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 Löve 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 Königsberg 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.

 

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