PART FOURTH: CHAPTER V
But Zbyszko, riding behind him, could not stand it very long, and said to
himself: "I would rather have him burst forth in anger, than become
embittered." He therefore rode up to him and jogging his stirrup against
his, he commenced to speak: "Listen how it happened. You know what
Danusia did for me in Krakow, but you do not know that they proposed to
me Jagienka of Bogdaniec, the daughter of Zych of Zgorzelice. My uncle,
Macko, was in favor of it, also her parents and Zych; a relative, an
abbot, a wealthy man as well.... What is the use of many words?--an
honest girl and a beautiful woman and the dowry respectable also. But it
could not be. I felt sorry for Jagienka, but still more so for
Danusia--and I set out to her to Mazowsze, because, I tell you frankly, I
could not live any longer without her. Recollect the time when you
yourself loved--recollect it! and it will not seem strange to you."
Here Zbyszko broke off, waiting for a word from Jurand, but as the latter
remained silent, he continued:
"God gave me an opportunity at the Forest Court to save the princess and
Danusia from a wild bull while hunting. And the princess immediately
said: 'Now Jurand will not object any more, because how could he refuse
to reward such a deed?' But I did not wish to take her even then without
your parental consent. Yet! I was weak,... because the terrible animal
injured me so much, that it almost killed me. But then, as you know,
those people came for Danusia, in order to take her, as it seemed, to
Spychow, and I was still unable to leave my bed. I thought I should never
see her again. I thought that you would take her to Spychow and give her
to some one else. You objected to me at Krakow ... and I already thought
that I should die. Ah! great God, what a night I passed. Nothing but
worry; nothing but grief! I thought that if she also left me, the sun
would rise no more. Consider human love and human grief!"
And, for a moment, tears almost choked Zbyszko's voice, but, having a
courageous heart, he controlled himself and said:
"The people arrived for her in the evening and wanted to take her
immediately, but the princess ordered them to wait until morning. Just
then Jesus inspired me with the idea of presenting the princess with my
compliments and asking her for Danusia. I thought that if I died I should
have that consolation at least. Remember that the girl had to leave,
while I remained ill and nearly dying. There was also no time to ask for
your permission. The prince was no longer in the Forest Court, the
princess therefore weighed both sides because she had nobody to take
counsel with. But they, together with Father Wyszoniek at last took pity
upon me, and Father Wyszoniek performed the ceremony.... God's power,
God's right!..."
But Jurand interrupted, gloomily: "And God's punishment!"
"Why should there be punishment?" inquired Zbyszko. "Consider only, they
had sent for her before the ceremony, and whether it had been performed
or not, they would have carried her off nevertheless."
But Jurand again replied nothing, and rode on alone, gloomy, and with
such a stony face, that though Zbyszko at first felt the relief that
confession of a long concealed thing always produces, at length he was
seized with fear and said to himself, with constantly increasing fear,
that the old knight was bitterly angered, and that thenceforth they would
be strangers and foes to each other. And there came upon him a moment of
great depression. He had never felt so badly since his departure from
Bogdaniec. It seemed to him now that there was no hope of reconciliation
with Jurand, nor, what was far worse, of saving Danusia, that all was of
no avail, and that in the future still greater misfortunes and miseries
would befall him. But this depression of spirits lasted a short while
only, and, in accordance with his nature, it soon changed into anger, and
a desire for quarreling and fight. "He does not want peace," he said to
himself, thinking of Jurand, "then let there be discord, let come what
will!" And he was ready to fly at Jurand's face. He also longed for a
fight with anybody for anything, merely to do something, merely to give
vent to his grief, bitterness and anger, and so find some relief.
Meanwhile they arrived at an inn at a ford called Swietlik, where Jurand,
on his return from the prince's court, usually allowed his people and
horses to rest. He did so now also involuntarily. After a while he and
Zbyszko found themselves alone in a separate chamber. Suddenly Jurand
stopped before the young knight and, fixing his eyes upon him, inquired:
"Did you wander about for her sake?"
The other almost harshly retorted:
"Do you suppose that I shall deny it?" And he looked straight into
Jurand's eyes, ready to meet anger with anger. But there was no
indignation in the old warrior's face; there was only almost boundless
grief.
"And you saved my child?" he inquired, after a moment, "and dug me out?"
But Zbyszko looked at him in astonishment and fear that his mind was
wandering, because Jurand repeated exactly the same questions that he had
already asked.
"Be seated," he said, "because it seems to me that you are still weak."
But Jurand raised his hands, placed them on Zbyszko's shoulders, and so
drew him suddenly with all his strength to his breast; the other,
recovering from a momentary amazement, clasped him round the waist and
they embraced each other for a long time, because mutual anxiety and
mutual woe united them.
After relaxing their hold, Zbyszko again embraced the older knight's
knees, and began to kiss his hands with tears in his eyes.
"Will you not object to me?" he asked.
To that Jurand replied: "I did oppose you, because in my soul I
consecrated her to God."
"You devoted her to God, and God to me. His will!"
"His will!" repeated Jurand. "But now we need mercy also."
"Whom will God help, if not a father who seeks his daughter; if not a
husband who seeks his wife? He will certainly not assist robbers."
"But they captured her nevertheless," answered Jurand.
"Then you will return von Bergow to them."
"I shall return all they wish."
But at the thought of the Teutons, the old passion soon awoke in him and
enfolded him like a flame, because he added after a moment through his
clenched teeth:
"I shall also add to it what they do not want."
"I also swore their ruin," replied Zbyszko, "but now we must make haste
to Spychow."
And he commenced to hasten the saddling of the horses. Accordingly, after
they had eaten their oats, and the men had warmed themselves in the
rooms, they started out, although it was growing dark outside. As the way
was long, and a severe frost had set in for the night, Jurand and
Zbyszko, who had not yet regained their strength, traveled in sledges.
Zbyszko told about Uncle Macko, for whom his heart yearned, and regretted
that he was not present, because his courage as well as craft might be of
use, the latter qualification being more necessary against such foes than
courage. At last he turned to Jurand and inquired:
"And are you cunning?... Because I am not."
"Neither am I," retorted Jurand. "I did not fight them with craft, but
with this hand and that which remained in me."
"I understand that," said the young knight. "I understand it because I
love Danusia and because they carried her off. If, God forbid...."
And he did not finish, because the mere thought made him feel not a human
but a wolfs heart in his breast. For some time they rode silently over a
white, moonlight-flooded road; then Jurand commenced to speak as if to
himself:
"If they only had any reason to take revenge on me--I would not say! But
gracious God! they had none.... I waged war with them in the field, when
sent on an embassy by our prince to Witold, but here I was like a
neighbor to neighbors.... Bartosz Natecz captured, chained and imprisoned
under ground in Kozmin forty knights who attacked him. The Teutons were
compelled to pay half a wagonful of money for them. While I, when a
German guest happened to come on his way to the Teutons, received and
rewarded him like one knight another. Frequently also, the Teutons came
against me across the swamps. I was not hard on them then, and they did
to me what I would not do even to-day to my greatest foe...."
And terrible recollections began to tear him with increasing force, his
voice died away for an instant in his breast, then he said, half
groaning: "I had only one, like a ewe lamb, like the heart in my breast,
and they captured her like a dog on a rope, and she died there.... Now
again, the child ... Jesus, Jesus!"
And again there was silence. Zbyszko raised his youthful, perplexed face
toward the moon, then again looked at Jurand and inquired:
"Father!... It would be far better for them to earn men's esteem than
their vengeance. Why do they commit so much wrong on all nations and all
people?"
But Jurand spread his hands apart as if in despair, and replied with a
choked voice: "I do not know...."
Zbyszko meditated for a time over his own question, presently however his
thoughts turned to Jurand.
"People say that you wreaked a worthy vengeance," he said.
Jurand meanwhile controlled his anguish, bethought himself and said:
"But I swore their ruin ... and I also swore to God that if He would
permit me to glut my vengeance I would surrender to Him the child that
was left to me. This is the reason why I objected to you. But now I do
not know: was it His will, or did you awaken His anger by your action?"
"No," said Zbyszko. "I told you once before that even if the ceremony had
not been performed, yet the scoundrels would have carried her off. God
accepted your vow, and presented me with Danusia, because without His
will we could accomplish nothing."
"Every sin is against God's will."
"A sin is, but not the sacrament. Because the sacrament is God's matter."
"Therefore there is no help."
"And God be blessed there is not! Therefore do not complain, because
nobody would help you against the robbers so well as I will. You will
see! In any case I shall pay them for Danusia, but even if one of those
who captured your deceased be still alive, leave him to me and you shall
see!"
But Jurand shook his head.
"No," he answered, gloomily, "none of those will be alive...."
For a time only the snorting of horses and the smothered echo of the
hoofs striking against the beaten road was audible.
"Once at night," continued Jurand, "I heard a voice, as if coming from a
wall, saying to me: 'Enough vengeance!' but I did not obey, because it
was not the voice of the deceased."
"And whose voice could that be?" inquired Zbyszko, anxiously.
"I do not know. In Spychow frequently something talks in the walls, and
sometimes moans, because many have died there in chains underground."
"And what does the priest tell you?"
"The priest sanctified the castle and also ordered me to relinquish
vengeance, but that could not be. I became too hard on them, and then
they themselves sought revenge. They lay in ambush and challenged me in
the field.... And so it was this time. Meineger and von Bergow were the
first to challenge me."
"Did you ever accept ransom?"
"Never! Of those I have captured, von Bergow will be the first to come
out alive."
The conversation ceased, because they now turned from the broad highway
into a narrower road, on which they traveled for a long time in silence
on account of its tortuous course, and because in some places the snow
formed drifts difficult to traverse. In the spring or summer, on rainy
days, this road must have been almost impassable.
"Are we approaching Spychow already?" asked Zbyszko.
"Yes," answered Jurand. "There is a good deal of forest yet, and then
begin the morasses, in the centre of which is the castle.... Beyond the
morasses are the marshes and dry fields, while the castle can be
approached only by the dike. The Germans wished to capture me repeatedly,
but they could not, and their bones rot among the forest weeds."
"And it is hard to find," said Zbyszko. "If the Teutons send messengers
with letters, how will they find us?"
"They have sent out several times already, and they have people who know
the way."
"If we could only meet them at Spychow," said Zbyszko.
This wish was realized sooner than the young knight thought, for issuing
from the forest into the open country, where lay Spychow among the
swamps, they perceived before them two riders and a low sledge, in which
were sitting three dark figures.
The night was very bright, therefore the whole group was perfectly
visible against the white background of snow. Jurand's and Zbyszko's
heart began to beat faster at this sight, because who else would be
riding to Spychow in the middle of the night, but the messengers from the
Teutons?
Zbyszko ordered the driver to go faster, and so they soon came so near
each other, that they could be heard, and two riders, who apparently
watched over the safety of the sledge, turned to them, and, unslinging
their crossbows, cried:
"Who is there?"
"Germans!" whispered Jurand to Zbyszko.
Then he raised his voice and said:
"It is my right to ask, and yours to reply!"
"Who are you?"
"Travelers."
"What sort of travelers?"
"Pilgrims."
"Where from?"
"From Szczytno."
"It is they!" again whispered Jurand.
Meanwhile the sledges had come together, and at the same time six
horsemen appeared before them. This was the guard of Spychow, which
watched the dike leading to the castle day and night. With the horses
were very large and savage dogs, exactly resembling wolves.
The guardsmen, having recognized Jurand, began to utter cries of welcome
mingled with astonishment that the master had returned so soon and
unexpectedly; but he was entirely engaged with the messengers, and
therefore turned to them again:
"Where are you traveling to?" he asked.
"To Spychow."
"What do you want there?"
"We can tell that only to the lord himself."
Jurand was about to say: "I am the lord of Spychow;" but he restrained
himself, feeling that conversation could not be carried on in the
presence of others. He asked them instead, whether they had any letters,
and, when they replied that they were ordered to communicate verbally, he
gave orders to drive as fast as the horses could go. Zbyszko was equally
anxious to hear news of Danusia, and could not turn his attention to
anything else. He became impatient when the guards on the dike stopped
them twice; and when the bridge was lowered over the moat, behind which
rose on the mound a gigantic palisade, and although he had previously
often desired to see that castle of ominous fame, at the mention of which
the Germans made the sign of a cross, now he saw nothing but the Teuton
messengers, from whom he might hear where Danusia was and when she would
be set at liberty. He did not foresee though, that a great disappointment
was awaiting him. Besides the horsemen, who were given for defence, and
the driver, the embassy from Szczytno was composed of two persons: one of
these was the same woman who had once brought the healing balsam to the
Forest Court; the other was a young _pontnik_.[108] Zbyszko did not
recognize the woman, because he had not seen her at the Forest Court; the
_pontnik_ at once seemed to him to be a disguised warrior. Jurand soon
led both into the neighboring room, and halted before them, huge, and
almost terrible in the glow of the fire, which fell upon him from the
logs burning in the chimney.
"Where is the child?" he asked.
But they were frightened, standing face to face with a menacing man.
Although the _pontnik_ had an insolent face, he simply trembled like a
leaf, and the woman's legs trembled also. She glanced from Jurand to
Zbyszko, and then at the shining bald head of the priest Kaleb, and then
again at Jurand, as if inquiring what the other two were doing there.
"Sir," she said, finally, "we do not know what you are asking, but we
were sent to you on important matters. Yet, the one who sent us ordered
us explicitly, that the conversation should be held without witnesses."
"I have no secrets from these!" said Jurand.
"But we have, noble lord," replied the woman, "and if you order them to
remain, then we shall ask for nothing but that you allow us to leave
to-morrow."
Anger appeared in Jurand's face as he was not used to opposition. For a
moment his tawny moustache worked ominously, but he reflected, "For
Danusia's sake!" and restrained himself. Moreover, Zbyszko, who wanted
above all things that the conversation might be concluded as soon as
possible, and felt sure that Jurand would repeat it to him, said:
"If it must be so, then remain alone." And he left, together with the
priest Kaleb; but he scarcely found himself in the main hall, in which
were hanging targets and weapons, captured by Jurand, when Glowacz
approached him.
"Sir," he said, "that is the same woman!"
"What woman?"
"From the Teutons, who brought the balsam. I recognized her at once, and
so did Sanderus. She came, at it seems, to spy, and she certainly knows
now where the lady is."
"And we shall know," said Zbyszko.
"Do you also know that _pontnik_?"
"No," replied Sanderus; "but do not buy, sir, any remissions from him,
because he is a false _pontnik_,"
"If you put him to the torture, you might obtain a lot of information."
"Wait!" said Zbyszko.
Meanwhile, in the next room hardly had the doors closed behind Zbyszko
and the priest Kaleb, when the sister of the Order quickly approached
Jurand and whispered:
"Robbers captured your daughter."
"With crosses on their robes?"
"No. But God blessed the pious brethren, so that they recovered her, and
now she is with them."
"Where is she, I ask."
"Under the care of the religious Brother Shomberg," she answered,
crossing her hands on her breast and bowing humbly.
But Jurand, hearing the dreadful name of the hangman of Witold's
children, turned as pale as linen; after a moment he sat on a bench, shut
his eyes, and began to wipe away the cold perspiration, which collected
in beads on his forehead.
Seeing this, the _pontnik_, although he had not hitherto been able to
restrain his fear, now put his hands on his hips, lounged on the bench,
stretched out his legs and looked at Jurand, with eyes full of pride and
scorn. A long silence followed.
"Brother Markward also assists Brother Shomberg in guarding her," again
said the woman; "it is a vigilant watch and no harm will happen to the
lady."
"What am I to do in order to get her back?" inquired Jurand.
"To humble yourself before the Order!" proudly said the _pontnik_.
At this Jurand arose, went up to him, and bending down over him, said in
concentrated, terrible tones:
"Be silent!"
And the _pontnik_ was again terror-stricken. He knew, that he could
threaten and say what would tame and overwhelm Jurand, but he was
terrified lest, before saying a word, something dreadful would happen to
him; he therefore remained silent, with dilated eyes, as if petrified
with fear, fixed on the threatening face of the lord of Spychow, and sat
motionless, only his beard began to quiver with agitation.
Jurand again turned to the sister of the Order:
"Have you a letter?"
"No, sir. We have no letter. What we have to say, we were ordered to say
verbally."
"Then speak!"
And she repeated again, as if wishing that Jurand should impress it well
in his memory:
"Brother Shomberg and Brother Markward watch over the lady; therefore,
you sir, restrain your anger.... But no evil will happen to her, because
although you have gravely injured the Order for many years, nevertheless
the brethren wish to repay you good for evil if you comply with their
just demands."
"What do they wish?"
"They wish you to release Herr von Bergow."
Jurand breathed heavily.
"I will return von Bergow to them," he said.
"And the other prisoners that you have in Spychow."
"There are two retainers of Meineger and von Bergow, besides their boys."
"You must release them, sir, and make amends for the imprisonment."
"God forbid that I should bargain for my child."
"The religious friars expected that from you," said the woman, "but this
is not all that I was ordered to say. Your daughter, sir, was captured by
some men, undoubtedly robbers, and certainly for the purpose of demanding
a rich ransom. God permitted the brethren to recapture her, and now they
demand nothing but the return of their brother and associate. But the
brethren know, and you, too, sir, what hatred there is in this country
against them, and how unfairly even their most righteous actions are
judged. For this reason the brethren are sure that, if the people here
found out that your daughter was with them, they would at once begin to
suspect that they had captured her, and would consequently utter only
slander and complaints.... O yes, evil and malicious people here have
frequently repaid them so, and the reputation of the holy Order has
suffered greatly by it, and the brethren are greatly concerned about it,
and therefore they add this sole condition that you alone assure the
prince of this country and all the mighty knights that it is true, that
not the Teutonic knights, but robbers carried off your daughter, and that
you had to ransom her from robbers."
"It is true," said Jurand, "that bandits have captured my child, and that
I have to buy her back from bandits...."
"You shall tell nobody otherwise, because if only one person should find
out that you come to terms with the brethren, if only one living soul or
only one complaint were sent to the master, or the assembly, great
complications would ensue."
Jurand's face exhibited great alarm. At the first moment it seemed to him
quite natural that the knights required secrecy, fearing responsibility
and disgrace, but now a suspicion arose in his mind that there might be
another reason, but, not being able to account for it, he was seized with
such terror as sometimes happens to the most courageous when danger does
not threaten them alone, but also their relatives and loved ones.
He determined however to find out more from the Order's servant.
"The knights wish secrecy," he said, "but how can it be kept, when I
release von Bergow and the others in return for my child?"
"You will say that you accepted ransom for von Bergow in order to be able
to pay the robbers."
"People will not believe it, because I never accepted ransom," gloomily
replied Jurand.
"But your child was never in question," hissed the messenger in reply.
And again silence followed, after which the _pontnik_, who, in the
meanwhile had gained courage, and judged that Jurand must now restrain
himself more, said:
"Such is the will of the brethren Shomberg and Markward."
The messenger continued:
"You will say, that this _pontnik_ who came with me, brought you the
ransom, we also will leave here with the noble von Bergow and the
prisoners."
"How so?" said Jurand, frowning, "do you think that I will give up the
prisoners before you return my child?"
"You can act, sir, still differently. You can call personally for your
daughter at Szczytno, whither the brethren will bring her to you."
"I? at Szczytno?"
"Because, should the bandits capture her again on the way, your and your
people's suspicion would again fall upon the pious knights, and therefore
they prefer to give her into your own hands."
"And who will pledge himself for my return, if I walk alone into a wolf's
throat?"
"The virtue of the brethren, their justice and godliness!"
Jurand began to walk up and down the room. He began to suspect treason
and feared it, but he felt at the same time that the Teutons could impose
any conditions they pleased upon him, and that he was powerless before
them.
However, an idea struck him, and suddenly halting before the _pontnik_,
he gazed at him with a piercing look, and then turned to the messenger
and said;
"Well, I will go to Szczytno. You and this man, who is wearing _pontnik_
garb, will remain here until my return, after which you will leave with
von Bergow and the prisoners."
"Do you refuse, sir, to believe friars." said the _pontnik_; "how then
can they trust you to liberate us and von Bergow on your return?"
Jurand's face turned pale with fury, and a critical moment followed, in
which it almost seemed that he would catch the _pontnik_ by the throat
and dash him to the floor; but he suppressed his anger, drew a deep
breath and commenced to speak slowly but emphatically.
"Whoever you are, do not strain my patience to the breaking point!"
But the _pontnik_ turned to the sister: "Speak! what you were ordered."
"Lord," she said: "we would not dare distrust your oath upon your sword
and knightly honor, but it is not proper for you to swear before people
of low rank. And we were not sent for your oath."
"What were you sent for?"
"The brethren told us that, without saying anything to anybody, you must
appear at Szczytno with von Bergow and the prisoners."
At that, Jurand's shoulders began to draw together, and his fingers to
extend like the claws of a bird of prey; at last, stopping before the
woman, he bent down, as if to speak into her ear, and said:
"Did they not tell you that I should order you and von Bergow to be
broken on the wheel in Spychow?"
"Your daughter is in the power of the brethren, and under the care of
Shomberg and Markward," replied the sister, meaningly.
"Robbers, poisoners, hangmen!" burst forth Jurand.
"Who are able to avenge us and who said at our departure: 'Should he not
comply with all our orders, it would be far better that the girl should
die, as Witold's children died.' Choose!"
"And understand that you are in the power of the knights," remarked the
_pontnik_. "They do not wish to do you any harm, and the _starosta_ of
Szczytno sends you his word by us that you shall go free from his castle;
but they want you, for the wrong done to them, to present your respects
to the Teuton, and beg for the victor's mercy. They want to forgive you,
but they first wish to bend your stubborn neck. You denounced them as
traitors and perjurers.--therefore they want you to acknowledge their
good faith. They will restore you and your daughter to liberty--but you
must beg for it. You trampled upon them--now you must swear that your
hand will never, be raised against the white robe."
"The knights wish it so," added the woman, "and Markward and Shomberg
with them."
A moment of deathlike silence followed. It seemed only that somewhere
among the beams of the ceiling some smothered echo repeated as if in
terror: "Markward ... Shomberg."
Outside the windows could be heard the voices of Jurand's archers keeping
watch on the mounds near the palisade of the castle.
The _pontnik_ and the servant of the Order looked for a long time at each
other and Jurand, who sat leaning against the wall, motionless, and with
a face deeply shadowed by furs suspended by the window. His brain
contained only one thought, that, if he did not do what the Teutons
demanded, they would destroy his child; again, if he should do it, he
might perhaps even then not save Danusia nor himself. And he saw no help,
no way of escape. He felt a pitiless superior force over him which was
crushing him. He saw in his soul already the iron hands of a Teuton on
Danusia's throat; knowing them thoroughly, he did not doubt for a moment
that they would kill her, bury her in the castle yard, and then deny
it,--and who would then be able to prove that they had captured her?
It was true that Jurand had the messengers in his power; he could bring
them to the prince and get a confession by means of torture, but the
Teutons had Danusia, and they might not care about their agents' torture.
And for a moment he seemed to see his child stretching out her hands from
afar, asking for assistance.... If he at least knew that she was really
at Szczytno, then he could go that very night to the border, attack the
unsuspecting Germans, capture the castle, destroy the garrison and
liberate the child--but she might not be and positively was not in
Szczytno. It flashed like lightning through his head, that if he were to
seize the woman and the _pontnik_, and take them directly to the grand
master, then perhaps the master could draw confessions from them and
might order the return of his daughter; but that gleam was extinguished
almost as quickly as it took fire.
These people could tell the master that they came to ransom von Bergow
and that they knew nothing about a girl. No! that way led to nothing, but
what did? He thought, that should he go to Szczytno they would chain him
and cast him under ground, while Danusia would not be released, lest it
should transpire that they had captured her, if for no other reason. And
meanwhile death hung over his only child, death over the last dear
head!... And finally his thoughts grew confused, and the pain became so
great, that it overpowered itself and became numbness. He sat motionless,
for his body became as dead as if cut out of stone. If he wanted to rise
now, he would not be able to do so.
Meanwhile the others grew tired of the long waiting, therefore the
servant of the Order arose and said:
"It will be soon daylight, therefore permit us, sir, to retire, because
we need a rest."
"And refreshment after the long journey," added the _pontnik_. Then they
both bowed to Jurand and went out.
But he continued to sit motionless, as if seized by sleep or death.
Presently, however, the door opened and Zbyszko appeared, followed by the
priest Kaleb.
"Who are the messengers? What do they want?" inquired the young knight,
approaching Jurand.
Jurand quivered, but at first answered nothing; he only began to blink
like a man awakened from a sound sleep.
"Sir, are you not ill?" said the priest Kaleb, who, knowing Jurand
better, noticed that something curious was taking place within him.
"No!" replied Jurand.
"And Danusia?" further inquired Zbyszko; "where is she and what did they
say to you?"
"What did they bring?"
"The ransom," slowly replied Jurand.
"The ransom for von Bergow?"
"For von Bergow...."
"How so, for von Bergow? what is the matter with you?"
"Nothing."
But in his voice there was something so strange and listless that a
sudden fear seized those two, especially because Jurand spoke of the
ransom and not the exchange of von Bergow for Danusia.
"Gracious God!" exclaimed Zbyszko: "where is Danusia?"
"She is not with the Teutons,--no!" replied Jurand, in a sleepy tone; and
suddenly he fell from the bench upon the floor as if dead.
Content of PART FOURTH: CHAPTER V [Henryk Sienkiewicz's novel: The Knights of the Cross]
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