the impulsiveness of a boy. Still, every one foresaw, and the castellan of Cracow declared openly, that, if the German insisted, stern justice must have its own.

The hearts of knights rose with growing indignation against Lichtenstein, and more than one thought, or even said openly: "He is an envoy and cannot be summoned to the barriers, but when he returns to Malborg, may God not grant him to die his own death." And those were no idle threats, for it was not permitted belted knights to drop a vain word; whoso said a thing must show its truth or perish. The terrible Povala proved the most stubborn, for he had in Tachev a beloved little daughter of Danusia's age; therefore Danusia's tears crushed the heart in him utterly.

In fact, he visited Zbyshko that very day in the dungeon, commanded him to be of good cheer, told him of the prayers of both princesses and the tears of Danusia. Zbyshko, when he heard that the girl had thrown herself at the feet of the king, was moved to tears, and not knowing how to express his gratitude and his longing, said, wiping his eye lids with the back of his hand,—

"Oh, may God bless her, and grant me a struggle on foot or on horseback for her sake as soon as possible. I promised her too few Germans,—for to such a one was due a number equal to her years. If the Lord Jesus will rescue me from these straits I will not be stingy with her;" and he raised his eyes full of gratitude.

"First vow something to a church," said the lord of Tachev, "for if thy vow be pleasing to God thou wilt be free of a certainty. And second, listen: Thy uncle has gone to Lichtenstein, and I will go too. There would be no shame for thee to ask forgiveness, for thou art at fault; and thou wouldst beg, not Liechtenstein, but an envoy. Art thou willing?"

"Since such a knight as your Grace says that it is proper, I will do so, but if he wishes me to beg him as he wanted on the road to Tynets, then let them cut my head off. My uncle will remain, and my uncle will pay him when his mission is ended."

"We shall see what he will answer to Matsko," replied Povala.

Matsko had really visited the German, but went from his presence as gloomy as night, and betook himself directly to the king, to whom the castellan himself conducted him. The king, who had become perfectly calm, received him kindly. When Matsko knelt, Yagello commanded him at once to rise, and inquired what he wanted.

"Gracious lord," said Matsko, "there has been offence, there must be punishment; otherwise law would cease in the world; but the offence is mine, for not only did I not restrain the natural passionateness of this stripling, but I praised it. I reared him in that way, and from childhood war reared him. It is my offence, gracious king, for more than once did I say to him: 'Strike first, and see afterward whom thou hast struck.' That was well in war, but ill at court. Still, the lad is like pure gold; he is the last of our race, and I grieve for him dreadfully."

"He has disgraced me, he has disgraced the kingdom," said the king. "Am I to rub honey on him for such deeds?"

Matsko was silent, for at remembrance of Zbyshko sorrow pressed his throat suddenly, and only after a long time did he speak again, with a moved voice,—

"I knew not that I loved him so much, and only now is it shown, after misfortune has come. I am old, and he is the last of our family. When he is gone—we shall be gone. Gracious king and lord, take pity on us!"

Here Matsko knelt again, and stretching forth hands that were wearied from war, he said, with tears,—

"We defended Vilno. God gave booty; to whom shall I leave it? The German wants punishment; let there be punishment, but let me yield my head. What is life to me without Zbyshko? He is young; let him free his land and beget posterity as God commands men to do. The Knight of the Cross will not even inquire whose head has fallen, if only one falls. Neither will any disgrace come on the family for that. It is hard for a man to meet death, but, when we look at the matter more carefully, it is better that one man should die than that a family should be extinguished."

Thus speaking he embraced the feet of the king. Yagello blinked, which with him was a sign of emotion, and finally he said,—

"I shall never command to behead a belted knight!—never, never!"

"And there would be no justice in doing so," added the castellan. "Law punishes the guilty, but it is not a dragon which sees not whose blood it is gulping. Consider what disgrace would fall on your family ; for were your nephew to consent to what you propose all would hold him and his descendants disgraced."

"He would not consent. But if it were done without his knowledge he would avenge me afterward, as I should avenge him."

"Bring the German to abandon his complaint," said the castellan.

"I have been with him already."

"And what," inquired the king, stretching his neck, "what did he say?"

"He spoke thus: 'Ye should have prayed for pardon on the Tynets road; ye had no wish then, I have no wish now.'"

"And why did ye not wish?"

"For he commanded us to come down from our horses and beg him for pardon on foot."

The king put his hair behind his ears and wished to say something, when an attendant came in with the announcement that the knight of Lichtenstein begged for an audience.

Yagello looked at the castellan, then at Matsko, but commanded them to remain, perhaps in the hope that on this occasion he would soften the affair by his kingly office.

Meanwhile the Knight of the Cross entered, bowed to the king, and said,—

"Gracious lord, here is a written complaint touching the insult which met me in your kingdom."

"Complain to him," answered the king, pointing to the castellan.

"I know neither your laws nor your courts, but I know this: that the envoy of the Order can make complaint only to the king himself," said the knight, looking straight into Yagello's face.

Yagello's small eyes glittered with impatience; but he stretched forth his hand, took the complaint, and gave it to the castellan. The castellan unrolled it and began to read, but as he read his face grew more vexed and gloomy.

"Lord," said he at length, "you insist on taking the life of that youth, as if he were a terror to the whole Order. Do you Knights of the Cross fear children?"

"We Knights of the Cross fear no one," replied the comtur, haughtily.

"Especially God," added the old castellan, in a low voice.

Next day Povala of Tachev did all that was in his power before the court to diminish Zbyshko's guilt. But in vain did he ascribe the deed to youth and inexperience, in vain did he say that even if some one who was older had made a vow to give three peacock-plumes, and had prayed to have them sent to him, and afterward had seen such a plume before him on a sudden, he too might have thought that to be a dispensation of God.

The honorable knight did not deny that had it not been for him Zbyshko's lance would have struck the German's breast. Kuno on his part had caused to be brought into court the armor worn by him that day, and it was found to be of thin plate, worn only on ceremonial visits, and so frail that, considering Zbyshko's uncommon strength, the point of the lance would have passed through the envoy's body and deprived him of life. Then they asked Zbyshko if he had intended to kill the knight.

Zbyshko would not deny. "I called to him from a distance," said he, "to lower his lance; of course he would not have let the helmet be torn from his head while alive, but if he had called from a distance that he was an envoy I should have left him in peace."

These words pleased the knights, who through good-will for the youth had assembled numerously at the court, and straightway many voices were raised. "True! why did he not cry out?" But the castellan's face remained stern and gloomy. Enjoining silence on those present he was silent himself for a while, then he fastened an inquiring eye on Zbyshko, and asked,—

"Canst thou swear, on the Passion of the Lord, that thou didst not see the mantle and the cross?"

"I cannot!" answered Zbyshko; "if I had not seen the cross I should have thought him one of our knights, and I should not have aimed at one of our men."

"But how could a Knight of the Cross be near Cracow unless as an envoy, or in the retinue of an envoy?"

To this Zbyshko made no answer, for he had nothing to say. It was too clear to all that, had it not been for the lord of Tachev, not the armor of the envoy would be before the court then, but the envoy himself with breast pierced, to the eternal shame of the Polish people; hence even those who from their whole souls were friendly to Zbyshko understood that the decision could not be favorable. In fact, after a time the castellan said,—

"In thy excitement thou didst not think whom thou wert striking, and didst act without malice. Our Saviour will reckon that in thy favor and forgive thee; but commend thyself, hapless man, to the Most Holy Virgin, for the law can not pardon thee."

Though he had expected such words, Zbyshko grew somewhat pale when he heard them, but soon he shook back his long hair, made the sign of the cross on himself, and said:

"The will of God! Still, it is difficult."

Then he turned to Matsko and indicated Lichtenstein with his eyes, as if leaving the German to his uncle's memory; and Matsko motioned with his head in sign that he understood and would remember. Lichtenstein too understood that look and that motion, and though there beat in his breast both a brave and stubborn heart, a quiver ran through him at that moment, so terrible and ill-omened was the face of the old warrior. The Knight of the Cross saw that between him and that knight there would be thenceforth a struggle for life and death; that even if he wanted to hide from him he could not, and when he ceased to be an envoy they must meet, even at Malborg.

The castellan withdrew to the adjoining chamber to dictate the sentence against Zbyshko to his secretary skilled in writing. This one and that of the knighthood approached the envoy during this interval, saying,—

"God grant thee to be judged with more mercy at the last judgment! Thou art glad of blood!"

But Lichtenstein valued only the opinion of Zavisha, for he, because of his deeds in battle, his knowledge of the rules of knighthood, and his uncommon strictness in observing them, was widely known throughout the world. In the most complicated questions in which the point was of knightly honor, men came to him frequently from a very great distance, and no one ever dared to oppose, not only because single combat with him was impossible, but also because men esteemed him as the "mirror of honor." One word of praise or of blame from his lips passed quickly among the knighthood of Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, Germany, and sufficed to establish the good or evil fame of a knight.

Liechtenstein therefore approached him and said, as if wishing to justify his stubbornness,—

"Only the Grand Master himself with the Chapter could grant him grace—I cannot."

"Your Grand Master has nothing to do with our laws not he, but our king has power to show grace here."

"I, as an envoy, must demand punishment."

"Thou wert a knight, Lichtenstein, before becoming an envoy."

"Dost thou think that I have failed in honor?"

"Thou knowest our books of knighthood, and thou knowest that a knight is commanded to imitate two beasts, the lion and the lamb. Which hast thou imitated in this affair?"

"Thou art not my judge."

"Thou hast asked if thou hast failed in honor, and I have answered as I think."

"Thou hast answered badly, for I cannot swallow this."

"Thou wilt choke with thy own anger, not mine."

"Christ will account it to me that I have thought more of the majesty of the Order than of thy praise."

"He too will judge us all."

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the castellan and the secretary. Those present knew that the sentence would be unfavorable, still a dead silence set in. The castellan took his place at the table and grasping a crucifix in his hand, commanded Zbyshko to kneel.

The secretary read the sentence in Latin. Neither Zbyshko nor the knights present understood it, still all divined that that was a death sentence. Zbyshko, when the reading was finished, struck his breast with his closed hand a number of times, repeating: "O God, be merciful to me a sinner!" Then he rose and cast himself into the arms of Matsko, who in silence kissed his head and his eyes.

On the evening of that day, the herald proclaimed, with sound of trumpets, to knights, guests, and citizens, at the four corners of the square, that the noble Zbyshko of Bogdanets was condemned by the sentence of the castellan to be beheaded with a sword.

But Matsko prayed that the execution should not take place immediately. This prayer was granted the more easily since people of that age, fond of minute disposition of their property, were given time generally for negotiations with their families, and also to make peace with God. Lichtenstein himself did not care to insist on the speedy execution of the sentence, since satisfaction had been given the majesty of the Order; moreover, it was not proper to offend a powerful monarch to whom he had been sent, not only to take part in the solemnities of the christening, but also for negotiations touching the land of Dobryn. But the most important consideration was the health of the queen. The bishop of Cracow would not hear of an execution before her delivery, thinking rightly that it would be impossible to hide such an event from the lady, that should she hear of it she would fall into a "distress" which might injure her grievously. In this way a few weeks of life, and perhaps more, remained to Zbyshko, before the last arrangement and parting with his acquaintances.

Matsko visited him daily and comforted him as best he could. They spoke sadly of Zbyshko's unavoidable death, and still more sadly of this, that the family would disappear.

"It cannot be but you must marry," said Zbyshko once.

"I should prefer to adopt some relative, even if distant," replied Matsko, with emotion. "How can I think of marrying when they are going to cut off thy head. And even should it come to this that I must take a wife, I could not do so till I had sent Lichtenstein the challenge of a knight, till I had exacted my vengeance. I shall do that, have no fear!"

"God reward you! Let me have even that consolation! But I knew that you would not forgive him. How will you do it?"

"When his office of envoy is at an end, there will be either war or peace—dost understand? If war comes I will send him a challenge to meet me in single combat before battle."

"On trampled earth?"

"On trampled earth, on horseback or on foot, but to the death, not to slavery. If there be peace, I will go to Malborg, strike the castle gate with my lance and command a trumpeter to announce that I challenge him to the death. He will not hide, be assured."

"Of course he will not hide. And you will handle him in a way that I should like to see."

"Shall I handle him? I could not handle Zavisha, or Pashko, or Povala; but without boasting, I can handle two like him. His mother, the Order, will witness that! Was not the Frisian knight stronger? And when I cut from above through his helmet, where did my axe stop? It stopped in his teeth, did it not?"

Zbyshko drew breath at this with great consolation, and said,—

"He will die more easily than the Frisian."

The two men sighed; then the old noble said with emotion,—

"Be not troubled. Thy bones will not be seeking one another at the day of resurrection. I will have an oaken coffin made for thee of such kind that the canonesses of the church of the Virgin Mary have not a better. Thou wilt not die like a peasant, or like a nobleman created by patent. Nay! I will not even permit that thou be beheaded on the same cloth on which they behead citizens. I have agreed already with Amyley for entirely new stuff, from which a king's coat might be made. And I shall not spare masses on thee—never fear!"

Zbyshko's heart was delighted by this, so grasping his uncle's hand he repeated,—

"God reward you!"

But at times, despite every consolation, dreadful yearning seized him; hence another day, when Matsko had come on a visit, and they had scarcely exchanged greetings, he asked while looking through the grating in the wall,—

"But what is there outside?"

"Weather like gold," replied the warrior, "and warmth of the sun makes the whole world lovely." Then Zbyshko put both hands on his uncle's shoulders and bending back his head, said,—

"O mighty God! To have a horse under one and ride over fields, over broad fields. It is sad for a young man to die—awfully sad!"

"People die even on horseback," said Matsko.

"Yes. But how many do they kill before dying!"

And he began to inquire about the knights whom he had seen at the court of the king: about Zavisha, Farurey, Povala, Lis, and all the others,—what were they doing, how did they amuse themselves, in what honorable exercises did their time pass? And he listened eagerly to the narrative of Matsko, who said that in the morning they jumped in full armor over a horse, that they pulled ropes, fought with swords and leaden-edged axes, and finally that they feasted, and sang songs. Zbyshko desired with his whole heart and soul to fly to them, and when he learned that immediately after the christening Zavisha would go far away somewhere to Lower Hungary against the Turks, he could not restrain himself from weeping.

"They might let me go with him! and let me lay down my life against pagans."

But that could not be. Meanwhile something else took place: The two Mazovian princesses continued to think of Zbyshko, who interested them with his youth and beauty; finally Princess Alexandra resolved to send a letter to the Grand Master. The Master could not, it is true, change the sentence pronounced by the castellan, but he could intercede for Zbyshko before the king. It was not proper for Yagello to grant pardon, since the question was of an attack on an envoy; it seemed, however, undoubted that he would be glad to grant it at the intercession of the Grand Master. Hence hope entered the hearts of both ladies anew. Princess Alexandra herself, having a weakness for the polished Knights of the Cross, was uncommonly esteemed by them. More than once rich gifts went to her from Malborg, and letters in which the Master declared her venerated, saintly, a benefactress, and special patroness of the Order. Her words might effect much, and it was very likely that they would not meet a refusal. The only question was to find a courier who would show all diligence in delivering the letter at the earliest, and in returning with an answer. When he heard of this, old Matsko undertook the task without hesitation.

The castellan, on being petitioned, appointed a time up to which he promised to restrain the execution of the sentence. Matsko, full of consolation, busied himself that very day with his departure; later he went to Zbyshko to announce the happy tidings.

At the first moment Zbyshko burst out in great delight, as if the doors of the prison were open before him already; later, however, he grew thoughtful, and soon he became sad and gloomy.

"Who can receive any good from Germans? Lichtenstein might have asked the king for pardon,—and he would have done well, for he would have guarded himself from revenge, but he would not do anything."

"He grew stubborn because we would not beg him on the Tynets road. Of Conrad, the Master, people do not speak ill. Besides, as to losing, thou wilt not lose anything."

"True," said Zbyshko, "but do not bow down low to him."

"How bow down? I carry a letter from Princess Alexandra—nothing more."

"Then if you are so good, may the Lord God assist you." All at once he looked quickly at his uncle, and said: "If the king forgives me, Lichtenstein will be mine, not yours. Remember."

"Thy head is not sure; make no promises. Thou hast had enough of those stupid vows," said the old man, in anger.

Then they threw themselves into each other's arms—and Zbyshko remained alone. Hope and uncertainty in turn shook his soul, but when night came, and with it a storm in the sky, when the barred windows were illuminated with the ominous blaze of lightning, and the walls quivered from thunder, when at last the whirlwind struck the tower with its whistle, and the dim candle went out at his bedside, Zbyshko, sunk in darkness, lost every hope again, and the whole night he could not close his eyes for a moment.

"I shall not escape death," thought he, "and nothing will help me in any way."

But next morning the worthy Princess Anna came to visit him, and with her Danusia, having a lute at her girdle. Zbyshko fell at the feet of one and then the other; though he was suffering after the sleepless night, in misfortune and uncertainty, he did not so far forget the duty of a knight as not to show Danusia his astonishment at her beauty. But the princess raised to him eyes full of sadness.

"Do not admire her," said she, "for if Matsko brings back no good answer, or if he does not return at all, poor fellow, thou wilt soon admire something better in heaven."

Then she shed tears, thinking of the uncertain lot of the young knight, and Danusia accompanied her forthwith. Zbyshko bent again to their feet, for his heart grew as soft as heated wax at those tears. He did not love Danusia as a man loves a woman, but he felt that he loved her with all his soul, and at sight of her something took place in his breast, as if there were in it another man, less harsh, less impulsive, breathing war less, and at the same time thirsting for sweet love. Finally, immense sorrow seized him because he would have to leave her and not be able to keep the promise which he had made.

"Now, poor girl, I shall not place the peacock-plumes at thy feet," said he. "But if I stand before the face of God, I will say: 'Pardon my sins, O God, but whatever there is of good in all the world, give it to no one else but Danusia, daughter of Yurand of Spyhov'."

"Ye became acquainted not long ago," said the princess. "May God grant that it was not in vain."

Zbyshko remembered all that had taken place at the inn of Tynets, and was filled with emotion. At last he begged Danusia to sing for him that same song which she sang when he had seized her from the bench and borne her to the princess.

Danusia, though she had no mind for singing, raised her head at once toward the arch, and closing her eyes like a bird, she began,—

"Oh, had I wings like a wild goose
I would fly after Yasek,
I would fly after him to Silesia!
I would sit on a fence in Silesia.
Look at me Yasek dear—"

But on a sudden from beneath her closed eyelids abundant tears flowed forth; she could sing no longer. Then Zbyshko seized her in his arms in the same way that he had at the inn in Tynets, and began to carry her through the room, repeating in ecstasy,—

"No, but I would seek thee. Let God rescue me, grow up thou, let thy father permit, then I will take thee, O maiden! Hei!"

Danusia, encircling his neck, hid her face wet with tears on his shoulder, and in him sorrow rose more and more, sorrow which, flowing from the depth of the sylvan Slav nature, changed in that simple soul almost into the pastoral song:

"Thee would I take, maiden!
Thee would I take!"

Meanwhile came an event in view of which other affairs lost all significance in people's eyes. Toward the evening of June 21, news went around the castle of a sudden weakness of the queen. The physicians who were summoned, together with the bishop of Cracow, remained in her chamber all night, and it was learned soon from servants that premature labor threatened the lady. The castellan of Cracow sent couriers that same night to the absent king. Early next morning the news thundered throughout the city and the country. Hence all the churches were filled with people, on whom the priests enjoined prayers for the recovery of the queen. All doubt ceased after services. Knightly guests, who had assembled for the approaching solemnity, nobles, deputations of merchants repaired to the castle; guilds and brotherhoods appeared with their banners. Beginning with mid-day the castle of Vavel was surrounded by numberless swarms of people, among whom the king's bowmen maintained order, enforcing peace and quiet. The city was almost depopulated, but from time to time there passed through the deserted streets peasants of the neighborhood, who also had heard of the illness of the idolized lady, and were hastening toward the castle.

Finally, in the main gate appeared the bishop and the castellan, accompanied by the canons of the cathedral, the counsellors of the king, and also knights. They went along the walls, among the people, and, with faces announcing news, began with a stern command to refrain from all outcries, for shouts might injure the sick lady. Then they declared to all in general that the queen had given birth to a daughter.

The news filled the hearts of all with delight, especially since it was known at the time that, though the birth was premature, there was no evident danger for the child or the mother. The crowds began to separate, as it was not permitted to shout near the castle, and each one wished to give way to his delight. Indeed, when the streets leading to the square were filled, songs were heard and joyful shouts. People were not even grieved that a daughter had come to the world. "Was it bad," said they, "that King Louis had no sons, and that the kingdom came to Yadviga? Through her marriage with Yagello the power of the kingdom has been doubled. So will it be this time. Where can such an heiress be found as our king's daughter, since neither the Roman Caesar, nor any king is master of such a great State, such broad lands, such a numerous knighthood! The most powerful monarchs of the earth will strive for her hand, they will bow down to the king and the queen, they will visit Cracow, and from this, profit will come to us merchants; besides, some new kingdom, the Bohemian or the Hungarian, will be joined to ours." Thus spoke the merchants among themselves, and joy increased every moment. People feasted in private houses and in inns. The market square was full of lanterns and torches. In the suburbs country people from the regions around Cracow (more of these drew near the city continually) camped by their wagons. The Jews held council in their synagogue near the Kazimir. The square was crowded till late at night, almost till daybreak, especially near the City Hall and the weighing-house, as in time of great fairs. People gave news to one and another; they sent to the castle and crowded around those who returned with news.

The worst information was that the bishop had christened the child the night of its birth, from which people inferred that it must be very weak. Experienced citizens, however, quoted examples showing that children born half dead received power of life just after baptism. So they were strengthened with hope, which was increased even by the name given the infant. It was said that no Bonifacius or Bonifacia could die immediately after birth, for it was predestined them to do something good, and in the first years, and all the more in the first months of life, a child could do neither good nor evil.

On the morrow, however, came news unfavorable for child and mother; this roused the city. All day there was a throng in the churches as in time of indulgence. There were numberless votive offerings for the health of the queen and the infant. People saw with emotion poor villagers offering, one a measure of wheat, another a lamb, a third a hen, a fourth a string of dried mushrooms, or a basket of nuts. Considerable offerings came from knights, merchants, and handicraftsmen. Couriers were sent to miracle-working places. Astrologers questioned the stars. In Cracow itself solemn processions were ordered. All the guilds and brotherhoods appeared. There was a procession also of children, for people thought that innocent creatures would obtain God's favor more easily. Through the gates of the city entered new crowds from the surrounding country.

And thus day followed day amid the continual tolling of bells, the noise in the churches, the processions, and the masses. But when a week had passed and the child and the patient were alive yet, consolation began to enter hearts. It seemed to people an improbable thing that God would take prematurely the ruler of a realm who having done so much for Him would have to leave an immense work unfinished, and the apostolic woman whose sacrifice of her own happiness had brought to Christianity the last pagan people in Europe. The learned called to mind how much she had done for the Academy; the clergy, how much for the glory of God; statesmen, how much she had done for peace among Christian monarchs; Jurists, how much for justice; the poor, how much for their poverty; and it could not find place in the heads of any that a life so needful to the kingdom and the whole world might be cut down untimely.

Meanwhile on the 13th of July the bells announced sadly the death of the child. The city seethed up again, and alarm seized people; crowds besieged Vavel a second time, inquiring for the health of the queen.

But this time no one came out with good news. On the contrary, the faces of lords entering the castle or going out through the gates were gloomy, and every day more gloomy. It was said that the priest, Stanislav of Skarbimir, a master of liberal sciences in Cracow, did not leave the queen, who received communion daily. It was said also that immediately after each communion her room was filled with a heavenly light,—some even saw it through the window; this sight, however, rather terrified hearts devoted to the lady, as a sign that, for her, life beyond the earth had begun already.

Some did not believe that a thing so dreadful could happen, and those strengthened themselves with the thought that the just heavens would stop with one sacrifice. But on Friday morning, July 17th, it was thundered among people that the queen was dying. Every person living hastened to the castle. The city was deserted to the degree that only cripples remained in it, for even mothers with infants hurried to the gates. Cellars were closed, no food was prepared. All affairs stopped, and under the castle of Vavel there was one dark sea of people—disquieted, terrified, but silent.

About one o'clock in the afternoon a bell sounded on the tower of the cathedral. People knew not at once what that meant, but fear raised the hair on their heads. All faces, all eyes were turned to the tower, to the bell moving with increasing swing, the bell, the complaining groan of which others in the city began to accompany; bells were tolled in the church of the Franciscans, the Holy Trinity, and the Virgin Mary, and throughout the length and the breadth of the city.

The city understood at last what those groans meant; the souls of men were filled with terror and with such pain as if the bronze hearts of those bells were striking directly into the hearts of all present.

Suddenly there appeared on the tower a black flag with a great skull in the middle, under which in white were two human shank-bones placed crosswise. Every doubt vanished that moment. The queen had given her soul to God.

Roars burst forth at the foot of the castle, the wails of a hundred thousand persons, and they mingled with the dismal sound of the bells. Some threw themselves on the ground; others rent the clothing on their bodies, or tore their faces; others looked at the walls in dumb bewilderment; some groaned with deep and dull sound; some, stretching their hands to the church and the chamber of the queen, called for a miracle and the mercy of God. There were heard also angry voices which in frenzy and despair went to blasphemy. "Why was our beloved one taken from us? To what profit were our processions, our prayers, and our imploring? The gold and the silver offerings were dear, but is there nothing in return for them? To take, they were taken; but as to giving, nothing was given back!" Others, however, repeated, with floods of tears and with groaning, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

Throngs wished to enter the castle, to look once again on the beloved face of the lady. They were not admitted, but the promise was given that the body would be exposed in the church; then every one would be able to look at it, and to pray near it.

Later, toward evening, gloomy crowds began to return to the city, telling one another of the last moments of the queen, and of the coming burial, as well as of the miracles which would be performed near her body and around her tomb; of the miracles, all were perfectly convinced. It was said also that the queen would be canonized immediately after her death; when some doubted whether this could be done, others grew impatient and threatened with Avignon.

Gloomy sadness fell on the city and on the whole country; it seemed, not merely to common people, but to all, that with the queen the lucky star of the kingdom was quenched.

Even among the lords of Cracow there were some who saw the future in darkness. They began to ask themselves and others: "What will come now? Will Yagello, after the death of the queen, have the right to reign in the kingdom; or will he return to his own Lithuania, and be satisfied there with the throne of Grand Prince?" Some foresaw, and not without reason, that he would desire to withdraw, and that in such case broad lands would fall away from the crown; attacks would begin again from the side of Lithuania, and bloody reprisals from the stubborn citizens of the kingdom; the Knights of the Cross would grow more powerful, the Roman Cæsar would increase, and also Hungary; while the Polish kingdom, yesterday one of the strongest on earth, would come to fall and to shame.

Merchants, for whom the extensive regions of Lithuania and Rus had been opened, foreseeing losses, made pious offerings to the end that Yagello might remain in the kingdom, but in such a case again they predicted a sudden war with the Order. It was known that only the queen restrained Yagello. People remembered how once, when indignant at the greed and rapacity of the Knights of the Cross, she said to them in prophetic vision: "While I live, I shall restrain the hand and just wrath of my husband, but remember that after my death punishment will fall on you for your sins."

They in their pride and blindness had no fear of war, it is true, considering that after the death of the queen the charm of her holiness would not stop the influx of volunteers from Western kingdoms. Thousands of warriors from Germany, Burgundy, France, and yet more remote countries, would come to aid them. Still, the death of Yadviga was such a far-reaching event that the envoy Lichtenstein, without waiting for the return of the absent king, hurried away with all speed to Malborg, to lay before the Grand Master and the Chapter the important, and, in some sense, terrible news.

The Hungarian, Austrian, Roman, and Bohemian envoys departed a little later, or sent couriers to their monarchs. Yagello came to Cracow in grievous despair. At the first moment he declared that he had no wish to reign without the queen, and that he would go to his inheritance in Lithuania. Then from grief he fell into torpor; he would not decide any affair nor answer any question; at times he grew terribly angry at himself because he had gone from Cracow, because he had not been present at the death of Yadviga, because he had not taken farewell of her, because he had not heard her last words and advice.

In vain did Stanislav of Skarbimir and the bishop of Cracow explain to him that the queen's illness had happened unexpectedly, that according to human reckoning he had had time to return had the birth taken place in its own proper season. This brought no relief to him, and mildened no sorrow.

"I am not a king without her," said he to the bishop, "but a penitent sinner who will never know solace." Then he fixed his eyes on the floor, and no one could win another word from him.

Meanwhile all thoughts were occupied with the funeral of the queen. From every part of the country new crowds of lords, nobles, and people began to assemble; especially came the indigent, who hoped for abundant profit from alms at the funeral, which was to last a whole month. The queen's body was placed in the cathedral on an elevation, and placed in such manner that the wider part of the coffin, in which rested the head of the deceased, was considerably higher than the narrower part. This was done purposely, so that people might see the queen's face.

In the cathedral masses were celebrated continually; at the catafalque thousands of wax candles were burning, and amid those gleams and amid flowers she lay calm, smiling, like a white mystic rose, with her hands crossed on laurel cloth. The people saw in her a saint; they brought to her people who were possessed, cripples, sick children; and time after time, in the middle of the church was heard the cry, now of some mother who noted on the face of her sick child a flush, the herald of health, now of some paralytic who on a sudden recovered strength in his helpless limbs. Then a quiver seized the hearts of people, news of the miracle flew through church, castle, and city, then ever increasing crowds of human wretchedness appeared, wretchedness which could hope for help only through a miracle.

Meanwhile Zbyshko was entirely forgotten, for who, in face of such a gigantic misfortune, could think of an ordinary noble youth and his imprisonment in a bastion of the castle!

Zbyshko, however, knew from the prison guards of the queen's death, he had heard the uproar of the people around the castle, and when he heard their weeping and the tolling of bells he cast himself on his knees, and calling to mind his own lot, mourned with his whole soul the death of the idolized lady. It seemed to him that with her something that was his had been quenched also, and that in view of such a death it was not worth while for any one to live in the world.

The echo of the funeral, the church bells, the singing of processions, and the movement of crowds, reached him for whole weeks. During this time he grew gloomy, he lost desire for food, for sleep, and walked up and down in his dungeon like a wild beast in a cage. Loneliness weighed on him, for there were days when even the prison guard did not bring him fresh food and water, so far were all people occupied by the funeral of the queen. From the time of her death no one had visited him, neither the princess nor Danusia, nor Povala, they who a little while before showed him so much good will, nor Matsko's acquaintance, the merchant Amyley. Zbyshko thought with bitterness that were Matsko to die all would forget him. At moments it came to his head that perhaps justice too would forget him, and that he would rot to death in that prison; he prayed then to die.

At last, when a month had passed after the queen's funeral and a second month had begun, he fell to despairing of his uncle's return; for Matsko had promised to come quickly and not spare his horse. Malborg was not at the end of the earth. It was possible to go and return in twelve weeks, especially if one were in a hurry. "But mayhap he is not in a hurry," thought Zbyshko with grief. "Mayhap he has found a wife on the road for himself, and will take her with gladness to Bogdanets, and wait for posterity himself, while I shall stay here forever, expecting God's mercy."

At last he lost reckoning of time, he ceased to speak with the guard, and only from the cobwebs which covered abundantly the iron grating in the window did he note that autumn was in the world. He sat for whole hours on the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair, which reached now far below his shoulders, and half in sleep, half in torpor, he did not even raise his head when the guard, bringing food, spoke to him. But on a certain day the hinges squeaked, and a known voice called from the threshold,—

"Zbyshko!"

"Uncle dear!" cried Zbyshko, springing from his plank bed.

Matsko seized him by the shoulders, then embraced his bright head with his hands, and began to kiss it. Grief, bitterness, and longing, so rose in the heart of the young man that he cried on his uncle's breast like a little child.

"I thought that you would never return," said he, sobbing.

"Well, I came near that," answered Matsko.

Only then did Zbyshko raise his head and looking at him cry,—

"But what has happened you?" And he gazed with astonishment at the emaciated face of the old warrior, which had fallen in and was as pale as linen; he looked on his bent figure and on his iron gray hair.

"What has happened?" repeated he.

Matsko seated himself on the plank bed, and for a while breathed heavily.

"What has happened!" said he at last. "Barely had I passed the boundary when Germans shot me in a forest, from a crossbow. Robber knights! knowest thou? It is hard yet for me to breathe. God sent me aid, or thou wouldst not see me here."

"Who saved you?"

"Yurand of Spyhov," answered Matsko.

A moment of silence followed; then Matsko said,—

"They attacked me, and half a day later he attacked them. Hardly one half of them escaped. He took me to his castle, and there in Spyhov I wrestled three weeks with death. God did not let me die, and though suffering yet, Iam here."

"Then you have not been at Malborg?"

"What had I to take there? The Germans stripped me naked, and with other things seized the letter. I returned to implore Princess Alexandra for a second one, but missed her on the road; whether I can overtake her, I know not, for I must also make ready for the other world."

Then he spat on his hand, which he stretched out toward Zbyshko and showed unmixed blood on it.

"Dost see? Clearly the will of God," added he, after a while.

Under the weight of gloomy thoughts both were silent some time, then Zbyshko inquired,—

"Do you spit blood all the time?"

"Why not, with an arrow-head fastened half a span deep between my ribs? Thou wouldst spit also never fear! But I grew better in Yurand's castle, though now I suffer terribly, for the road was long and I travelled fast."

"Oh! why did you hurry?"

"I wished to find Princess Alexandra here and get another letter. 'Go,' said Yurand to me, 'and bring back a letter. I shall have Germans here under the floor; I will let out one on his knightly word, and he will take the letter to the Grand Master.' Yurand keeps a number of Germans there always, and listens gladly when they groan in the night-time and rattle their chains, for he is a stern man. Dost understand?"

"I understand. But this astonishes me, that you lost the first letter, for as Yurand caught the men who attacked you they must have had the letter."

"He did not catch all; something like five escaped. Such is our luck!"

Matsko coughed, spat blood again, and groaned some from pain in his breast.

"They wounded you badly," said Zbyshko. "How was it? From an ambush?"

"From a thicket so dense that a yard away nothing was visible. I was travelling without armor, since merchants had said that the road was safe—and the weather was hot."

"Who commanded the robbers? A Knight of the Cross?"

"Not a monk, but a man from Helmno who lives in Lentz, a German notorious for robbing and plundering."

"What happened to him? "

"Yurand has him in chains. But he has also two nobles of Mazovia in his dungeon; these he wishes to exchange for thee."

Again there was silence.

"Dear Jesus!" said Zbyshko, at length. "Lichtenstein will live, and he of Lentz also, while we must die unavenged. They will cut off my head, and you will not live through the winter."

"More than that, I shall not live until winter. If only I could save thee in some way!"

"Have you seen any one?"

"I have been with the castellan of Cracow; for when I heard that Lichtenstein had gone I thought that the castellan would favor thee."

"Has Lichtenstein gone?"

"He went to Malborg immediately after the queen's death. I was with the castellan, and he said: 'Your nephew's head will be cut off, not to please Lichtenstein, but because of the sentence; and whether Lichtenstein be present or absent, it is all one. Even were he to die, that would change nothing; for,' said he, 'law is according to justice,—not like a coat which may be turned inside out. The king,' said he, 'may pardon, but no one else.'"

"And where is the king?"

"After the funeral he went to Rus."

"Then there is no escape?"

"None. The castellan added: 'I am sorry for him; Princess Anna too entreats in his favor, but since I can do nothing, I am powerless.'"

"Then is Princess Anna here yet? "

"May God reward her! She is a kindly lady. She is here yet, for Yurand's daughter is ill, and the princess loves her as if she were her own child."

"Oh, for God's sake! And sickness has fallen on Danusia! What is the matter with her?"

"Do I know? The princess says that some one has bewitched her."

"Surely Lichtenstein! no one else except Lichtenstein a dog is his mother!"

"Perhaps it was he. But what canst thou do to him? Nothing!"

"Since Danusia is sick all here have forgotten me—"

Zbyshko walked with great strides through the room, then he grasped Matsko's hand and said, after kissing it,—

"God reward you for everything! You will die for my sake; but since you have gone to Prussia, before you lose the rest of your strength do one other thing. Go to the castellan; beg him to let me out, on the word of a knight, for twelve weeks even. I will return then and let them cut off my head. But it cannot be that we should die unavenged. You know—I will go to Malborg and straightway challenge Lichtenstein. It cannot be otherwise. His death, or mine!"

Matsko fell to rubbing his forehead.

"As to going, I will go; but will the castellan grant permission?"

"I will give the word of a knight. Twelve weeks—I need no more."

"It is easy to say twelve weeks. But if thou art wounded and cannot return, what will they say of thee?"

"I will return even on my hands and feet. Have no fear! Besides, the king may come back from Rus by that time; it will be possible then to bow down to him for pardon."

"True!" answered Matsko; but after a while he added: "The castellan told me this also: 'We forgot your nephew because the queen died, but now let the affair be finished.'"

"Ei! he will permit," said Zbyshko, with consolation. "He knows well that a noble will keep his word, and whether they cut off my head now or after Saint Michael's, it is all one to the castellan."

"I will go this day."

"Go to Amyley's house to-day and lie down a little. Let them put some cure on your wound; to-morrow you will go to the castellan."

"Well, then, with God!"

They embraced and Matsko turned to the door; but he stopped on the threshold and wrinkled his brow as if thinking of something on a sudden.

"Well, but thou dost not wear a knight's belt yet. Lichtenstein will answer that he cannot fight with an unbelted man, and what wilt thou do?"

Zbyshko was perplexed for a while, and then asked,—

"But how is it in war? Must belted men choose only belted men as opponents?"

"War is war, but a duel is different."

"True—but—wait— There is need to arrange this. Yes, you see,—there is a way! Prince Yanush of Mazovia will give me a belt. When the princess and Danusia beg him, he will gird me. And on the road I will fight right away with the son of Mikolai of Dlugolyas."

"What for?"

"Because Pan Mikolai—he who is with the princess and whom they call Obuh—said that Danusia was a chit."

Matsko looked at him with astonishment. Zbyshko, wishing evidently to explain better what the question was, continued,—

"I cannot forgive him that, you know; but with Mikolai I will not fight, for he is about eighty years old."

"Listen, boy!" said Matsko. "I am sorry for thy head, but not for thy sense; thou art as stupid as a hornless he-goat."

"But what are you angry about?"

Matsko said nothing, and wanted to go; but Zbyshko sprang up once more to him.

"And how is Danusia? Is she well? Be not angry for a trifle. Besides, you were absent so long."

And he bent again to the old man's hand. Matsko shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yurand's daughter is in good health, but they do not let her out of the room. Farewell."

Zbyshko was left alone, but reborn, as it were, in soul and body. It was pleasant for him to think that he would have three months more of life, that he would go to distant lands, seek out Lichtenstein, and fight a mortal battle with him. At the very thought of this, delight filled his breast. It was pleasant to feel that even for twelve weeks he would have a horse under him, ride through the broad world, fight, and not die unavenged. And then, let happen what might. Besides, that was an immense stretch of time; the king might return from Rus and pardon his offence; perhaps the war would break out which all had been predicting a long time; perhaps the castellan himself, when after three mouths he would see him victorious over the haughty Lichtenstein, would say, "Go now to the forests!" Zbyshko felt clearly that no one cherished hatred against him save the Knight of the Cross, and that only through constraint had the stern castellan condemned him.

So hope entered his breast more and more, because he doubted not that those three months would be granted. Nay, he thought that they would give him even more; for that a noble who had sworn on the honor of a knight should not keep his word would not even come to the head of the old castellan. Therefore, when Matsko came to the prison next day about nightfall, Zbyshko, who could hardly remain sitting, sprang to him at the threshold and asked,—

"Has he permitted?"

Matsko sat on the plank bed; he could not stand because of weakness; he breathed awhile heavily, and said at last:

"The castellan answered in this way: 'If you need to divide land or property, I will let out your nephew, on the word of a knight, for one or two weeks, but not longer.'"

Zbyshka was so astonished that for some time he could not utter a word.

"For two weeks?" asked he, at length. "But in one week I could not even go to the boundary! What is that? Did you tell the castellan my reason for going to Malborg?"

"Not only did I beg for thee, but Princess Anna begged also—"

"Well, and what?"

"The old man told her that he did not want your head, and that he himself grieves for you. 'If I could find some law on his side,' said the castellan, 'nay, some pretext, I would let him out altogether; but as I cannot find it, I cannot free the man. It will not be well,' said he, 'in this kingdom, when people close their eyes to law and show favor through friendship; this I will not do, even were it a question of my relative, Toporchyk, or even of my brother.' So stern is the man! And he added besides: 'We need not consider the Knights of the Cross too much, but we are not permitted to disgrace ourselves before them. What would they think, and their guests, who assemble from the whole world, if I should let out a noble condemned to death because he wants to go to them for a duel? Would they believe that punishment would touch him, or that there is justice in our kingdom? I would rather cut off one head than yield the king and the kingdom to death." To this the princess replied that justice which did not allow a relative of the king to get pardon for a man seemed to her strange justice. 'Mercy serves the king, but lack of justice serves him not,' said the castellan. At last they fell to disputing, for the princess was borne away by her anger. 'Then do not let him rot in prison!' said she. 'To-morrow I will give the order to make a scaffold on the square,' replied the castellan. With that they parted. Poor boy, the Lord Jesus alone can save thee!"

A long silence followed.

"How?" asked Zbyshko, in a low voice. "Then it will be right away?"

"In two or three days. When there is no help, there is no help; I have done all I could. I fell at the castellan's feet, I begged for pardon, but he held to his position: 'Find a law or a pretext.' But what could I find? I went to Father Stanislav of Skarbimir to bring the Lord God to thee. Let even that glory be thine, that the man confessed thee who confessed the queen. But I did not find him at home; he was with Princess Anna."

"Perhaps with Danusia?"

"Oh, pray to the Lord for thyself. That girl is better and better. I will go to the priest before daybreak to-morrow. They say that after confessing to him, salvation is as sure to thee as if thou hadst it tied up in a bag."

Zbyshko sat down, rested his elbows on his knees, and bent his head so that the hair covered his face altogether. The old man looked at him a long time, and said at last in a low voice,—

"Zbyshko! Zbyshko!"

The youth raised his face, which was angry and filled with cold stubbornness rather than pain.

"Well, what is it?"

"Listen carefully, for I may have found something." He pushed up nearer and spoke almost in a whisper: "Thou hast heard of Prince Vitold, how formerly he was imprisoned in Krev by Yagello, our present king; he escaped from confinement in the dress of a woman. No woman will stay here in thy place, but take thou my coat, take my cowl, and go forth. Dost understand? They will not notice thee, be sure. That is certain. Beyond the doors it is dark. They will not look into thy eyes. They saw me yesterday as I went out; no one looked at me. Be quiet, and listen. They will find me to-morrow— Well, what? Will they cut off my head? That would be a pleasure to them, when as it is my death is appointed for a time two or three weeks distant. But as soon as thou art out, mount thy horse and ride straight to Vitold. Name thyself, bow down to him; he will receive thee, and with him thou wilt be as with the Lord God behind a stove. Here people say that the armies of the prince have been swept away by the Tartar. It is unknown if that be true; it may be, for the late queen prophesied that the expedition would end thus. If it be true, the prince will need knights all the more, and will be glad to see thee. But do thou adhere to him, for there is not in the world a better service than his. If another king loses a war, it is all over with him; but in Prince Vitold there is such deftness that after defeat he is stronger than ever. He is bountiful, and he loves us immensely. Tell him everything as it happened. Tell him that it was thy wish to go with him against the Tartar, but that thou wert confined in the tower. God grant that he will present thee with land and men, make a belted knight of thee, and take thy part before the king. He is a good advocate."

Zbyshko listened in silence, and Matsko, as if urged by his own words, continued,—

"It is not for thee to die in youth, but to return to Bogdanets. When there, take a wife at once, so that our race may not perish. Only when thou hast children wilt thou be free to challenge Lichtenstein to mortal combat; but before that see that thou keep from revenge, for they would shoot thee somewhere in Prussia, as they did me, then there would be no help for thee. Take the coat, take the cowl, and move in God's name."

Matsko rose and began to undress, but Zbyshko rose also, seized his hand, and cried,—

"What do you wish of me? I will not do that! so help me God and the Holy Cross!"

"Why?" asked Matsko, with astonishment.

"Because I will not."

Matsko grew pale from emotion and anger.

"Would to God thou hadst not been born!"

"You have told the castellan that you would give your head for mine."

"Whence knowest thou?"

"Povala of Tachev told me."

"Well, what of that?"

"The castellan told you that disgrace would fall on me, and on our whole race. Would it not be a still greater disgrace were I to flee hence and leave you to the law's vengeance?"

"What vengeance? What can the law do to me when I shall die anyhow? For God's sake, have reason."

"But have it you all the more. May God punish me if I desert you, a man sick and old. Pfu! shame!"

Silence followed; nothing was to be heard but the heavy, rattling breath of Matsko, and the call of the bowmen standing on guard at the gate. It was dark night now outside.

"Hear me," said Matsko at last, in a broken voice. "It was no shame for Prince Vitold to flee in disguise, it will be no shame for thee—"

"Hei!" answered Zbyshko, with a certain sadness. "Vitold is a great prince. He has a crown from the king's hands; he has wealth and dominion; but I, a poor noble, have nothing—save honor."

After a while he cried, as if in a sudden outburst of anger,—

"But can you not understand this, that I so love you that I will not give your head for mine?"

Matsko rose on trembling feet, stretched forth his hand, and, though the nature of people in that age was as firm as if forged out of iron, he bellowed on a sudden in a heart-rending voice,—

"Zbyshko!"

On the following day court servants began to draw beams to the square for a scaffold which was to be erected before the main gate of the city hall.

Still Princess Anna continued to take counsel with Yastrembets, and Father Stanislav of Skarbimir, and other learned canons skilled equally in written and customary law. She was encouraged to these efforts by the words of the castellan, who declared that, should they find "law, or pretext," he would not be slow in releasing Zbyshko. They counselled long and earnestly as to whether it was possible to find something; and though Father Stanislav prepared Zbyshko for death, and gave the last sacraments to him, he went straight from the dungeon to a consultation which lasted almost till daybreak.

Meanwhile the day of execution had come. From early morning crowds had been gathering on the square, for the head of a noble roused more curiosity than that of a common man, and besides this the weather was wonderful. Among women the news had spread also of the youthful years and uncommon beauty of Zbyshko; hence the whole road leading from the castle was blooming as with flowers from whole myriads of comely women of the citizen class. In the windows on the square, and in outbulging balconies were to be seen also caps, gold and velvet head-dresses, or the bare heads of maidens ornamented only with garlands of lilies and roses. The city counsellors, though the affair did not pertain to them really, had all come to lend themselves importance, and had taken their places just behind the knights, who, wishing to show sympathy with the young man, had appeared next the scaffold in a body. Behind the counsellors stood a many-colored crowd, composed of the smaller merchants and handicraftsmen, in the colors of their guilds. Students and children, who had been pushed back, circled about like dissatisfied flies in the midst of the multitude, crowding in wherever there appeared even a little free space. Above that dense mass of human heads was seen the scaffold covered with new cloth, on which were three persons: one the executioner, broad-shouldered and terrible, a German in a red coat and a cowl of the same stuff, with a heavy double-edged sword in his hand,—with him two assistants, their arms bared, and ropes around their loins. At their feet was a block, and a coffin, covered also with cloth; on the towers of the church of the Virgin Mary bells were tolling, filling the place with metallic sound, and frightening flocks of daws and doves.

People looked now at the road leading from the castle, now at the scaffold and the executioner standing upon it with his sword gleaming in the sunlight; then, finally, at the knights, on whom citizens looked always with respect and eagerness. This time there was something to look at, for the most famous were standing in a square near the scaffold. So they admired the breadth of shoulders and the dignity of Zavisha Charny, his raven hair falling to his shoulders. They admired the square stalwart form and the column-like legs of Zyndram of Mashkovitse, and the gigantic, almost preterhuman stature of Pashko Zlodye, the stern face of Voitseh of Vodzinka, and the beauty of Dobko of Olesnitsa, who in the tournament at Torun had finished twelve German knights, and Zygmunt of Bobova, who made himself famous in like manner in Hungary at Koshytse, and Kron of Koziglove, and Lis of Targovisko, terrible in hand-to-hand combat, and Stashko of Harbimovitse, who could overtake a horse at full speed. General attention was roused also by Matsko of Bogdanets with his pallid face; he was supported by Floryan of Korytnitse, and Martsin of Vrotsimovitse. It was supposed generally that he was the father of the condemned.

But the greatest curiosity was roused by Povala of Tachev, who, standing in the first rank, held on his powerful arm Danusia, dressed in white altogether, with a garland of rue around her bright hair. People did not understand what that meant, and why that maiden dressed in white was to witness the execution. Some said that she was Zbyshko's sister, others divined in her the lady of his thoughts; but even those could not explain to themselves her dress, or her presence at the scaffold. But in all hearts her face, like a blushing apple, though it was covered with tears, roused emotion and sympathy. In the dense throng of people they began to murmur at the unbendingness of the castellan, and the sternness of the law; these murmurs passed gradually into a roar which was simply terrible. At last here and there voices rose, saying that if the scaffold were torn away the execution would be deferred of necessity.

The crowd became animated and swayed. From mouth to mouth the statement was sent that, were the king present, beyond doubt he would pardon the youth, who, as men affirmed, was not guilty of any crime.

But all became silent, for distant shouts announced the approach of the bowmen and the king's halberdiers, in the midst of whom marched the condemned. Indeed the retinue appeared soon on the square. The procession was opened by the funeral brotherhood dressed in black robes which reached the ground, and with face coverings of similar material with openings for their eyes. People feared those gloomy figures, and at sight of them became silent. Behind those marched a detachment of crossbowmen formed of select Lithuanians, wearing coats of elkskin untanned. That was a detachment of the royal guard. Behind this were seen the halberds of another detachment; in the centre of this, between the court secretary, who had read the sentence, and Father Stanislav of Skarbimir, who bore a crucifix, walked Zbyshko.

All eyes were turned to him; from every window and balcony female forms bent forward. Zbyshko advanced dressed in the white jacket which he had won; it was embroidered with gold griffins and adorned at the bottom with a beautiful gold fringe. In this brilliant attire he seemed to the eyes of the audience a prince, or a youth of some lofty house. From his stature, his shoulders, evident under the closely fitting dress, from his strong limbs and broad breast, he seemed a man quite mature, but above that stature of a man rose a head almost childlike, and a youthful face, with the first down on its lips, which was at the same time the face of a royal page, with golden hair cut evenly above his brows and let down long on his shoulders.

Zbyshko advanced with even and springy tread, but with a pallid face. At moments he looked at the throng, as if at something in a dream; at moments he raised his eyes to the towers of the churches, to the flocks of doves, and to the swinging bells, which were sounding out his last hour to him; at moments also there was reflected on his face, as it were, wonderment that those sounds and the sobs of women, and all that solemnity were intended for him. Finally he saw on the square from afar the scaffold, and on it the red outline of the executioner. He quivered and made the sign of the cross on himself; at that moment the priest gave him the crucifix to kiss. A few steps farther on a bunch of star thistles thrown by a young maiden, fell at his feet. Zbyshko bent down, raised it, and smiled at the maiden, who burst into loud weeping. But he thought evidently that in presence of those crowds, and in presence of women waving handkerchiefs from the windows, he ought to die bravely, and leave behind the memory of a "valiant youth" at the least. So he exerted all his courage and will; with a sudden movement he threw back his hair, raised his head higher, and advanced haughtily, almost like a victor in knightly tournaments which he had finished, a victor whom men were conducting to receive his reward.

The advance was slow, for in front the throng became denser and denser, and gave way unwillingly. In vain did the Lithuanian crossbowmen, who moved in the first rank, cry continually: "Eyk shalin! Eyk shalin!" (Out of the road!). People had no wish to know what those words meant—and crowded the more. Though the citizens of Cracow at that time were two-thirds of them German, still round about were heard dreadful curses against the Knights of the Cross. "Shame! shame! May the German wolves perish if children must die to please them. It is a shame for the king and the kingdom!" The Lithuanians, seeing this resistance, took their bows, already drawn, from their shoulders, and looked frowningly at the people; they dared not, however, shoot into the crowd without orders. But the captain sent halberdiers in advance, for it was easier to open the road with halberds. In that way they reached the knights standing in the square around the scaffold.

These opened without resistance. First the halberdiers entered, after them came Zbyshko with the priest and the secretary, after that something took place which no one had expected.

Suddenly from among the knights stepped forth Povala, with Danusia on his arm, and cried "Stop!" with such a thundering voice that the whole retinue halted as if fastened to the earth. Neither the captain nor any of the soldiers dared oppose a lord and a belted knight whom they saw daily in the castle, and often talking with the king confidentially. Finally others, also renowned, cried with commanding voices: "Stop! stop!" Povala approached Zbyshko and gave him Danusia dressed in white.

Zbyshko, thinking that that was the farewell, seized her, embraced her, and pressed her to his bosom; but Danusia, instead of nestling up to him and throwing her arms around his neck, pulled as quickly as possible from her bright hair and from under the garland of rue a white veil and covered Zbyshko's head with it entirely, crying at the same time,—

"He is mine! he is mine!"

"He is hers!" repeated the powerful voices of the knights. "To the castellan!"

"To the castellan! To the castellan!" answered a shout from the people which was like thunder.

The priest raised his eyes, the court secretary was confused, the captain and the halberdiers dropped their weapons, for all understood what had happened.

It was an old Polish and Slav custom, as valid as law, known in Podhale, in Cracow, and even farther, that when an innocent maiden threw her veil over a man on the way to execution, as a sign that she wanted to marry him, she saved the man from death and punishment by that act. The knights knew this custom, yeomen knew it, the Polish people of the city knew it, and Germans inhabiting from remote times Polish cities and towns knew its force. Old Matsko grew weak from emotion at that sight, the knights, pushing back the crossbowmen promptly, surrounded Zbyshko and Danusia; the people were moved, and in their delight cried with still louder voices: "To the castellan! to the castellan!" The crowd rose suddenly like gigantic waves of the sea. The executioner and his assistants fled with all haste from the scaffold. There was a disturbance, for it had become clear to everyone that if the castellan wished to oppose the sacred custom a terrible uproar would rise in the city. In fact a column of people rushed at the scaffold. In the twinkle of an eye they dragged off the cloth and tore it to pieces, then the planks and beams, pulled away with strong hands, or cut with axes, bent, cracked, broke—and a few Our Fathers later there was no trace of the scaffold on that square.

Zbyshko, holding Danusia in his arms, returned to the castle, but this time as a real conquering triumphator; for around him, with joyful faces, advanced the first knights of the kingdom, at the sides, in front, and behind, crowded thousands of men, women, and children, crying in heaven-piercing voices, singing, stretching out their hands to Danusia and glorifying the courage and the beauty of both. From the windows the white hands of ladies clapped applause to them; everywhere were visible eyes filled with tears of rapture. A shower of garlands of roses and lilies, a shower of ribbons, and even of gold belts and knots fell at the feet of the happy youth, and he, radiant as the sun, his heart filled with gratitude, raised aloft his white little lady from moment to moment; sometimes he kissed her knees with delight, and that sight melted young maidens to the degree that some threw themselves into the arms of their lovers, declaring that should these lovers incur death they would be freed in like manner.

Zbyshko and Danusia had become, as it were, the beloved children of knights, of citizens, and of the great multitude. Old Matsko, whom Floryan and Martsin supported on either side, almost went out of his mind from delight,—and from astonishment also, that such a means of saving his nephew had not even occurred to him.

In the general uproar Povala of Tachev told the knights in his powerful voice how Yastrembets and Stanislav of Skarbirnir, skilled in written and customary law, had invented, or rather remembered, this method while advising with the princess. The knights wondered at its simplicity, saying among themselves that except those two, no one else had remembered the custom, which, in a city occupied by Germans, had not been practised for a long period.

But everything depended still on the castellan. The knights and people went to the castle where the castellan lived during the king's absence, and straightway the court secretary, Father Stanislav, Zavisha, Farurey, Zyndram, and Povala of Tachev went to him to represent the validity of the custom, and remind him how he himself had said that if "law or pretext" were found by them, he would free Zbyshko. What law could surpass ancient custom, which had never been broken? The castellan answered, it is true, that that custom referred more to common people and robbers than to nobles; but he was too well versed in every law not to recognize the force of it. Meanwhile he covered his silver beard with his hand and smiled under his fingers, for he was glad evidently. At last he went out on a low porch; at his side stood Princess Anna Danuta, with some of the clergy and knighthood.

Zbyshko, seeing him, raised up Danusia again; the castellan placed his aged hand on her golden hair, held it a while there, and then nodded his gray head with kindness and dignity.

All understood that sign, and the very walls of the castle quivered from shouts. "God aid thee! Live long, just lord! live and judge us!" shouted people from all sides. New shouts were raised then for Danusia and Zbyshko. A moment later both ascended the porch and fell at the feet of the kind princess, Anna Danuta, to whom Zbyshko owed his life; for with the learned men it was she who had discovered the law and taught Danusia what to do.

"Long live the young couple!" cried Povala, at sight of them on their knees.

"Long life to them!" repeated others.

But the old castellan turned to the princess and said,—

"Well, gracious lady, the betrothal must take place at once, for custom demands that."

"The betrothal I will have at once," answered the good lady, with radiant face; "but I will not permit marriage without consent of her father, Yurand of Spyhov."

Matsko and Zbyshko consulted with the merchant Amyley as to what they should do. The old knight looked for his own speedy death, and because the Franciscan father, Tsybek, skilled in wounds, had foretold it, he wished to go to Bogdanets and be buried with his fathers in the graveyard of Ostrov.

But not all of his "fathers" were lying there, for once the family had been numerous. In time of war they were summoned with the watchword, "Grady" ("Hail"); they had on their shield the Blunt Horseshoe, considering themselves better than other possessors of land, who had not always the right of an escutcheon. In the year 1331, at the battle of Plovtsi, seventy-four warriors from Bogdanets were killed in a swamp by German crossbowmen; only one survived,—Voitek, surnamed Tur (Wild Bull), to whom King Vladislav Lokietek, after crushing the Germans, confirmed in special privilege his shield and the lands of Bogdanets. The bones of the seventy-four relatives lay bleaching thenceforth on the field of Plovtsi; Voitek returned to his domestic hearth, but only to see the utter ruin of his family. For, while the men of Bogdanets were dying beneath the arrows of the Germans, robber knights from adjoining Silesia had attacked their nest, burnt the buildings to the ground, slain the people, or led them captive to be sold in remote German provinces.

Voitek was all alone as the heir of broad but unoccupied lands, which had belonged once to a whole ruling family. Five years later he married and begat two sons, Yasko and Matsko, and while hunting in the forest was killed by a wild bull.

The sons grew up under care of their mother, Kasia of Spalenitsa, who in two expeditions took vengeance on the Silesian Germans for their former injustice. In the third expedition she fell; but already she had built Bogdanets castle with the hands of captives, through which Yasko and Matsko, though from former times they were always called possessors, became considerable people. Yasko, coming to maturity, took in marriage Yagenka of Motsarzev, who gave birth to Zbyshko; but Matsko, remaining unmarried, took care of his nephew's property in so far as military expeditions permitted.

But when, in time of civil war between the Grymaliti and the Nalenchi, the castle in Bogdanets was burned a second time, and the people scattered, the lonely Matsko strove in vain to rebuild it. After he had struggled not a few years, he left the land at last to the abbot of Tulcha, his relative, and went himself with Zbyshko, yet a boy, to Lithuania against the Germans.

But he had never lost sight of Bogdanets. To Lithuania he went with the hope that after he had grown rich from booty he would return in time to redeem the land, settle it with captives, rebuild the castle, and fix in it Zbyshko. Now, after the happy escape of the youth, he was thinking of this and counselling with him concerning it at the house of the merchant, Amyley.

They had something with which to redeem the land. From booty, and ransoms which knights taken captive by them had paid, and from the gifts of Vitold, they had collected supplies which were rather considerable. Especially large was the profit which that battle to the death against the two Frisian knights had brought them. The armor alone which they had taken formed a real fortune in that period; besides armor they took wagons, horses, servants, clothing, money, and a whole rich military outfit. The merchant Amyley purchased much of that booty, and among other things two pieces of wonderful Frisian cloth which the provident and wealthy knights had brought with them in the wagons.

Matsko had sold also the costly armor, thinking that in view of near death it would be of no use to him. The armorer who bought it sold it the next day to Martsin of Vrotsimovitse with considerable profit, since armor of Milan was esteemed above all other armor on earth at that period. Zbyshko regretted the armor with his whole soul.

"If God return health to you," said he to his uncle, "where will you find another such?"

"Where I found that,—on a German," answered Matsko. "But I shall not escape death. The iron broke in my ribs, and the fragment remained in me. By plucking at it, and trying to drag it out with my nails. I pushed it in the more deeply; and now there is no cure for me."

"If you would drink a pot or two of bear's fat!"

"Yes. Father Tsybek also says that that would be well, for perhaps the fragment might slip out in some way. But how can I get it here? In Bogdanets we should only need to take an axe and watch one night under a bee-hive."

"Then we must go to Bogdanets. Only, you must not die on the road."

Old Matsko looked with a certain tenderness on his nephew.

"I know where thou wishest to go,—to the court of Prince Yanush, or to Yurand of Spyhov, to attack Germans of Helmno."

"I do not deny that. I should go gladly to Warsaw with the court of the princess, or to Tsehanov, so as to be as long as possible with Danusia. I cannot live now without her in any way; she is not only my lady, but my love. I am so glad when I see her that when I think of her a shiver takes hold of me. I would go with her even to the end of the earth, but you are at present my first law. You did not leave me, and I will not desert you. If to Bogdanets, then to Bogdanets!"

"Thou art a good boy!"

"God would punish me were I not good to you. See, they are packing the wagons already, and one I have filled with hay for you. Amyley has presented besides a feather bed, but I know not whether you will be able to stay on it from heat. We will drive slowly with the princess and the court, so that care may not fail you. Afterward they will go to Mazovia, and we to our place. God aid us!"

"Only let me live long enough to rebuild the castle," said Matsko; "for I know that after my death thou wilt not think often of Bogdanets."

"Why should I not think?"

"For in thy head will be love and battles."

"But was there not war in your own head? I have marked out exactly what I am to do; the first thing is to build a castle of strong oak—and we shall have a moat dug around it in order."

"Is that thy way of thinking?" inquired Matsko, with roused curiosity. "But when will the castle be built? Tell that!"

"The castle will be built before my visit to Princess Anna's court in Warsaw or Tsehanov."

"After my death?"

"If you die soon, it will be after your death. If you die I will bury you worthily first of all; and if the Lord Jesus give you health you will stay in Bogdanets. The princess has promised that I shall receive a knight's belt from the prince. Without that, Lichtenstein would not fight with me."

"After that wilt thou go to Malborg?"

"To Malborg, or to the end of the earth, if I can only find Lichtenstein."

"I will not blame thee in that. Thy death or his!"

"Ah! I will bring his glove and his belt to Bogdanets, have no fear."

"But guard against treason. With them treason is ready."

"I will bow down before Prince Yanush to send to the Grand Master for a safe-conduct. There is peace now. I will go with the safe-conduct to Malborg; at Malborg there is always a throng of foreign knights. Do you know? First, Lichtenstein; and then I will see who have peacock-plumes on their helmets; in turn I will challenge them. May God aid me! Should the Lord Jesus give victory I will perform my vow at once."

Thus speaking Zbyshko smiled at his own thoughts; thereupon his face was like that of a boy who is telling what knightly deeds he will do when he grows up to manhood.

"Hei," said Matsko, nodding his head, "shouldst thou finish three knights of famous stock, not only would thy vow be accomplished, but thou wouldst take some good gear at the same time. O thou dear God!"

"What are three?" cried Zbyshko. "When I was in prison I said to myself that I would not be niggardly with Danusia. As many knights as she has fingers on her hands,—not three!"

Matsko shrugged his shoulders.

"You wonder, but do not believe," said Zbyshko. "I will go from Malborg to Yurand of Spyhov. Why should I not bow down to him, since he is Danusia' s father? With him I will go against the Germans of Helmno. You said yourself that he is the greatest wolf-man in Mazovia against Germans."

"But if he will not give thee Danusia?"

"He has no reason not to give her! He is seeking his own revenge, I mine. Whom better can he find Besides, since the princess has permitted the betrothal, he will not oppose."

"I note one thing," said Matsko, "that thou wilt take all the people from Bogdanets, so as to have a retinue proper for a knight, though the place be left without hands. While I am alive I will not permit this, but when I am dead I see that thou wilt take them."

"The Lord will provide an escort; besides, our relative, the abbot of Tulcha, will not be stingy."

At that moment the doors opened, and, as if in proof that the Lord God was providing an escort for Zbyshko, in walked two men, dark, strong, dressed in yellow kaftans, like Jews. They wore also red skullcaps, and immense, broad trousers. Standing in the door they fell to putting their fingers to their foreheads, their lips, and their breasts, and then to making obeisances down to the floor.

"What sort of renegades are ye?" inquired Matsko. "Who are ye?"

"Your captives," answered the newly arrived, in broken Polish.

"But how is that? Whence are ye? Who sent you here?"

"Pan Zavisha sent us as a present to the young knight, to be his captives."

" Oh, for God's sake, two men more!" cried Matsko, with delight. "And of what people?"

"We are Turks."

"Are ye Turks?" inquired Zbyshko. "I shall have two Turks in my retinue. Uncle, have you ever seen Turks?"

And jumping up to the captives he began to turn the men around and look at them, as he might at strange creatures from beyond the sea.

"As to seeing, I have not seen, but I have heard that the lord of Garbov has Turks in his service, whom he captured when fighting on the Danube with the Roman Cæsar, Sigismond. How is that? Are ye pagans, ye dog brothers?"

"Our lord gave command to christen us," said one of them.

"And ye had not the means to ransom yourselves?"

"We are from afar, from the Asiatic shore; we are from Brussa."

Zbyshko, who listened eagerly to every narrative of war, especially when it concerned deeds of the renowned Zavisha, asked them how they had fallen into captivity. But in the narrative of the captives there was nothing uncommon: Zavisha had attacked some tens of them three years before in a ravine; some he cut down, others he captured; of these he gave away afterward many as gifts. The hearts of Zbyshko and Matsko were filled with delight at sight of such a notable present, especially as it was difficult to get men in that time, and the possession of them was genuine property.

After a while Zavisha himself came, in company with Povala and Pashko. Since all had striven to save Zbyshko and were glad that they had succeeded, each man made him some present in farewell and remembrance. The bountiful lord of Tachev gave him a caparison for his horse, wide, rich, embroidered on the breast with golden fringe; and Pashko, a Hungarian sword worth ten gryvens. Later came Lis, Farurey, Kron, Martsin, and, last of all, Zyndram, each with full hands.

Zbyshko greeted them with overflowing heart, made happy both by the gifts, and by this, that the most renowned knights in the kingdom had shown him friendship. They inquired of him touching his departure, and the health of Matsko, recommending, like experienced people, though young, various ointments and remedies which cured wounds wonderfully.

But Matsko merely recommended Zbyshko to them; as for himself, he was preparing for the other world. It was difficult to live with a piece of iron sticking under the ribs. He complained that he spat blood continually, and had no appetite. A quart of shelled nuts, two spans of sausage, a plate of fried eggs,—that was his whole daily sustenance. Father Tsybek bled him a number of times, thinking to draw the fever from under his heart and restore desire for food; that gave no relief either.

But he was so delighted with gifts for his nephew that he felt better that moment; and when the merchant Amyley commanded to bring a small keg of wine to entertain guests so notable, he sat down to the cup with them. They fell to talking of the rescue of Zbyshko, and of his betrothal. The knights had no thought that Yurand would oppose the will of the princess, especially if Zbyshko would avenge the memory of Danusia's mother and win the peacock-plumes.

"But as to Lichtenstein," said Zavisha, "I am not sure that he will meet thee; he is a monk, and an elder in the Order besides. Nay! the people in his retinue declare that if he waits he will in time be Grand Master."

"Should he refuse combat he will lose his honor," said Lis.

"No," answered Zyndram; "he is not a lay member, hence he is not free to meet in single combat."

"But it happens often that they do."

"Yes, for laws in the Order are corrupted; they make various vows, and are famed for breaking them time after time, to the scandal of all Christendom. But in a conflict to the death a Knight of the Cross, and especially a comtur, may refuse to appear."

"Ha! then you will meet him only in war."

"They tell us there will be no war, since at present the Knights of the Cross fear our people."

"This peace will not endure long," answered Zyndram. "Agreement with a wolf is impossible, for he must live on others."

"Meanwhile we may have to take Timur the Lame by the shoulders," said Povala. "Prince Vitold has suffered defeat from Edygeï,—that is undoubted."

"And Spytko, the voevoda, has not returned," added Pashko.

"And a multitude of Lithuanian princes remained on the field."

"The late queen foretold this end," said Povala.

"Then we may have to march against Timur."

Here conversation turned to the Lithuanian campaign against the Tartars. There was no longer any doubt that Vitold, a leader more impulsive than skilful, had suffered on the Vorskla a great defeat, in which a multitude of Lithuanian and Russian boyars had fallen, and with them a handful of Polish auxiliaries, and even Knights of the Cross. Those assembled at Amyley's house mourned above all the fate of young Spytko of Melshtyn, the greatest lord in the kingdom; he had gone as a volunteer, and after the battle had disappeared without tidings. They exalted to the sky his real knightly act, which was this: that having received a cap of safety from the leader of the enemy, he would not wear it during battle, preferring a glorious death to life at the favor of a pagan ruler. It was uncertain yet whether he had perished or had been taken captive. From captivity he had, of course, means to ransom himself; because his wealth surpassed reckoning, and besides. King Vladislav had given him all Podolia in vassal possession.

The defeat of the Lithuanians might be terrible for the entire realm of Yagello also; for no one knew well whether the Tartars, encouraged by victory over Vitold, would not hurl themselves on the lands and cities of the Grand Principality. In such case the kingdom too would be involved in the struggle. Many knights, then, who like Zavisha, Farurey, Dobko, and even Povala, were accustomed to seek adventures and battles at foreign courts, remained in Cracow designedly, not knowing what the near future might bring. If Tamerlane, the lord of twenty-seven kingdoms, were to move the whole Mongol world, the danger might become terrible. There were men who thought they foresaw this.

"If the need come, we must measure with the Limper himself. He will not find it so easy to meet our people as all those whom he conquered and destroyed. Besides, other Christian princes will come to assist us."

To this, Zyndram, who was flaming with special hatred against the Order, said with bitterness,—

"As to princes, I know not; but the Knights of the Cross are ready to make friends with the Tartars and strike us on the opposite flank."

"There will be war!" exclaimed Zbyshko. "I will go against the Knights of the Cross!"

But other knights contradicted. "The Knights of the Cross know no fear of God, and seek only profit; still, they will not assist pagans against Christian people. Moreover, Timur is warring somewhere far off in Asia; and the Tartar sovereign, Edygeï, has lost so many warriors in the battle that likely he is terrified at his own victory. Prince Vitold is a man of resources, and surely has supplied his fortresses well; though success has not come to the Lithuanians this time, it is no new thing for them to overcome Tartars."

"Not with Tartars, but with Germans must we fight for life and death," said Zyndram; "from Germans will our ruin come, unless we destroy them. And Mazovia will perish first of all," said he, turning to Zbyshko. "Thou wilt always find work there, have no fear!"

"Ei! if uncle were well, I would go there immediately."

"God strengthen thee!" said Povala, raising his goblet. "To thy health and Danusia's!"

"Destruction to the Germans!" added Zyndram.

And they began to take farewell of him. Meanwhile a courtier from the princess entered with a falcon on his hand, and, bending to the knights present, turned with a certain strange smile to Zbyshko.

"My lady, the princess, commanded me to tell you," said he, "that she will pass this night in Cracow, and take the road to-morrow morning."

"That is well, but why is this? Has any one fallen ill?"

"No. The princess has a guest from Mazovia."

"Has the prince himself come?"

"Not the prince, but Yurand of Spyhov," answered the courtier.

When Zbyshko heard this he was terribly confused, and his heart began to beat as it did when they read the death sentence to him.

1. This is a German mispronunciation of Kropidlo, a sprinkler. Kropidlo is derived from kropic, to sprinkle.