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CHAPTER XLVII. They reached the Nievaja in the morning and crossed; one on horseback, another holding to a horse's tail, another on a bundle of grape-vines. This passed so quickly that Matsko, Zbyshko, Hlava, and those Mazovians who had come as volunteers, were amazed at the skill of that people, and they understood then for the first time why neither pinewoods nor swamps nor rivers could stop Lithuanian onsets. When they had come out of the water no man put off his clothing, no man threw off a sheepskin or wolf-hide; each warrior dried himself standing with his back to the sun till steam rose from him as from a tarpit; and after a short rest they moved swiftly northward. At dusk they reached the river Niemen. There the crossing was not easy, since it was over a great river swollen with the waters of springtime. The ford, known to Skirvoillo, had changed in places into deep spots, so that horses had to swim more than a quarter of a furlong. Two men were swept away from Zbyshko's and Hlava's side; these they tried to save, but in vain; because of darkness and deep water they lost sight of them quickly. The drowning men dared not call for aid, since their leader had commanded earlier that the crossing should be made in the deepest silence. All the rest reached the other shore successfully and remained there till morning. At daybreak the whole army was divided into two parts. With one Skirvoillo went to meet those knights who were bringing reinforcements to Gotteswerder, the other Zbyshko led straight toward the island, to intercept those castle people sallying forth to meet the reinforcements. The day had grown bright overhead, and calm, but the forest, the meadows, and bushes were veiled with a thick whitish mist, which hid them completely. This was for Zbyshko and his men a favorable condition, because the Germans marching from the castle could not see them and withdraw in time from an encounter. The young knight was delighted greatly for this reason, and said to Matsko, who was riding near him,— "In a fog like this we shall strike before they can see us; God grant that it grow not thin till even mid-day!" That moment he rushed forward to give commands to captains in advance, but he returned quickly. "Soon we shall come," said he, "to a road going from the ford opposite the island toward the heart of the country. There we shall place ourselves in the forest and wait for them." "How didst thou learn of the road?" inquired Matsko. "From men of the place. I have some tens of them among my people; they lead us everywhere." "But how far from the castle and the island wilt thou attack?" "Five miles." "That is well, for were it nearer soldiers from the castle might hurry up with assistance; as it is, not only will they be unable to do that, but no shouts will be heard." "You see, I have given thought to this." "Thou hast thought over one thing, think now of another. If thy men of that place are faithful, send two or three of them to see when the Germans sally forth, and then hurry back and report to us." "That is done already." "Then I will tell thee something else: Command a hundred or two hundred men as follows: take no part in the battle, but the moment it commences hurry away and cut off the road to the island." "That is the first thing to do," answered Zbyshko, "and that order has been given already. The Germans will fall into a swamp, as it were, or a trap." When Matsko heard this he looked at his nephew with pleased eye, for he was glad that Zbyshko, in spite of his early years, understood warfare so keenly; hence he smiled and muttered,— "Ours is the right blood! " But the attendant, Hlava, rejoiced more in soul than even Matsko, for to him there was nothing so delightful as battle. "I know not," said he, "how our men will fight, but they are advancing quietly, in order, and in them a tremendous willingness is evident. If that Skirvoillo has thought out all his work well, not a living leg should escape that belongs to an enemy." "God grant that few get away," said Zbyshko. "But I have issued orders to take as many prisoners as possible, and should there happen among them a knight or a brother of the Order, not to kill him." "But why is that, lord?" asked Hlava. "Look thou sharply too that this order be carried out. A knight, if from foreign parts, goes about in cities, or in castles; he sees a world of people and hears a world of news, and if he is a knight of the Order he hears more than others. This, as God lives, is true: I have come here to capture some one of the more important men, and exchange him. That dear girl is all that remains to me—in case she is living yet." When he had said this he put spurs to his horse and pushed out to the head of the division to give final orders and escape from sad thoughts, for which there was then no time, since the place of the ambush was not distant. "Why does my young lord think that his wife is still living, and that she is in these regions?" asked Hlava. "He thinks so because Siegfried did not kill her at the first impulse in Schytno; this being so, we may hope that she is still living. If he had killed her the Schytno priest would not have given us the account he did give, an account which Zbyshko himself heard. It is hard for the greatest brute, even, to raise hands on a defenceless woman. What, defenceless woman?—on an innocent little girl!" "Hard, but not for a knight of the Order. Have you forgotten Prince Vitold's children?" "It is true that they have wolf hearts, still it is true also that they did not kill her in Schytno, and that Siegfried himself came to these parts; hence he may have hidden her in some castle." "Ei! in that case, if we could only surprise this island and this castle!" "But look at those men," said Matsko. "True! true! but I have an idea to give my young master—" "If thou hadst ten ideas thou couldst not throw stone walls down with pikes!" And Matsko pointed to the line of pikes with which the greater part of the warriors were provided; then ho asked,— "Hast thou ever seen such an army?" Hlava had indeed never seen such an army. Before him advanced a dense legion of warriors, and they advanced without order, for in that pine wood and among bushes it would have been difficult to preserve order. Besides, men on foot were mingled with men on horseback, and to keep up with the horses they held to the manes, tails, and saddles of the animals. The shoulders of the warriors were covered with skins of wolves, bears, and panthers, and from their heads were thrust out wild-boar tusks, stag horns, and shaggy wild-beast ears; so that had it not been for their weapons standing upward, and the bows which they carried, and the quivers behind their shoulders, any onlooker might have thought, especially in the morning mist, all that to be the host of forest wild beasts issuing from their native lairs, driven on by desire of blood and by hunger. There was in it something terrible, and also as unexampled as that wonder called the "gomon," during which, as simple people think, wild beasts rush forward in a throng, and with them stones and trees, even. At this sight one of those nobles of Lenkavitsa who had come with Hlava approached him, made the sign of the cross, and said,— "In the name of the Father and the Son! We are going with a legion of wolves, and not people." Hlava, though he beheld such a host for the first time, said, like a man of experience, who knows everything, and is astonished at no sight,— "Wolves run in packs during winter, but the beast blood of the Order tastes well even in springtime." And in truth it was springtime—it was May. Leshchyna, which was encircled with pine trees, was covered with tender green. From the velvety, soft mosses, over which the steps of the warriors passed without noise, appeared the white and tender blue of the sasanka, the young berry, and the fern leaf with its tooth-edged border. The trees, moistened with abundant rain, had the odor of damp bark, and from the earth surface of the forest came a strong odor of fallen pine leaves and decaying timber. The sun played with rainbow light on the water-drops hanging from the forest leaves, and the bird world announced itself joyously. They advanced with increasing swiftness, for Zbyshko urged them forward. After a while he turned again to the rear of the division, where Matsko and Hlava were with the volunteers from Mazovia. The hope of a good battle had roused him greatly, as could be seen, for on his face the usual anxiety was no longer evident, and his eyes gleamed as in the old time. "Well!" cried he. "We are to be in front now, not in the rear!" And he took them to the head of the division. "Listen," added he; "we may strike the Germans unexpectedly, but if they see us and are able to form in line, then we must be the first of our people to fall on them, for our armor is the surest, and our swords are the best in this division." "That is what we shall do!" said Matsko. Other men sat back with more weight in their saddles, as if they were going to make a charge straightway. This one and that drew breath into his breast and tried whether his sword would come easily from its scabbard. Zbyshko repeated once more that if nobles or brothers in white mantles were found among men on foot they were not to be slain, but taken prisoners; then he sprang again to the guides, and after a moment stopped the division. They had come to the road which led from the landing-place opposite the island into the interior of the country. In fact there was no real road, but rather a trail made not long before through the forest, and levelled out only as much as was needed for warriors or wagons to escape from disaster. On both sides stood a lofty pine forest, and on both sides lay the great trunks of old pines cut down to open the roadway. The undergrowth of hazel was in places so dense that it hid altogether the depth of the forest. Zbyshko chose this place at a turn so that those approaching might not see him from a distance and have time to withdraw or to form in line of battle. He took both sides of the trail and gave command to await the enemy. The Jmud men, accustomed to forest life, and to war in the wilderness, dropped down behind tree trunks, earth clumps, hazel bushes, and bunches of young fir as quickly as if the earth had swallowed them. Not a man gave out a sound, not a horse a snort. From time to time near the hiding people a little beast would pass, and then a big beast, which, when it saw that it had almost touched a man, roared and rushed terrified into the distance. At moments a breeze rose and filled the forest with a sound that was earnest and majestic, then there was stillness; after that naught was heard save the distant call of the cuckoo and the near hammering of woodpeckers. The Jmud men listened to those sounds with immense delight, for the woodpecker was to them the special herald of good tidings. Besides, the forest was full of those birds, and their hammering came in from all sides, strongly, insistently, like the labor of mankind. One might have said that all those birds had their forge in that forest, and since early morning had been hurrying thither to perform earnest labor. To Matsko and the men of Mazovia it seemed that they were listening to adzes fashioning rafters for a new house, and it called to their minds native regions. But time passed, and still there was nothing to be heard save the voices of birds and the sounds of the forest. The mist lying near the ground was growing thinner, the sun had risen notably and had begun to give warmth, but the men were lying low all that interval. Finally Hlava, to whom waiting and silence had grown irksome, turned to Zbyshko's ear and whispered,— "My lord, if God grant that not one of the dog brothers go with his life, might we not advance in the night-time, cross the river, surprise the castle and take it?" "Dost think that boats are not on guard there, and that the men in them have not a password?" "They are on guard; but prisoners if under the knife will give that word, nay more, will call it out to them in German. If we reach the island the castle itself will—" Here he stopped, since Zbyshko put his hand over his lips suddenly, for from the road came the croaking of a raven. "Be silent," said he, "that is a signal." Something like two "Our Fathers" later, on the road appeared a Jmud man on a small, shaggy horse, whose hoofs were bound in sheepskin, so as not to make noise or leave traces. The rider looked quickly on both sides and, hearing on a sudden an answer to the croaking, darted into the forest, and in one moment was with Zbyshko. "They are coming!" said he.
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