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CHAPTER L. The attendants unbound him immediately, but since his limbs were benumbed, he fell to the earth; and when they raised him, he fainted time after time, for he had been terribly frightened. They took him to the fire at command of Zbyshko, gave him food and drink, rubbed him with tallow, and covered him warmly with skins. Sanderus did not regain consciousness, but fell into a sleep so profound that Hlava was barely able to rouse him at noon the day following. Zbyshko. whom impatience was burning as with fire, came to him straightway. But at first he was unable to learn from him anything; for, either through terror after dreadful experiences, or through the helplessness which possesses weak souls when the threatening danger has passed them, such an irresistible weeping seized Sanderus that he struggled vainly to answer the questions put to him. Sobs closed his throat, his lips quivered, and tears flowed from his eyes as abundantly as if his life were going out with them. At last, recovering a little, and strengthened by mare's milk, which the Lithuanians had learned to use from the Tartars, he fell to complaining that those "sons of Belial" had fastened him to a crab-tree with lances, that they had taken his horse, on which he was carrying relics of exceptional virtues and value, and to finish all, after they had lashed him to the tree, ants so bit his legs and body that certain death was awaiting him, if not that day, then the morrow. At last Zbyshko became angry, sprang up, and said,— "Answer, vagabond, the questions which I put, and see to it that something worse does not strike thee!" "My lord," said Hlava, "close by is a hill of red ants; give command to put him on that hill and he will find a tongue between his lips very quickly." Hlava did not say this in earnest, and he smiled even, for in his heart he had good-will for Sanderus; but Sanderus was terrified. "Mercy! Oh, mercy!" cried he. "Give me a little more of that Pagan strong drink, and I will tell everything; what I have seen and what I have not seen!" "If thou tell one lie I will drive a wedge between thy teeth!" replied Hlava. But he brought a skin of mare's-milk a second time. Sanderus seized it, fastened his lips to it greedily, like a child to the breast of its mother, and began to sob, opening and closing his eyes in succession, till he had drained off two quarts, or perhaps more, then he shook himself, put the skin on his knee, and said, as if yielding to necessity,— "This is foulness!" Then he turned to Zbyshko: "Now inquire, my deliverer!" "Was my wife in that detachment in which thou wert?" On Sanderus' face appeared a certain astonishment. He had heard, it is true, that Danusia was Zbyshko's wife, but that the marriage was secret, and that she had been carried off immediately; so he thought of her always as the daughter of Yurand. Still, he answered in a hurry,— "Yes, Voevoda! she was, but Siegfried de Löwe and Arnold von Baden broke through the enemy." "Didst thou see her?" asked the young man, with throbbing heart. "I did not see her face, lord, but between two horses I saw a basket cradle, entirely closed; they were carrying some one in the cradle, and that same lizard was looking after it, that same serving-woman of the Order who came from Danveld to the hunting-lodge. And I heard sad singing also, and it came from the cradle." Zbyshko grew pale from emotion; he sat on a tree trunk, and for a time did not know what more to ask. Matsko and Hlava were also moved immensely, for they heard great and important news. Hlava thought, perhaps, at the same time of his own beloved lady, who had remained in Spyhov, and for whom this news would be the sentence of misfortune. Silence followed. At last the cunning Matsko, who did not know Sanderus and had barely heard of the man previously, looked at him with suspicion and asked,— "What sort of person art thou, and what wert thou doing among the Knights of the Order?" "What sort of man am I, great, mighty knight," answered the vagrant, "let these present answer,—this valiant prince (he indicated Zbyshko), and this brave count here from Bohemia, who know me this long time." It was evident that the mare's-milk had begun to help him, for he grew lively, and turning to Zbyshko said in a clear voice, in which there was no sign of his previous faintness,— "My lord, you have saved my life twice. Without you the wolves would have eaten my body, or the punishment of bishops would have struck me; they, led into error by my enemies—oh, how unthankful this world is!--gave command to prosecute me for selling relics which they suspected of being unauthentic. But you, lord, took me in your train. Thanks to you the wolves did not eat me, and prosecution did not strike me, for I was considered as one of your people. Never have I lacked food or drink in your following—better than this mare's-milk here, which is disgusting, but which I drink to show that a poor, pious pilgrim draws back from no trial." "Buffoon, tell at once what thou knowest, and jest no further!" cried Matsko. Sanderus raised the skin to his lips and emptied it; then, as if not listening to Matsko's words, he turned a second time to Zbyshko. "I love you, lord, because you protected me. The saints, as the Scriptures say, sinned nine times each day, so it happens to Sanderus also to sin sometimes; but Sanderus has not been, and will never be ungrateful. Hence, when misfortune came to you, you remember, lord, that I said to you: I will go from castle to castle, and, while edifying people along the highway, I will seek for what you have lost. Of whom have I not made inquiry! Where have I not been! It would need a long time to tell; it is enough that I found her; and from that moment a burr does not stick to a coatflap as I stuck to old Siegfried. I made myself his servant, and from castle to castle, from the place of one comtur to that of another, from city to city, I went with him unceasingly up to this last battle." Emotion now mastered Zbsyhko and he said,— "I am thankful to thee, and reward will not miss thee. But tell now what I ask: Wilt thou swear on thy soul's salvation that she is living?" "I will swear on my soul's salvation!" answered Sanderus, seriously. "Why did Siegfried leave Schytno?" "I know not, lord, but I imagine why. He was never starosta in Schytno, and he left it fearing, perhaps, the command of the Grand Master, who, as men say, wrote to him to give up the captive girl to the Princess of Mazovia. Maybe he fled in view of this letter, for the soul in him was roasting from pain and desire of vengeance for Rotgier. They say now that Rotgier was his own son; I know not how that is, but I do know that something has turned in his head from rage, and that while he is living he will never let Yurand's daughter—I intended to say the young lady—go out of his possession." "This all seems strange to me," interrupted Matsko on a sudden; "for if that old dog is so vindictive against the whole blood of Yurand he would have killed Danusia." "He wanted to kill her," retorted Sanderus, "but something happened of such sort that he was very sick afterward, and just missed giving out his last breath. His servants whisper much concerning this. Some say that while going at night to the watch-tower to kill the young lady he met the Evil Spirit; others say that it was an angel. But in every case, they found him on the snow in front of the tower, and no breath in him. Now, when he remembers this, the hair stands on his head, and he dares not raise hands on the lady, and fears to order others to kill her. He takes with him the dumb executioner of Schytno, but it is unknown why he does so, for the executioner is afraid as well as others to kill her." These words made a great impression. Zbyshko, Matsko, and Hlava drew up to Sanderus, who made the sign of the cross, and continued,— "It is not pleasant to be there among them. More than once have I heard and seen things which make the hair rise on a man's body. I have told your graces that the old comtur is wrong in the head somehow. Nay, there must be something more, since spirits from the other world visit him. Whenever he is alone something pants near him, exactly as when breath is beginning to fail a man. But this is that Danveld, who was slain by the terrible master of Spyhov. And Siegfried says to him: 'What dost thou want here? Masses cannot help thee; why dost thou come to me?' The other grits his teeth, and again pants. But still oftener comes Rotgier, after whom there is also a smell of sulphur in the chamber, and he talks still more with the comtur. 'I cannot!' answers Siegfried to him, 'I cannot! When I am alone I will do it, but not this time!' I heard also how he asked: 'Would this ease thee, my son?' "And it always happens that for two or three days after such a visit he says no word to any man, and on his face dreadful suffering is evident. He guards the cradle carefully, both he and that serving-woman of the Order, so that no person at any time can see the young lady." "But do they not torture her?" asked Zbyshko, in a dull voice. "In clear truth I will tell your lordship that blows or cries I have not heard, but I have heard sad singing, and sometimes it was as if a bird piped complainingly." "Woe!" cried out Zbyshko. But Matsko interrupted further inquiry. "Enough of this!" said he. "Tell now of the battle. Didst thou see it? How did they escape, and what happened to them?" "I saw," answered Sanderus, "and I will tell everything. They fought at first savagely, but when they knew that they were surrounded on all sides, they began to think how to burst through. The knight Arnold, who is a real giant, was the first to break the ring and open such a road that he made a way for the old comtur, and also some people, with the cradle borne by two horses." "And was there no pursuit? How did it happen that no one caught up with them?" "There was pursuit, but it could do nothing, for when it came near the knight Arnold faced around and engaged it. May God not grant any man to meet him, for he has strength so dreadful that it is nothing for him to fight alone with a hundred. Three times did he turn, and three times was pursuit stopped. The men who were with him perished—all of them. He was alone at last, wounded, it seems to me, and his horse wounded also, but he survived, and gave time to the old comtur for safe escape." Matsko, listening to this narrative, could not help thinking that Sanderus was speaking truly, for he remembered that, beginning with the place where Skirvoillo had fought, the road in its further continuation was covered with bodies of Jmud men, slashed as dreadfully as if the hand of a giant had slain them. "But how couldst thou have seen all this?" inquired he. "I saw it," answered the vagrant, "because I slipped in behind the tail of one of the horses which was carrying the cradle, and I fled with those beasts till a hoof struck my stomach; then I fainted and fell into the hands of your mightiness." "This may have happened," said Hlava, "but see that thou lie not; if thou do thou 'It come out badly." "The mark is on me yet," said Sanderus; "whoso wishes may examine; still it is better to believe my word than be damned for incredulity." "Though thou mightst tell the truth sometimes without wishing it, thou wilt howl for dealing falsely in sacred wares," added Hlava. And they began to chaff, as they had formerly, but the conversation was interrupted by Zbyshko,— "Thou hast passed through this country, hence thou knowest it. What castles are there near here, and where, as it seems to thee, might Arnold and Siegfried secrete themselves?" "Castles near by there are none, for everything here is a forest, through which this road was cut a short time ago. Settlements and villages there are not, since those which existed the Germans have burnt, for the reason that when this war broke out the people off there, who are of the same race as those here, rose up also against the dominion of the Order. I think, lord, that Arnold and Siegfried are wandering now through the forest and will go back to the place whence they came, or go secretly to that fortress to which we were marching before this unfortunate battle." "Surely this is true," said Zbyshko. And he thought deeply. From his wrinkled brows and concentrated expression it was easy to see with what effort he was thinking, but this did not last long. After a while he raised his head and said,— "Hlava, let horses and men be ready, for we will take the road straightway." The attendant, who had the habit of never inquiring for the reason of orders, rose, and, without answering, ran to the horses; but Matsko fixed his eyes on his nephew, and asked with astonishment,— "Ah! Zbyshko? Hei! But whither art thou going? What? How?" But Zbyshko answered with a question: "What do you think, ought I not do this?" The old knight was silent. The astonishment quenched on his face gradually, he moved his head once and a second time, then breathed from his full breast, and said, as if in answer to himself,— "Well! let it be—so there is no help!" And he went himself toward the horses. Zbyshko turned toward De Lorche, and through a Mazovian, who knew German, said to him,— "I cannot ask thee to help me against people with whom thou art serving under one banner; hence thou art free, go whithersoever it please thee." "I cannot help thee now with the sword against my knightly honor," answered De Lorche, "but as to freedom, I will not take it. I will remain thy captive on word of honor, and present myself at summons wherever thou mayest indicate. But do thou in case of need remember that for me the Order will exchange any captive, for not only do I come of a powerful family, but from one that has served the Order." And they began to take farewell, placing, as the custom was, their hands on each other's shoulders, and kissing each other's cheeks, during which De Lorche said,— "I will go to Malborg, or to Mazovia, to the court, so that thou mayest know where to find me; if not here, I shall be there. Let thy envoy just say two words to me: Lorraine Guelders." "Very well," answered Zbyshko. "I will go now to Skirvoillo to get the sign which every Jmud man will reverence. " He went then to Skirvoillo. The old leader gave the sign, and made no difficulty as to departure, for he knew what the question was; he loved Zbyshko, he was grateful for the last battle, and besides, he had no right to stop a knight who was of another people, and who had come through personal desire alone. So thanking Zbyshko for the notable service which he had rendered, he gave him provisions which might be of use in that ravaged country, and took farewell, with the wish that they might meet in life again during some great and decisive conflict with the Order. Zbyshko was impatient, for something like a fever was consuming him. When he came to his escort he found everything ready, and among the people his uncle on horseback, in chain mail, and on his head a helmet. So, approaching him, he asked,— "Are you, also, going with me?" "But what am I to do?" inquired Matsko, somewhat testily. To this Zbyshko said nothing; he merely kissed the mailed right hand of his uncle, then mounted his horse, and rode forward. Sanderus rode with them. Zbyshko and his uncle knew the road well to the field of battle, but farther Sanderus was to be the guide. They counted also on this,—that they would meet somewhere in the forest local peasants, men hating their lords of the Order; these would help them in tracking the old comtur and Arnold von Baden, of whose unearthly strength and bravery Sanderus had told so much.
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