PART FIFTH - CHAPTER V

PART FIFTH: CHAPTER V

The prince was the first to take the floor at the consultation and spoke
as follows:

"It is bad that we have no writing nor testimony against the counts.
Although our suspicions may be justified, and I myself think that they
and nobody else captured Jurand's daughter, still what of it? They will
deny it. And if the grand master asks for proofs, what shall I show him?
Bah! even Jurand's letter speaks in their favor."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"You say that they forced this letter from him with threats. It is
possible, and undoubtedly it is so, because if justice were on their
side, God would not have helped you against Rotgier. But since they
extorted one, then they could extort also two. And perhaps they have
evidence from Jurand, that they are not guilty of the capture of this
unfortunate girl. And if so, they will show it to the master and what
will happen then?"

"Why, they admitted themselves, gracious lord, that they recaptured her
from bandits and that she is with them now."

"I know that. But they say now that they were mistaken, and that this is
another girl, and the best proof is that Jurand himself disclaimed her."

"He disclaimed her because they showed him another girl, and that is what
exasperated him."

"Surely it was so, but they can say that these are only our ideas."

"Their lies," said Mikolaj of Dlugolas, "are like a pine forest. From the
edge a little way is visible, but the deeper one goes the greater is the
density, so that a man goes astray and loses his way entirely."

He then repeated his words in German to de Lorche, who said:

"The grand master himself is better than they are, also his brother,
although he has a daring soul, but it guards knightly honor."

"Yes," replied Mikolaj. "The master is humane. He cannot restrain the
counts, nor the assembly, and it is not his fault that everything in the
Order is based upon human wrongs, but he cannot help it. Go, go, Sir de
Lorche, and tell him what has happened here. They are more ashamed before
strangers than before us, lest they should tell of their outrages and
dishonest actions at foreign courts. And should the master ask for
proofs, then tell him this: 'To know the truth is divine, to seek it is
human, therefore if you wish proofs, lord, then seek them.' Order the
castles to be summoned and the people to be questioned, allow us to
search, because it is foolishness and a lie that this orphan was stolen
by bandits of the woods."

"Folly and lies!" repeated de Lorche.

"Because bandits would not dare to attack the princely court, nor
Jurand's child. And even if they should have captured her, it would be
only for ransom, and they alone would inform us that they had her."

"I shall narrate all that," said the Lotaringen, "and also find von
Bergow. We are from the same country, and although I don't know him, they
say that he is a relative of Duke Geldryi's. He was at Szczytno and
should tell the master what he saw."

Zbyszko understood a few of his words, and whatever he did not, Mikolaj
explained to him; he then embraced de Lorche so tightly that the knight
almost groaned.

The prince again said to Zbyszko:

"And are you also absolutely determined to go?"

"Absolutely, gracious lord. What else am I to do? I vowed to seize
Szczytno, even if I had to bite the walls with my teeth, but how can I
declare war without permission?"

"Whoever began war without permission, would rue it under the
executioner's sword," said the prince.

"It is certainly the law of laws," replied Zbyszko. "Bah! I wished then
to challenge all who were in Szczytno, but people said that Jurand
slaughtered them like cattle, and I did not know who was alive and who
dead.... Because, may God and the Holy Cross help me, I will not desert
Jurand till the last moment!"

"You speak nobly and worthily," said Mikolaj of Dlugolas. "And it proves
that you were sensible not to go alone to Szczytno, because even a fool
would have known that they would keep neither Jurand nor his daughter
there, but undoubtedly would carry them away to some other castle. God
rewarded your arrival here with Rotgier."

"And now!" said the prince, "as we heard from Rotgier, of those four only
old Zygfried is alive, and the others God has punished already either by
your hand or Jurand's. As for Zygfried, he is less of a rascal than the
others, but perhaps the more ruthless tyrant. It is bad that Jurand and
Danusia are in his power, and they must be saved quickly. In order that
no accident may happen to you, I will give you a letter to the grand
master. Listen and understand me well, that you do not go as a messenger,
but as a delegate, and write to the master as follows: Since they had
once made an attempt upon our person, in carrying off a descendant of
their benefactors, it is most likely now, that they have also carried off
Jurand's daughter, especially having a grudge against Jurand. I ask
therefore of the master to order a diligent search, and if he is anxious
to have my friendship, to restore her instantly to your hands."

Zbyszko, hearing this, fell at the prince's feet, and, embracing them,
said:

"But Jurand, gracious lord, Jurand? Will you intercede also in his
behalf! If he has mortal wounds, let him at least die in his own home and
with his children."

"There is also mention made of Jurand," said the prince, kindly. "He is
to appoint two judges and I two also to investigate the counts' and
Jurand's actions, according to the rules of knightly honor. And they
again will select a fifth to preside over them, and it will be as they
decide."

With this, the council terminated, after which Zbyszko took leave of the
prince, because they were soon to start on their journey. But before
their departure, Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who had experience and knew the
Teutons well, called Zbyszko aside and inquired:

"And will you take that Bohemian fellow along with you to the Germans?"

"Surely, he will not leave me. But why?"

"Because I feel sorry for him. He is a worthy fellow, but mark what I
say: you will return from Malborg safe and sound, unless you meet a
better man in combat, but his destruction is sure."

"But why?"

"Because the dog-brothers accused him of having stabbed de Fourcy to
death. They must have informed the master of his death, and they
doubtless said that the Bohemian shed his blood. They will not forgive
that in Malborg. A trial and vengeance await him because, how can his
innocence be proven to the master. Why, he even crushed Danveld's arm,
who is a relative of the grand master. I am sorry for him, I repeat, if
he goes it is to his death."

"He will not go to his death, because I shall leave him in Spychow."

But it happened otherwise, as reasons arose whereby the Bohemian did not
remain in Spychow. Zbyszko and de Lorche started with their suites the
following morning. De Lorche, whose marriage to Ulryka von Elner, Father
Wyszoniek dissolved, rode away happy and, with his mind entirely occupied
with the comeliness of Jagienka of Dlugolas, was silent. Zbyszko, not
being able to talk with him about Danusia also, because they could not
understand each other very well, conversed with Hlawa, who until now had
known nothing about the intended expedition into the Teutonic regions.

"I am going to Malborg," he said, "but God knows when I shall return....
Perhaps soon, in the spring, in a year, and perhaps not at all, do you
understand?"

"I do. Your honor also is surely going to challenge the knights there.
And God grant that with every knight there is a shield-bearer!"

"No," replied Zbyszko. "I am not going for the purpose of challenging
them, unless it comes of itself; but you will not go with me at all, but
remain at home in Spychow."

Hearing this, the Bohemian at first fretted and began to complain
sorrowfully, and then he begged his young lord not to leave him behind.

"I swore that I would not leave you. I swore upon the cross and my honor.
And if your honor should meet with an accident, how could I appear before
the lady in Zgorzelice! I swore to her, lord! Therefore have mercy upon
me, and not disgrace me before her."

"And did you not swear to her to obey me?" asked Zbyszko.

"Certainly! In everything, but not that I should leave you. If your honor
drives me away, I shall go ahead, so as to be at hand in case of
necessity."

"I do not, nor will I drive you away," replied Zbyszko; "but it would be
a bondage to me if I could not send you anywhere, even the least way, nor
separate from you for even one day. You would not stand constantly over
me, like a hangman over a good soul! And as to the combat, how will you
help me? I do not speak of war, because these people fight in troops,
and, in a single combat, you certainly will not fight for me. If Rotgier
were stronger than I, his armor would not lie on my wagon, but mine on
his. And besides, know that I should have greater difficulties there if
with you, and that you might expose me to dangers."

"How so, your honor?"

Then Zbyszko began to tell him what he had heard from Mikolaj of
Dlugolas, that the counts, not being able to account for de Fourcy's
murder, would accuse him and prosecute him revengefully.

"And if they catch you," he said, finally, "then I certainly cannot leave
you with them as in dogs' jaws, and may lose my head."

The Bohemian became gloomy when he heard these words, because he felt the
truth in them; he nevertheless endeavored to alter the arrangement
according to his desire.

"But those who saw me are not alive any more, because some, as they say,
were killed by the old lord, while you slew Rotgier."

"The footmen who followed at a distance saw you, and the old Teuton is
alive, and is surely now in Malborg, and if he is not there yet he will
arrive, because the master, with God's permission, will summon him."

He could not reply to that, they therefore rode on in silence to Spychow.
They found there complete readiness for war, because old Tolima expected
that either the Teutons would attack the small castle, or that Zbyszko,
on his return, would lead them to the succor of the old lord. Guards were
on watch everywhere, on the paths through the marshes and in the castle
itself. The peasants were armed, and, as war was nothing new to them,
they awaited the Germans with eagerness, promising themselves excellent
booty.

Father Kaleb received Zbyszko and de Lorche in the castle, and,
immediately after supper, showed them the parchment with Jurand's seal,
in which he had written with his own hand the last will of the knight of
Spychow.

"He dictated it to me," he said, "the night he went to Szczytno". And--he
did not expect to return."

"But why did you say nothing?"

"I said nothing, because he admitted his intentions to me under the seal
of confession."

"May God give him eternal peace, and may the light of glory shine upon
him...."

"Do not say prayers for him. He is still alive. I know it from the Teuton
Rotgier, with whom I had a combat at the prince's court. There was God's
judgment between us and I killed him."

"Then Jurand will undoubtedly not return ... unless with God's help!..."

"I go with this knight to tear him from their hands."

"Then you know not, it seems, Teutonic hands, but I know them, because,
before Jurand took me to Spychow, I was priest for fifteen years in their
country. God alone can save Jurand."

"And He can help us too."

"Amen!"

He then unfolded the document and began to read. Jurand bequeathed all
his estates and his entire possessions to Danusia and her offspring, but,
in case of her death without issue, to her husband Zbyszko of Bogdaniec.
He finally recommended his will to the prince's care; so that, in case it
contained anything unlawful, the prince's grace might make it lawful.
This clause was added because Father Kaleb knew only the canon law, and
Jurand himself, engaged exclusively in war, only knew the knightly. After
having read the document to Zbyszko, the priest read it to the officers
of the Spychow garrison, who at once recognized the young knight as their
lord, and promised obedience.

They also thought that Zbyszko would soon lead them to the assistance of
the old lord, and they were glad, because their hearts were fierce and
anxious for war, and attached to Jurand. They were seized with grief when
they heard that they would remain at home, and that the lord with a small
following was going to Malborg, not to fight, but to formulate
complaints.

The Bohemian Glowacz, shared their grief, although on the other hand, he
was glad on account of such a large increase of Zbyszko's wealth.

"Hej! who would be delighted," he said, "if not the old lord of
Bogdaniec! And he could govern here! What is Bogdaniec in comparison with
such a possession!"

But Zbyszko was suddenly seized with yearning for his uncle, as it
frequently happened to him, especially in hard and difficult questions in
life; therefore, turning to the warrior, he said on the impulse:

"Why should you sit here in idleness! Go to Bogdaniec, you shall carry a
letter for me."

"If I am not to go with your honor, then I would rather go there!"
replied the delighted squire.

"Call Father Kaleb to write in a proper manner all that has happened
here, and the letter will be read to my uncle by the priest of Krzesnia,
or the abbot, if he is in Zgorzelice."

But as he said this, he struck his moustache with his hand and added, as
if to himself:

"Bah! the abbot!..."

And instantly Jagienka arose before his eyes, blue-eyed, dark-haired,
tall and beautiful, with tears on her eyelashes! He became embarrassed
and rubbed his forehead for a time, but finally he said:

"You will feel sad, girl, but not worse than I."

Meanwhile Father Kaleb arrived and immediately began to write. Zbyszko
dictated to him at length everything that had happened from the moment he
had arrived at the Forest Court. He did not conceal anything, because he
knew that old Macko, when he had a clear view of the matter, would be
glad in the end. Bogdaniec could not be compared with Spychow, which was
a large and rich estate, and Zbyszko knew that Macko cared a great deal
for such things.

But when the letter, after great toil, was written and sealed, Zbyszko
again called his squire, and handed him the letter, saying:

"You will perhaps return with my uncle, which would delight me very
much."

But the Bohemian seemed to be embarrassed; he tarried, shifted from one
foot to another, and did not depart, until the young knight remarked:

"Have you anything to say yet, then do so."

"I should like, your honor ..." replied the Bohemian, "I should like to
inquire yet, what to tell the people?"

"Which people?"

"Not those in Bogdaniec, but in the neighborhood.... Because they will
surely like to find out!"

At that Zbyszko, who determined not to conceal anything, looked at him
sharply and said:

"You do not care for the people, but for Jagienka of Zgorzelice."

And the Bohemian flushed, and then turned somewhat pale and replied:

"For her, lord!"

"And how do you know that she has not got married to Cztan of Rogow, or
to Wilk of Brzozowa?"

"The lady has not got married at all," firmly answered the warrior.

"The abbot may have ordered her."

"The abbot obeys the lady, not she him."

"What do you wish then? Tell the truth to her as well as to all."

The Bohemian bowed and left somewhat angry.

"May God grant," he said to himself, thinking of Zbyszko, "that she may
forget you. May God give her a better man than you are. But if she has
not forgotten you, then I shall tell her that you are married, but
without a wife, and that you may become a widower before you have entered
the bedchamber."

But the warrior was attached to Zbyszko and pitied Danusia, though he
loved Jagienka above all in this world, and from the time before the last
battle in Ciechanow, when he had heard of Zbyszko's marriage, he bore
pain and bitterness in his heart.

"That you may first become a widower!" he repeated.

But then other, and apparently gentler, thoughts began to enter his head,
because, while going down to the horses, he said:

"God be blessed that I shall at least embrace her feet!"

Meanwhile Zbyszko was impatient to start, because feverishness consumed
him,--and the affairs of necessity that occupied his attention increased
his tortures, thinking constantly of Danusia and Jurand. It was
necessary, however, to remain in Spychow for one night at least, for the
sake of de Lorche, and the preparations which such a long journey
required. He was finally utterly worn out from the fight, watch, journey,
sleeplessness and worry. Late in the evening, therefore, he threw himself
upon Jurand's hard bed, in the hope of falling into a short sleep at
least. But before he fell asleep, Sanderus knocked at his door, entered,
and bowing, said:

"Lord, you saved me from death, and I was well off with you, as scarcely
ever before. God has given you now a large estate, so that you are
wealthier than before, and moreover the Spychow treasury is not empty.
Give me, lord, some kind of a moneybag, and I will go to Prussia, from
castle to castle, and although it may not be very safe there, I may
possibly do you some service."

Zbyszko, who at the first moment had wished to throw him out of the room,
reflected upon his words, and after a moment, pulled from his traveling
bag near his bed, a fair-sized bag, threw it to him and said:

"Take it, and go! If you are a rogue you will cheat, if honest--you will
serve."

"I shall cheat as a rogue, sir," said Sanderus, "but not you, and I will
honestly serve you."

Zygfried von Loeve was just about to depart for Malborg when the postman
unexpectedly brought him a letter from Rotgier with news from the
Mazovian court. This news moved the old Knight of the Cross to the quick.
First of all, it was obvious from the letter that Rotgier had perfectly
conducted and represented the Jurand affair before Prince Janusz.
Zygfried smiled on reading that Rotgier had further requested the prince
to deliver up Spychow to the Order as a recompense for the wrong done.
But the other part of the letter contained unexpected and less
advantageous tidings. Rotgier further informed him that in order better
to demonstrate the guiltlessness of the Order in the abduction of the
Jurands, the gauntlet was thrown down to the Mazovian knights,
challenging everybody who doubted, to God's judgment, i.e., to fight in
the presence of the whole court. "None has taken it up," Rotgier
continued, "because all saw that in his letter Jurand himself bears
testimony for us, moreover they feared God's judgment, but a youth, the
same we saw in the forest court, came forward and picked up the gauntlet.
Do not wonder then, O pious and wise brother, for that is the cause of my
delay in returning. Since I have challenged, I am obliged to stand. And
since I have done it for the glory of the Order, I trust that neither the
grand master nor you whom I honor and heartily love with filial affection
will count it ill. The adversary is quite a child, and as you know, I am
not a novice in fighting, it will then be an easy matter for me to shed
his blood for the glory of the Order, especially with the help of Christ,
who cares more for those who bear His cross than for a certain Jurand or
for the wrong done to a Mazovian girl!" Zygfried was most surprised at
the news that Jurand's daughter was a married woman. The thought that
there was a possibility of a fresh menacing and revengeful enemy settling
at Spychow inspired even the old count with alarm. "It is clear," he said
to himself, "that he will not neglect to avenge himself, and much more so
when he shall have received his wife and she tells him that we carried
her off from the forest court! Yes, it would be at once evident that we
brought Jurand here for the purpose of destroying him, and that nobody
ever thought of restoring his daughter to him." At this thought it struck
Zygfried that owing to the prince's letters, the grand master would most
likely institute an investigation in Szczytno so that he might at least
clear himself in the eyes of the prince, since it was important for the
grand master and the chapter to have the Mazovian prince on their side in
case of war with the powerful king of Poland. To disregard the strength
of the prince in face of the multitude of the Mazovian nobility was not
to be lightly undertaken. To be at peace with them fully insured the
knights' frontiers and permitted them better to concentrate their
strength. They had often spoken about it in the presence of Zygfried at
Malborg, and often entertained the hope, that after having subdued the
king, a pretext would be found later against the Mazovians and then no
power could wrest that land from their hands. That was a great and sure
calculation. It was therefore certain that the master would at present do
everything to avoid irritating Prince Janusz, because that prince who was
married to Kiejstut's daughter was more difficult to reconcile than
Ziemowit of Plock, whose wife, for some unknown reason, was entirely
devoted to the Order.

In the face of these thoughts, old Zygfried, who was ready to commit all
kinds of crimes, treachery and cruelty, only for the sake of the Order
and its fame, began to calculate conscientiously:

"Would it not be better to let Jurand and his daughter go? The crime and
infamy weigh heavily on Danveld's name, and he is dead; even if the
master should punish Rotgier and myself severely because we were the
accomplices in Danveld's deeds, would it not be better for the Order?"
But here his revengeful and cruel heart began to rebel at the thought of
Jurand.

To let him go, this oppressor and executioner of members of the Order,
this conqueror in so many encounters, the cause of so many infamies,
calamities and defeats, then the murderer of Danveld, the conqueror of
von Bergow, the murderer of Meineger, Godfried and Hugue, he who even in
Szczytno itself shed more German blood than one good fight in war. "No, I
cannot! I cannot!" Zygfried repeated vehemently, and at this thought his
rapacious fingers closed spasmodically, and the old lean breast heaved
heavily. Still, if it were for the great benefit and glory of the Order?
If the punishment should fall in that case upon the still living
perpetrators of the crimes, Prince Janusz ought to be by this time
reconciled with the foe and remove the difficulty by an arrangement, or
even an alliance. "They are furious," further thought the old count; "but
he ought to show them some kindness, it is easy to forget a grievance.
Why, the prince himself in his own country was an abductor; then there is
fear of revenge...."

Then he began to pace in the hall in mental distraction, and then stopped
in front of the Crucifix, opposite the entrance, which occupied almost
the whole height of wall between the two windows, and kneeling at its
feet he said: "Enlighten me, O Lord, teach me, for I know not! If I give
up Jurand and his daughter then all our actions will be truly revealed,
and the world will not say Danveld or Zygfried have done it but they will
lay the blame upon the Knights of the Cross, and disgrace will fall upon
the whole Order, and the hatred of that prince will be greater than ever.
If I do not give them up but keep them or suppress the matter, then the
Order will be suspected and I shall be obliged to pollute my mouth with
lying before the grand master. Which is better, Lord? Teach and enlighten
me. If I must endure vengeance, then ordain it according to Thy justice;
but teach me now, enlighten me, for Thy religion is concerned, and
whatever Thou commandest I will do, even if it should result in my
imprisonment and even if I were awaiting death and deliverance in
fetters."

And resting his brow upon the wooden cross he prayed for a long time; it
did not even for a moment cross his mind that it was a crooked and
blasphemous prayer. Then he got up, calmed, thinking that the grace of
the wooden cross sent him a righteous and enlightened thought, and that a
voice from on high said to him: "Arise and wait for the return of
Rotgier." "So! I must wait. Rotgier will undoubtedly kill the young man;
it will then be necessary to hide Jurand and his daughter, or give them
up. In the first instance, it is true, the prince will not forget them,
but not being sure who abducted the girl he will search for her, he will
send letters to the grand master, not accusing him but inquiring, and the
affair will be greatly prolonged. In the second instance, the joy at the
return of Jurand's daughter will be greater than the desire to avenge her
abduction. Surely we can always say that we have found her after Jurand's
outrage." The last thought entirely calmed Zygfried. As to Jurand himself
there was no fear; for he and Rotgier had long before come to an
understanding that in case Jurand were to be set free, he could neither
avenge himself nor harm them. Zygfried was glad in his terrible heart. He
rejoiced also at the thought of God's judgment which was to take place in
the castle at Ciechanow. And as to the result of the mortal combat he was
not in the least alarmed. He recollected a certain tournament in
Koenigsberg when Rotgier overcame two powerful knights, who passed in
their Andecave country as unconquerable fighters. He also remembered the
combat near Wilno, with a certain Polish knight, the courtier Spytko of
Melsztyn, whom Rotgier killed. And his face brightened, and his heart
exulted, for when Rotgier to a certain extent was already a celebrated
knight, he first had led an expedition to Lithuania and had taught him
the best way to carry on a war with that tribe; for this reason he loved
him like a son, with such deep love, that only those who must have strong
affections locked up in their hearts are able to do. Now that "little
son" will once more shed hated Polish blood, and return covered with
glory. Well, it is God's judgment, and the Order will at the same time be
cleared of suspicion. "God's judgment...." In the twinkling of an eye, a
feeling akin to alarm oppressed his old heart. Behold, Rotgier must
engage in mortal combat in defence of the innocence of the Order of the
Knights of the Cross. Yet, they are guilty; he will therefore fight for
that falsehood.... What then if misfortune happen? But in a moment it
occurred to him again that this was impossible. Yes! Rotgier justly
writes: "That by the help of Christ who cares more for those who bear the
cross than for a certain Jurand or the wrong done to one Mazovian girl."
Yes, Rotgier will return in three days, and return a conqueror.

Thus the old Knight of the Cross calmed himself, but at the same time he
wondered whether it would not be advisable to send Danusia to some out of
the way, distant castle, from which in no possible manner the stratagems
of the Mazovians could rescue her. But after hesitating for a moment he
gave up that idea. To take overt action and accuse the Order, only
Jurandowna's husband could do that. But he will perish by Rotgier's hand.
After that, there will only be investigations, inquiries, correspondence,
and accusations from the prince. But this very procedure will greatly
retard the affair, and it will be confused and obscured, and it goes
without saying, it will be infinitely delayed. "Before it comes to
anything," said Zygfried to himself, "I shall die, and it may also be
that Jurandowna will grow old in the prison of the Knights of the Cross.
Nevertheless, I shall order that everything in the castle be prepared for
defence, and at the same time to make ready for the road, because I do
not exactly know what will be the result of the meeting with Rotgier:
Therefore I shall wait."

Meanwhile two of the three days, in which Rotgier had promised to return,
passed by; then three and four, yet no retinue made its appearance at the
gates of Szczytno. Only on the fifth day, well-nigh toward dark, the
blast of the horn resounded in front of the bastion at the gate of the
fortress. Zygfried, who was just finishing his vesper prayer, immediately
dispatched a page to see who had arrived.

After a while the page returned with a troubled face. This Zygfried did
not observe on account of the darkness, for the fire in the stove was too
far back to illuminate the room sufficiently.

"Have they returned?" inquired the old Knight of the Cross.

"Yes!" replied the page.

But there was something in his voice which alarmed the old knight, and he
said:

"And Brother Rotgier?"

"They have brought Brother Rotgier."

Then Zygfried got up and for a long while he held on to the arm of the
chair to prevent himself from falling, then in a stifled voice he said:

"Give me the cloak."

The page placed the cloak on his shoulders. He had apparently regained
his strength, for he put on the cowl himself without assistance, then he
went out.

In a moment he found himself in the courtyard of the castle, where it was
already quite dark; he walked slowly upon the cracking snow toward the
retinue which was coming through the gate. He stopped near it where a
crowd had already gathered, and several torches, which the soldiers of
the guard brought, illuminated the scene. At the sight of the old knight
the servants opened a way for him. By the light of the torches could be
seen the terrified faces, and the whispering of the people could be heard
in the dark background:

"Brother Rotgier...."

"Brother Rotgier has been killed...."

Zygfried drew near the sleigh, upon which the corpse was stretched on
straw and covered with a cloak; he lifted one end of it.

"Bring a light," he said, whilst drawing aside the cowl.

One of the servants brought a torch which he held toward the corpse and
by its light the old knight observed the head of Rotgier; the face was
white as if frozen and bandaged with a black kerchief fastened under the
beard, evidently for the purpose of keeping the mouth closed. The whole
face was drawn and so much altered that it might be mistaken for somebody
else's. The eyes were closed, and around them and near the temples were
blue patches, and the cheeks were scaly with frost. The old knight gazed
at it for a long while amid complete silence. Others looked at him, for
it was known that he was like a father to Rotgier, and that he loved him.
But he did not shed even a single tear, only his face looked more severe
than usual, but there was depicted in it a kind of torpid calm.

"They sent him back thus!" he said at last.

But he immediately turned toward the steward of the castle and said:

"Let a coffin be prepared by midnight, and place the body in the chapel."

"There is one coffin left of those which were made for those Jurand
killed; it wants only to be covered with cloth, which I shall order to be
done."

"And cover him with a cloak," said Zygfried, whilst covering the face of
Rotgier, "not with one like this but with one of the Order."

After a while he added:

"Do not close the lid."

The people approached the sleigh. Zygfried again pulled the cowl over his
head, but he recollected something before leaving, and he asked:

"Where is van Krist?"

"He also was killed," replied one of the servants, "but they were obliged
to bury him in Ciechanow because putrefaction set in."

"Very well."

Then he left, walking slowly, entered the room and sat down upon the same
chair where he was when the tidings reached him; his face was as if
petrified and motionless and he sat there so long that the page began to
be alarmed; he put his head halfway in the door now and then. Hour after
hour passed by. The customary stir ceased within the castle, but from the
direction of the chapel came a dull indistinct hammering; then nothing
disturbed the silence but the calls of the watchmen.

It was already about midnight when the old knight awoke as from sleep,
and called the servant.

"Where is Brother Rotgier?" he asked.

But the servant, unnerved by the silence, events and sleeplessness,
apparently did not understand him, but looked at him with fear and
replied in a trembling voice:

"I do not know, sir...."

The old man burst out into laughter and said mildly:

"Child, I asked whether he is already in the chapel."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well then. Tell Diedrich to come here with a lantern and wait until
my return; let him also have a small kettle of coals. Is there already a
light in the chapel?"

"There are candles burning about the coffin."

Zygfried put on his cloak and left.

When he entered the chapel, he looked around to see whether anybody else
was present; then he closed the door carefully, approached the coffin,
put aside two of the six candles burning in large brazen candlesticks in
front of him, and knelt down before it.

As his lips did not move, it showed that he was not praying. For some
time he only looked at the drawn yet still handsome face of Rotgier as
though he were trying to discover in it traces of life.

Then amid the dead silence in the chapel he began to call in suppressed
tones:

"Dear little son! Dear little son!"

Then he remained silent; it seemed as though he were expecting an answer.

Then he stretched out his hand and pushed his emaciated talon-like
fingers under the cloak, uncovered Rotgier's breast and began to feel
about it, looking everywhere at the middle and sides below the ribs and
along the shoulder-blades: at last he touched the rent in the clothing
which extended from the top of the right shoulder down to the armpit, his
fingers penetrated and felt along the whole length of the wound, then he
cried with a loud voice which sounded like a complaint:

"Oh!... What merciless thing is this!... Yet thou saidst that fellow was
quite a child!... The whole arm! The whole arm? So many times thou hast
raised it against the Pagans in defence of the Order.... In the name of
the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Thou foughtest falsely, and so
succumbed in a false cause; be absolved and may thy soul...."

The words were cut short on his lips which began to tremble, and deep
silence reigned once more in the chapel.

"Dear little son! Dear little son!"

Now there was something like a petition in Zygfried's voice, and at the
same time it seemed as he lowered his voice as though his petition
contained some important and terrible secret.

"Merciful Christ!... If thou art not condemned, give a sign, move thy
hand, or give one twitch of the eye, for my old heart is groaning within
my breast.... Give a sign, I loved thee, say one word!..."

And supporting himself with his hands upon the edge of the coffin, he
fastened his vulture-like eyes upon the closed eyelids of Rotgier and
waited.

"Bah! How couldst thou speak?" said he, at last, "when frost and evil
odor emanate from thee. But as thou art silent, then I will tell thee
something, and let thy soul, flying about here among the flaming candles,
listen!"

Then he bent down to the face of the corpse.

"Dost thou remember how the chaplain would not permit us to kill Jurand
and how we took an oath. Well, I will keep that oath, but I will cause
thee to rejoice wherever thou art, even at the cost of my own damnation."

Then he retreated from the coffin, replaced the candlesticks, covered the
corpse with the cloak, and left the chapel.

At the door of the room, overpowered with deep sleep, slept the servant,
and according to Zygfried's orders Diedrich was already waiting inside.
He was of low stature thickly set, with bowed legs and a square face
which was concealed by a dark cowl falling to his arm. He was dressed in
an untanned buffalo jacket, also a buffalo belt upon his hips from which
was hanging a bunch of keys and a short knife. In his right hand he held
a membrane-covered lantern; in the other, a small kettle and a torch.

"Are you ready?" inquired Zygfried.

Diedrich bowed silently.

"I gave orders for you to bring with you a kettle with coal in it."

The short fellow was still silent; he only pointed to the burning wood in
the fireplace and took the iron shovel standing at the fireside, and
filled the kettle with the burning coal, then he lit the lantern and
waited.

"Now listen, dog," said Zygfried; "you have never revealed what Count
Danveld commanded you to do; the count also ordered the cutting out of
your tongue. But you can still motion to the chaplain with your fingers.
I therefore forewarn you, if you show him even with the slightest motion
of your hand what you are to do now by my command, I shall order you to
be hanged."

Diedrich again bowed in silence, but his face was drawn on account of the
terrible, ominous recollection; for his tongue was torn out for quite
another reason than what Zygfried said.

"Now proceed, and lead to the underground cell where Jurand is."

The executioner grasped the handle of the kettle with his gigantic hand,
picked up the lantern and then left. At the door they passed by the guard
who was asleep, descended the stairs, and turned, not toward the
principal entrance, but directed their steps to the small corridor in the
rear of the stairs, extending through the whole width of the edifice, and
terminating in a heavy iron door which was concealed in a niche in the
wall. Diedrich opened it and they found themselves again in the open air
in a small courtyard surrounded on its four sides by high walled
granaries where they kept their stores in case the castle should be
besieged. Underneath one of these stores, on the right, was an
underground prison. There was not a single guard standing there, because
even if a prisoner should succeed in breaking through from the
underground prison, he would then find himself in the courtyard which
only gave exit through the door in the niche.

"Wait," said Zygfried, and leaning against the wall, he rested, for he
felt that something was the matter with him; he was short of breath, as
though his breast was too much tightened under the straight coat of mail.
In plain terms, considering what had happened, he felt his old age, and
his brow under the cowl was covered with drops of perspiration; he
therefore stopped for a moment to recover breath.

The night following the gloomy day became extraordinarily clear and the
little courtyard was brightly illuminated by the rays of the moon which
caused the snow to glisten with a yellowish tint. Zygfried inhaled with
pleasure the cool invigorating air, but he forgot that on a similar
bright night Rotgier left for Ciechanow whence he did not return alive.

"And now thou liest in the chapel," he murmured to himself.

Diedrich thought that the count was talking to him; he therefore lifted
up his lantern and threw its light upon his face which had a terrible and
cadaverous appearance, but at the same time it looked like the head of an
old vulture.

"Lead on," said Zygfried.

Diedrich lowered the lantern again which cast upon the snow a yellow
circle of light and they proceeded. In the thick wall of the storehouse
there was a recess in which several steps led to a large iron door.
Diedrich opened it and went down the stairs in the deep dark aperture,
raising the lantern so as to show the way to the count. At the end of the
stairs there was a corridor in which, to the right and left, were
exceedingly low doors leading to the cells of the prisoners.

"To Jurand!" said Zygfried.

And in a moment the bars creaked and they entered, but there was perfect
darkness in the cell. But Zygfried, who could not see well in the dim
light from the lantern, ordered the torch to be lighted, and in a moment
he was enabled by its bright light to see Jurand lying on the straw. The
prisoner's feet were fettered, but the chains on the hands were somewhat
longer so as to enable him to carry food to his mouth. Upon his body was
the same coarse sackcloth which he had on when he was arraigned before
the court, but now it was covered with dark blood-stains, because, that
day when the fight ended, only when maddened with pain the frantic knight
was entangled in the net, the soldiers then tried to kill him, struck him
with their halberds and inflicted upon him numerous wounds. The chaplain
interfered and Jurand was not killed outright, but he lost so much blood
that he was carried to prison half dead. In the castle they expected his
death hourly. But owing to his immense strength he prevailed over death,
although they did not attend to his wounds, and he was cast into the
terrible subterranean prison, in which during the daytime when it thawed
drops fell from the roof, but when there was frost the walls were thickly
covered with snow and icicles.

On the ground on the straw lay the powerless man in chains, but he looked
like a piece of flint shaped in human form. Zygfried commanded Diedrich
to throw the light directly upon Jurand's face, then he gazed at it for a
while in silence. Then he turned to Diedrich and said:

"Observe, he has only one eye--destroy it."

There was something in his voice like sickness and decrepitude, and for
that very reason, the horrible order sounded more terrible, so that the
torch began somewhat to tremble in the hand of the executioner. Yet he
inclined it toward Jurand's face, and in a moment big drops of burning
tar began to fall upon the eye of Jurand, covering it entirely from the
brow down to the projecting cheek bone.

Jurand's face twitched, his grey mustachios moved, but he did not utter a
single word of complaint. Whether it was from exhaustion, or the grand
fortitude of his terrible nature, he did not even groan.

Zygfried said:

"It has been promised that you shall be freed, and you shall be, but you
shall not be able to accuse the Order, for your tongue, which you might
use against it, shall be torn out."

Then he again signaled to the executioner who replied with a strange
guttural sound and showed by signs that for this he roust employ both
hands, and therefore wanted the count to hold the light.

Then the old count took the torch and held it in his outstretched,
trembling hand, but when Diedrich pressed Jurand's chest with his knees
Zygfried turned his head and looked at the hoarfrost covered wall.

For a while resounded the clank of the chains, followed by the suppressed
panting of a human breast which sounded like one dull, deep groan--and
then all was still.

Finally Zygfried said:

"Jurand, the punishment which you have suffered you have deserved; but I
have promised to Brother Rotgier, whom your son-in-law has killed, to
place your right hand in his coffin."

Diedrich, who had just got up from his last deed, bent again upon the
prostrate form of Jurand, when he heard Zygfried's words.

After a little while, the old count and Diedrich found themselves again
in that open courtyard which was illuminated by the bright moon. When
they reentered the corridor, Zygfried took the lantern from Diedrich,
also a dark object wrapped up in a rag, and said to himself in a loud
voice,

"Now to the chapel and then to the tower."

Diedrich looked keenly at the count, but the count commanded him to go to
sleep; he covered himself, hanging the lantern near the lighted window of
the chapel and left. On his way he meditated upon what had just taken
place. He was almost sure that his own end had also arrived and that
these were his last deeds in this world, and that he would have to
account for them before God. But his soul, the soul of a "Knight of the
Cross," although naturally more cruel than mendacious, had in the course
of inexorable necessity got accustomed to fraud, assassination and
concealing the sanguinary deeds of the Order, he now involuntarily sought
to cast off the ignominy and responsibility for Jurand's tortures, from
both himself and the Order. Diedrich was dumb and could not confess, and,
although he could make himself understood with the chaplain, he would be
afraid to do so. What then? Nobody would know. Jurand might well have
received all his wounds during the fight. He might have easily lost his
tongue by the thrust of a lance between his teeth. An axe or a sword
might have easily cut off his right hand. He had only one eye; would it
be strange therefore that the other eye was lost in the fracas, for he
threw himself madly upon the whole garrison of Szczytno. Alas! Jurand!
His last joy in life trembled for a moment in the heart of the old Knight
of the Cross. So, should Jurand survive, he ought to be set free. At
this, Zygfried remembered a conversation he had had once with Rotgier
about this, when that young brother laughingly remarked: "Then let him go
where _his eyes will carry him_, and if he does not happen to strike
Spychow, then let him _make inquiries_ on the road." For that which had
now happened was a part of the prearranged programme between them. But
now Zygfried reentered the chapel and, kneeling in front of the coffin,
he laid at Rotgier's feet Jurand's bleeding hand; that last joy which
startled him was only for a moment and quickly disappeared, for the last
time, from his face.

"You see," he said, "I have done more than we agreed to do. For King John
of Luxemburg, although he was blind, kept on fighting and perished
gloriously. But Jurand can stand no more and will perish like a dog
behind the fence."

At this he again felt that shortness of breath that had seized him on his
way to Jurand, also a weight on his head as of a heavy iron helmet, but
this only lasted a second. Then he drew a deep breath and said:

"Ah! My time has also come. You were the only one I had; but now I have
none. But if I lived longer, I vow to you, O little son, that I would
also place upon your grave that hand which killed you, or perish myself.
The murderer who killed you is still alive...."

Here his teeth clinched and such an intense cramp seized him that he
could not speak for some time. Then he began again, but in a broken
voice:

"Yes, your murderer still lives, but I will cut him to pieces ... and
others with him, and I will inflict upon them tortures even worse than
death itself...."

Then be ceased.

In a moment he rose again and approaching the coffin, he began to speak
in quiet tones,

"Now I take leave of you ... and look into your face for the last time;
perhaps I shall be able to see in your face whether you are pleased with
my promises.... The last time."

Then he uncovered Rotgier's face, but suddenly he retreated.

"You are smiling, ..." he said, "but you are smiling terribly...."

In fact, the frozen corpse, which was covered with the mantle, had
thawed. It may be from the heat of the burning candles, it had begun to
decompose with extraordinary rapidity, and the face of the young count
looked indeed terrible. The enormously swollen, and livid mouth looked
something monstrous, the blue and swollen curled lips had the appearance
of a grinning smile.

Zygfried covered that terrible human mask as quickly as possible.

Then he took the lantern and left the chapel. Here again, for the third
time, he felt shortness of breath; he entered the house and threw himself
upon his hard bed of the Order and lay for a time motionless. He thought
he would fall asleep, when suddenly a strange feeling overpowered him; it
seemed to him that he would never again be able to sleep, and that if he
remained in that house death would soon follow.

Zygfried, in his extreme weariness, and without hope of sleep, was not
afraid of death; on the contrary he regarded it as an exceedingly great
relief. But he had no wish to submit himself to it that evening. So he
sat up in his bed and cried:

"Give me time till to-morrow."

Then he distinctly heard a voice whispering in his ear:

"Leave this house. It will be too late to-morrow and you will not be able
to accomplish your promise. Leave this house!"

The count got up with difficulty and went out. The guards were calling to
one another from the bastions upon the palisades. The light emanating
from the windows of the chapel illuminated the snow in front with a
yellow gleam. In the middle of the court near the stone wall were two
black dogs playing and tugging at a black rag. Beyond this the courtyard
was empty and silent.

"It is yet necessary this night!" said Zygfried. "I am exceedingly tired,
but I must go.... All are asleep. Jurand, overcome by torture, might also
be asleep. I only am unable to sleep. I will go. I will go, for there is
death within, and I have promised you.... Let death come afterward; sleep
will not come. You are smiling there, but my strength is failing me. You
are smiling, you are apparently glad. But you see that my fingers are
benumbed, my hands have lost their strength, and I cannot accomplish it
by myself ... the servant with whom she sleeps will accomplish it...."

Then he moved on with heavy steps toward the tower situated near the
gate. Meanwhile the dogs which were playing near the stone wall came
running up and began to fawn upon him. In one of them Zygfried recognized
the bulldog which was so much attached to Diedrich that it was said in
the castle that it served him as a pillow at night.

The dog greeted the count, it barked low once or twice; and then returned
toward the gate acting as though it had divined his thoughts.

After a while Zygfried found himself in front of the narrow little doors
of the tower, which at night were barred on the outside. Removing the
bars, he felt for the balustrade of the stairs which commenced quite near
the doors and began to ascend. In his absentmindedness he forgot the
lantern; he therefore went up gropingly, stepping carefully and feeling
with his feet for the steps.

Having advanced a few steps, he suddenly halted, when below quite near
him he heard something like the breathing of a man, or beast.

"Who is there?"

But there was no answer, only the breathing grew quicker.

Zygfried was not a timid man; he was not afraid of death. But the
preceding terrible night had quite exhausted his courage and
self-control. It crossed his mind that Rotgier or the evil spirit was
barring his way, and his hair stood up on his head and his brow was
covered with cold sweat.

He retreated to the very entrance.

"Who is there?" he asked, with a choked voice.

But at that moment something struck him a powerful blow on his chest, so
terrible that the old man fell through the door upon his back and
swooned. He did not even groan.

Silence followed, after which there could be seen a dark form, stealthily
issuing from the tower and making off toward the stable which was
situated on the left side of the courtyard near the arsenal. Diedrich's
big bulldog followed that figure silently. The other dog also ran after
him and disappeared in the shadow of the wall, but shortly appeared again
with its head to the ground, scenting as it were the trail of the other
dog. In this manner the dog approached the prostrate and lifeless body of
Zygfried, which it smelled carefully, then crouched near the head of the
prostrate man and began to howl.

The howling continued for a long while, filling the air of that sombre
night with a new kind of dolefulness and horror. Finally the small door
concealed in the middle of the gate creaked and a guard armed with a
halberd appeared in the courtyard.

"Death upon that dog," he said, "I'll teach you to howl during the
night."

And he aimed the sharp end of the halberd so as to hit the animal with
it, but at that moment he observed something lying near the little open
door of the bastion.

"Lord Jesus! what is that?..."

He bent his head so as to look in the face of the prostrate man, and
began to shout:

"Help! Help! Help!"

Then he rushed to the gate and pulled with all his strength at the
bell-rope.

END OF PART FIFTH.

Content of PART FIFTH: CHAPTER V [Henryk Sienkiewicz's novel: The Knights of the Cross]

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