The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 33

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The prince did not oppose the duel, for, according to the custom of the time, he had no authority to do so. He simply caused Rotgier to write to the Grand Master and to Siegfried de Löwe, stating that he had cast down the gauntlet first before the Mazovian knights, that because of this he was to meet in combat Yurand's son-in-law, who moreover had challenged him on an earlier occasion. Rotgier explained to the Grand Master that if he fought without permission he did so because the honor of the Knights was in question, and he had to avert foul suspicion which might bring shame to the Order, which he, Rotgier, was ready at all times to vindicate with his life-blood. This letter was sent straightway to the boundary by an attendant of the brother; beyond that it was to go to Malborg by post, which the Knights had invented many years before others, and introduced into the lands of the Order.

Meanwhile the snow in the courtyard of the castle was trampled and sprinkled with ashes, so that the feet of the combatants might not slip over its surface or sink in it. An uncommon movement reigned within the castle. Emotion had so seized the knights and damsels that no one slept the night before the combat. They said that a combat with lances on horseback, or even with swords, ended frequently with wounds, but on foot, and especially with the terrible axes, it was ever mortal. All hearts were on Zbyshko's side, and the greater the friendship for him or Danusia the greater the fear caused by reports of the skill and fame of the German. Many women passed that night in the church, where, after confessing to Father Vyshonek, Zbyshko himself performed penance. So women, when they saw his face, almost boyish, said to one another: "Why, he is a child yet! How can he expose his young head to the axe of the German?" And the more earnestly did they implore aid for him. But when he rose at dawn and went through the chapel to put on his armor their courage increased somewhat, for though Zbyshko's head and face were really boy-like, his body was bulky and stalwart beyond measure, so that he seemed to them a chosen man, who could fight his own battle even against the strongest.

The combat was to take place in the courtyard of the castle, which was surrounded by a portico. When day had dawned completely, the prince and princess with their children came and sat down in a central place between the pillars, whence they could see the whole courtyard in the best manner. At both sides of them were the foremost courtiers, noble ladies, and the knighthood. These filled all corners of the portico. The servants fixed themselves beyond an embankment formed of snow which had been swept from the courtyard. Some had mounted on window-sills, and even on the roof. On these places the common people muttered: "God grant our man not to falter!"

The day was damp and cold, but clear. The air was full of daws, which had settled on the roofs and bastion points, but, disturbed by unusual movements, they circled above the castle with great fluttering. In spite of the cold, people were sweating from emotion, and when the first trumpet sound announced the arrival of the combatants, all hearts beat like hammers.

The two men entered from opposite sides of the barriers and halted at the ends of them. Breath stopped in the breasts of all spectators. Each thought: Two souls will soon fly to the judgment threshold of God, and two corpses will be left on the snow! The lips and cheeks of women grew blue and pallid at thought of that; the eyes of men were fixed on the opponents as on a rainbow; each wished to predict in his mind from their forms and weapons the side to which victory would fall.

Rotgier was arrayed in a blue enamelled breastplate, with a similar armor for the thighs, and wore a helmet of the same material with raised visor, and lordly peacock plumes on the top of it. Zbyshko's breast, sides, and back were covered by that splendid Milan armor which he had won from the Frisians. On his head was a helmet not fastened under the chin, and without plumes; on his legs were raw bullhides. On their left shoulders the men carried shields with their escutcheons: on the German's was a chessboard above, and below three lions rampant; on Zbyshko's, the "dull horseshoe." In their right hands they carried the broad terrible axes with oaken handles, which had grown dark and were longer than the arm of a man full-grown. They were accompanied by their armor-bearers, Hlava and Van Krist, both in dark iron-plate mail, both with shields and axes. On his escutcheon Van Krist had a sprig of broom. The escutcheon of the Cheh was the bullhead, with this difference, that on the head, instead of an axe, a short sword was sunk in the eye half-way.

The trumpets sounded a second time; after the third the combatants were to begin, according to agreement. They were separated from each other by only a small space, over which gray ashes were sprinkled. Above that space death was hovering like a bird of ill-omen. But before the third signal was given Rotgier, approaching the pillars between which the prince and the princess were sitting, raised his steel-incased head, and called with a voice so resonant that it was heard in all corners,—

"I take to witness God, thee, worthy lord, and all the knighthood of this land, that I am guiltless of the blood which will be shed here."

At these words hearts were straitened again, because the German felt so sure of himself and of victory. But Zbyshko, who had an honest soul, turned to Hlava and said,—

"That boasting is foul in my nostrils; it would have meaning after my death, but not while I am living. That boaster has a peacock plume on his helmet, and I at the very first made a vow to get three such, and later, I vowed to get as many as I have fingers on my hands. God will give success!"

"My master," said Hlava, bending down and gathering some ashes from the snow, so that the axe handle might not slip along his palms, "perhaps Christ will grant me to finish quickly with this Prussian; will it be permitted me then, if not to touch the German, at least to put an axe handle between his legs and bring him to the earth with it?"

"God guard thee from doing that!" cried Zbyshko with vehemence; "thou wouldst cover thyself and me with dishonor."

With that the sound of the trumpet was heard for the third time. The attendants sprang forward quickly and with passion, but the knights approached each other more slowly and carefully, as their dignity and distinction demanded, till the first blows were given.

Few turned to the attendants, but those among men of experience and the servants who looked at them understood straightway that Hlava had on his side a tremendous advantage. Van Krist's axe moved slowly in his hand, and the motions of his shield were more labored. The legs seen beneath his shield were longer, but slender and less springy than the powerful limbs covered by the close-fitting dress of Hlava, who pressed on so passionately that Van Krist had to retreat almost from the first moment. People understood this immediately: one of those opponents rushes on the other like a storm, he pushes, presses, strikes like a thunderbolt, while the other, in the feeling that death is above him, defends himself only to defer the dread moment to the utmost. Such was the case in reality. That boaster, who in general went to combat only when he could not do otherwise, saw that insolence and thoughtless words had brought him to that struggle with a man of great strength, whom he should have avoided as he would destruction; hence, when he felt that each of those blows might have brought down a bullock, the heart fell in him utterly. He forgot almost that it was not enough to catch blows on a shield, but that he must return them. He saw above him gleams of an axe, and thought that each gleam was the last one. When holding his shield up he shut his eyes in terror, doubting whether he would open them another time. He gave a blow rarely, and hopeless of reaching his opponent, he merely raised his shield higher and higher above his head to protect it.

At last he was tortured, but Hlava struck on with increasing vigor. As from a great pine-tree immense chips fly under the axe of a peasant, so under the blows of the Cheh plates began to break and fall from the mail of the German attendant. The upper edge of his shield bent and broke, the shoulder-piece fell from his right shoulder, and with it the bloody, severed armor strap. The hair stood on Van Krist's head and mortal terror seized him. He struck still once and a second time with all the vigor of his arm against Hlava's buckler. Seeing at last that, in view of the terrible strength of his opponent, there was no rescue, and that nothing could save him except some uncommon exertion, he hurled himself suddenly at Hlava's legs with all the weight of his body and his armor.

Both fell to the earth and wrestled, turning in the snow and rolling. But the Cheh was soon the superior. He restrained for a time the desperate struggles of his opponent, till at last he pressed with his knee the iron network covering Van Krist's stomach, and drew from his own sword-belt a short, triple-edged misericordia.

"Spare!" whispered the German, raising his eyes to the eyes of Hlava.

But the latter, instead of an answer, stretched above him so as to reach with his hands more easily, and when he had cut the leather helmet strap under the chin of his enemy he stabbed the hapless man twice in the throat, directing the point downward toward the middle of his bosom. Van Krist's eyes sank in his skull, his hands and feet rubbed the snow as if to clear it of ashes, but after a while he stretched and lay motionless, merely pouting his lips, covered now with red foam, and bleeding with uncommon profuseness.

The Cheh rose, wiped his misericordia on the clothing of the German, then raising his axe and leaning on the handle gazed at the more difficult and stubborn battle between Zbyshko and Brother Rotgier.

The knights of western Europe were in those days accustomed to luxury and comfort, while the "heirs" in Great and Little Poland, as well as in Mazovia, were severe in their lives and self-denying. Because of this they roused admiration even in enemies and strangers by their strength of body and endurance.

It turned out on this occasion that Rotgier was excelled by Zbyshko in strength of arms and legs no less than his attendant was excelled by Hlava, but it turned out also that Zbyshko being young was surpassed in knightly training by the German.

It favored Zbyshko in some degree that he had chosen to fight with axes, for parrying with that kind of weapon was impossible. With long or short swords a man had to know blows and thrusts and be skilled to parry them; in such combat the German would have had a notable advantage. As it was, both Zbyshko himself and the spectators knew by the movements and handling of his shield that they had before them in Rotgier a man of experience, and dangerous, who, as they saw, was not engaged for the first time in that sort of combat. To every blow given by Zbyshko the German presented his shield, and as the blow fell he withdrew it a little; by this move the blow, though most violent, lost some effect, and could not cut or even crack the smooth surface. At moments he withdrew, at moments he pushed forward, though so swiftly that the eye could barely take note of his movements. The prince feared for Zbyshko, and men's faces grew gloomy, since it seemed to them that the German was playing with his opponent as if purposely. More than once he did not even present his shield, but at the instant when Zbyshko delivered the blow he made a half turn to one side, and thus Zbyshko's axe cut vacant air. That was for Zbyshko most perilous, as he might lose his balance and fall, in which case his ruin would be inevitable. Seeing this, Hlava, who stood over the slaughtered Van Krist, was alarmed also, and said in spirit:

"As God is dear to me, should my lord fall I will give the German a blow between the shoulders and let him tumble also."

But Zbyshko did not fall; he had immense strength in his legs, and, spreading them widely, was able to sustain on each one the whole weight of his blow and his body.

Rotgier noticed this straightway, and the spectators were mistaken in thinking that he despised his opponent. On the contrary, after the first blow, when in spite of all skill in withdrawing his shield his arm was benumbed almost, he understood that a sore struggle with that youth was awaiting him, and that if he could not fell him luckily, the battle might be protracted and dangerous. He had calculated that after Zbyshko's blow in the air he would fall on the snow, and when that did not happen he grew alarmed immediately. From under his visor Rotgier beheld the fixed nostrils and lips of his opponent, and his gleaming eyes also, at instants, and thought that his ardor would bear him away, that he would forget himself, lose his head, and in blindness think more of giving blows than defending his person. But in this too he was mistaken. Zbyshko had not skill to dodge blows by half turns, but he minded his shield, and when raising his axe did not expose himself more than was needful. His attention was evidently redoubled, and noting the accuracy and experience of Rotgier, not only did he not forget, but he collected himself, grew more cautious, and in his blows there was a calculation to which not heated, but cool resolution, may bring a man.

Rotgier, who had been in many wars and had fought battles not a few, both single-handed and in company, knew from experience that some men, like birds of prey, are created for combat, and gifted specially by nature,—men who, as it were, divine what others acquire by whole years of experience,—and straightway he saw that with one of these he was now doing battle. This youth had that certain something which is in the falcon, which considers an opponent as mere prey, and thinks of naught else save to grasp that prey in its talons. In spite of all his strength he noticed that in strength too he was no match for Zbyshko, and that if he became exhausted before he could give the settling blow, the combat with that terrible though less prepared youth would be fatal. Considering this, he resolved to fight with the least labor possible: he drew the shield toward his body; he did not advance too much, he did not withdraw too much; he limited his motions; he collected his whole strength of mind and arm for one decisive blow, and watched for the moment.

The fierce battle was protracted beyond usual duration. A deathlike silence had settled down on the portico. Nothing was heard save blows on the shields from the edges and backs of the axes, now dull, and now piercing. To the prince, princess, knights, and damsels such sights were not novel; still a feeling akin to terror pressed all hearts as with vices. They knew that there was no question then of showing strength, skill, or bravery, but that there was a greater rage in that combat, a deeper despair, a harder, a keener resolve, and a deadlier vengeance. On one side was a feeling of dreadful injustice endured, and with it love and grief beyond limit; on the other, the honor of a whole Order and with it concentrated hate. These two had met on that place of conflict to receive God's decision.

Meanwhile the pale winter morning had brightened, the gray obstruction of mist had been broken, and a sun-ray now lighted Rotgier's blue armor and the silvery Milan mail worn by Zbyshko. In the chapel the bell rang for the mid-forenoon prayer, and at sound of it flocks of daws flew again from the peaks of the castle, flapping their wings and croaking noisily, as if from delight at the spectacle of bloodshed and that corpse lying motionless there on the snow. Rotgier had cast his eyes at it more than once in the course of the battle, and felt now a great loneliness all on a sudden. Every eye which looked at him was the eye of an enemy. Every prayer, wish, and silent vow made by women were in favor of Zbyshko. Besides, though the brother of the Order felt perfectly sure that Hlava would not rush from the rear and fall on him treacherously, the presence and proximity of that terrible figure filled him with that kind of fear which people feel at sight of a bear, wolf, or buffalo from which they are not separated by a grating. And he could not ward off that feeling, all the more since Hlava, while following the course of the battle, moved and changed places, approaching the combatants, now from behind, now from the front, now from one side, inclining his head meanwhile and looking at the German with ominous gaze through the opening in the iron visor of his helmet, and raising somewhat at moments the bloody point of his sword, as though not noting that he did so.

Weariness began at last to seize Rotgier. He gave two short but fierce blows in succession, directing them against the right arm of Zbyshko. Zbyshko, however, repulsed them so forcibly with his shield that the axe turned in Rotgier's hand and he had to push back suddenly to escape falling, and thenceforth he pushed back continually. At last not only his strength but his patience and coolness of blood were exhausted. From the breasts of the spectators, at sight of his withdrawal, a number of shouts were rent, as if in triumph. These shouts roused in him desperation and anger. The blows of the axes grew more and more frequent. Sweat flowed from the foreheads of both combatants; from between the parted teeth of both the hoarse breath of their breasts escaped. The spectators had ceased to bear themselves calmly, and from moment to moment were heard cries, at one time of men, at another of women: "Strike!" "At him!" "The judgment of God!" "The punishment of God!" "God aid thee!" The prince raised his hand a number of times to enforce silence, but he could not. The noise became louder, children began to cry here and there on the portico, and at last, right at the side of the princess, some young, sobbing voice of a woman called,—

"For Danusia, Zbyshko!"

Zbyshko knew without this reminder that he was there doing battle for Danusia. He was sure that that Knight of the Cross had assisted in stealing her, and that in fighting with him he was fighting to redress the wrong done her. But, as he was young and eager for struggle, in the moment of combat he thought only of combat. All at once that cry brought before him his loss and her suffering. Love, sorrow, and vengeance put fire in his veins. The heart whined in him from suddenly roused pain, and the rage of battle seized him directly. Rotgier could not catch now the terrible blows which were like those of a tempest, nor could he avoid them. Zbyshko struck his shield against the shield of the German with such force that the German's arm was benumbed that instant, and dropped without control. He retreated in terror and bent back, but the glitter of an axe flashed in his eyes, and its edge fell on his right shoulder like a thunderbolt. To the ears of the spectators came the single piercing shriek: "Jesus!" Rotgier withdrew one step more and fell backward to the centre.

Immediately there was an uproar, a movement on the balcony, as in a hive where bees, warmed by sun-rays, buzz and move. Knights ran down the steps in crowds, serving-men sprang over the wall of snow to look at the bodies. Everywhere were heard shouts of: "Here is the judgment of God!" "Yurand has an heir!" "Glory and thanks to him!" "He is a man for the axe!" Others cried: "Look at him and wonder!" "Yurand himself could not have cut better!" In fact a crowd of curious people formed around the body of Rotgier. He lay on his back with a face white as snow, his mouth widely open, and his bloody shoulder divided from the neck to the armpit so terribly that it held by some filaments only. Then a few men remarked: "He was alive a little while ago and walked over the earth proudly, but he moves no finger now!" And thus speaking, some wondered at his stature, for he occupied a great space on the field of combat, and seemed larger after death than before; others fixed the price of his peacock plumes as they changed colors marvelously on the snow, and a third group his armor, which was held to be worth a good village. But Hlava had just come up with two of Zbyshko's attendants to strip that armor from the dead man, and the curious surrounded Zbyshko, praising him to the skies and extolling him, for it seemed to them proper that his glory should fall on the whole knighthood of Mazovia and Poland. Meanwhile they removed his shield and axe to relieve him, and Mrokota unbuckled his helmet and covered his sweat-moistened hair with a cap of scarlet. Zbyshko, as if in a maze, stood, breathing heavily, with the fire in his eyes still unquenched, with face pale from resolve and exertion, trembling somewhat from excitement and struggle. They took him now by the arm and led him to the prince and princess, who were waiting, in a heated room, near the chimney. The young knight knelt before them and, when Father Vyshonek had blessed him and repeated eternal rest for the souls departed, the prince embraced Zbyshko.

"The Most High God has judged between him and thee," said he, "and guided thy hand, for which praised be His name —Amen!" Then turning to De Lorche and others, he added, "Thee, as a knight, and all of you here present, I take to witness that which I myself testify, that they fought according to rule and custom, in the way that the judgments of God are sought for in all places; hence this man has acted in knightly fashion and in obedience to God."

The warriors shouted in a chorus of agreement, and when the prince's words were interpreted to De Lorche he rose and announced that not only did he testify that all had been done in accordance with the law of knighthood and of God, but also that if any one from Malborg or the court of any prince should dare to call that in question, he, De Lorche, would challenge him straightway to meet within barriers on foot or on horseback, not only if he were an ordinary knight, but even a giant, or some sorcerer surpassing Merlin himself in magic.

Now Princess Anna Danuta, when Zbyshko was embracing her feet, asked, bending toward him,—

"Why art thou not glad? Rejoice and thank God, for if the Lord in His mercy has freed thee from this net He will not desert thee hereafter, and will bring thee to happiness."

"How can I rejoice, gracious lady?" answered Zbyshko.

"God has given victory and avenged me on this brother of the Order, but Danusia, as she has not been found, is not recovered yet, and I am no nearer her now than I was before the battle."

"Her most inveterate enemies, Danveld, Gottfried, and Rotgier, are no longer alive," replied the princess, "and as to Siegfried, they say that he is juster than the others, though more cruel. Praise God's mercy then for even this. De Lorche has promised also that if the Knight of the Cross fell he would take the corpse to Schytno, and go immediately to Malborg and defend Danusia before the Grand Master of the Order. They will not dare, be assured of that, to disregard the Grand Master."

"God give health to Pan de Lorche," said Zbyshko, "and I will go with him to Malborg."

But the princess was as much frightened at these words as if Zbyshko had said that he would go unarmed among wolves, which gather in packs during winter in the great pine forests of Mazovia.

"Why!" exclaimed she. "To certain destruction? Immediately after the duel neither De Lorche can assist thee, nor the letters which Rotgier wrote before the combat. Thou wilt not save any one, and wilt destroy thyself."

"So help me God," said Zbyshko, rising and crossing his palms, I will go to Malborg, and if need be beyond the sea. So bless me, O Christ, as I shall seek her with the last breath in my nostrils, I will not stop unless I perish. It is easier for me to beat Germans and fight in armor, than for the orphan to groan in a dungeon. Oi, easier! easier!"

And he spoke, as indeed he did whenever he mentioned Danusia, with such excitement and in such pain that at moments the words were wrested from him, as if some one were grasping his throat. The princess saw that it would be vain to seek to dissuade him, and that to hold the man back one would have to thrust him manacled into a dungeon.

But Zbyshko could not set out immediately. Knights of that period disregarded all obstacles, but they were not permitted to break knightly custom, which commanded every victor in a duel to pass the day of his triumph on the field of combat and stay there till the following midnight. This was done to prove that he was master of the field, and to show that he was ready for combat in case a relative or friend of the vanquished wished to challenge. This custom was observed by whole armies, who thus lost frequently the advantage which promptness after victory might have brought them. Zbyshko did not even try to escape this unbending ordinance, and, after strengthening himself to some degree and putting on his armor, he remained beneath a gloomy winter sky within the courtyard of the castle till midnight, waiting for an enemy who could not come from any side whatever.

Only at midnight, when the heralds announced by sound of trumpet his victory decisively, did Mikolai summon him to supper, and immediately after to a consultation with Prince Yanush.