The Knights of the Cross/Volume 2/Chapter 78

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

And war had burst forth at last. Not abounding in battles, and during the early moments not over favorable to the Poles. Before the Polish forces had come up the Knights of the Cross captured Bobrovniki, levelled Zlotoria with the ground, and invaded the unhappy land of Dobryn, won recently with so much effort. But Bohemian and Hungarian mediation allayed for a time the storm of war. A truce followed, during which Vatslav, King of Bohemia, was to arbitrate the dispute between Poland and the Order.

Neither side ceased, however, to assemble troops and concentrate them during the months of winter and spring. When the King of Bohemia, who was bribed, gave his decision in favor of the Order, war of necessity burst forth anew.

Meanwhile summer came, and with it arrived the "nations" under Vitold. After crossing the river at Chervensk both armies united, and the regiments of the princes of Mazovia joined them. On the other side, in the camp at Sviet, were a hundred thousand Germans encased in iron. Yagello wished to cross the Drventsa and advance by the shortest road to Malborg, but when the crossing proved to be impossible, he turned from Kurentnik to Dzialdova, and after destroying Dombrovna, or Gilgenburg, a castle of the Order, he encamped there.

He, as well as the Polish and Lithuanian dignitaries, saw that a general battle must come soon, but no one supposed that it could come before a number of days had passed. They supposed that the Grand Master, having stopped the road before the king, would give rest to his legions, so that they might come to a life-and-death battle fresh and unwearied. With this expectation the armies of the king halted for the night at Dombrovna.

The capture of the fortress, though without orders, and even against the will of the military council, filled the hearts of the king and Vitold with pleasure; for the castle was strong, surrounded by a lake, it had thick walls, and was held by a numerous garrison. Still the Polish knights took it almost in the twinkle of an eye, and with such irresistible spirit that before the whole train had come up there remained of the town and the castle only ruins and burnt remnants, in the midst of which the wild warriors of Vitold, and the Tartars under Saladin, were cutting down the last of the German infantry, who defended themselves with desperation.

But the fire did not last long, for it was extinguished by a shower of short duration though tremendously violent.

The whole night of July 14 was marvellously changeable and showery. Whirlwinds brought tempest after tempest. At moments the heavens seemed to be ablaze from lightning, and thunders mingled in awful explosion from the east to the west. Frequent lightning filled the air with the odor of sulphur, then again the roar of rain outsounded all else. Again wind scattered clouds, and amid the tattered fragments of them stars and the great bright moon were visible. Only after midnight did it calm down somewhat so that men could at least kindle fires. In fact thousands and thousands of them blazed up then in the immense camp of the Poles and Lithuanians. The warriors dried their drenched garments and sang songs of battle.

The king was watching also, for in a house standing at the very edge of the camp, in which he had taken refuge from the storm, a council of war was in session to which account was rendered of the capture of Gilgenburg. Since the regiment of Sieradz had taken part in storming that castle, its leader, Yakob of Konietspole, was summoned with others to justify himself for storming the place without orders, and for not stopping the attack though the king had sent to restrain them his own usher and a number of confidential attendants.

For this reason the voevoda, uncertain whether blame would meet him, or even punishment itself, took with him a number of the foremost knights, and among others old Matsko and Zbyshko, as witnesses that the usher appeared only when they were on the walls of the castle and at the moment of most stubborn struggle with the garrison. As to this, that he had attacked the castle, "It is difficult," said he, "to inquire about everything when the troops are dispersed over a space of many miles. Sent out in advance, I understood that I was bound to crush obstacles before the army and to fight with the enemy wherever I met them."

On hearing these words the king, Prince Vitold, and the lords, who in soul were delighted with what had happened, not only did not censure the voevoda and the men of Sieradz, but praised their valor, saying that they had captured the castle and the brave garrison quickly. Matsko and Zbyshko were able then to gaze at the chiefs commanding in the kingdom, for, besides the king and the princes of Mazovia, were present the two leaders of all the legions: Vitold, who had brought up the troops of Lithuania, Jmud, Rus, Bessarabia, Wallachia, and the Tartars, and Zyndram of Mashkovitse, with his escutcheon "The same as the sun," the sword-bearer of Cracow, and supreme manager of the Polish forces, who surpassed all in his knowledge of military science. Besides him there were in that council many warriors and statesmen; for instance: the castellan of Cracow, Krystin of Ostrov, the voevoda of Cracow, Yasko of Tarnov, the voevoda of Posnan, Sendzivoi of Ostorog and Sandomir, Mikolai Mihalovitse and the parish priest of Saint Florian, and the vice chancellor Mikolai Tromba, and the marshal of the kingdom, Zbigniev of Brezie, and Peter Shafranyets, the chamberlain of Cracow, and finally Ziemovit, son of the Prince of Plotsk, the only young man among them, but a man wonderfully "wise in war," and whose opinion the great king himself esteemed highly.

But in the adjoining roomy chamber the greatest knights were waiting so as to be at hand and in case of inquiry give aid with counsel. The fame of these men sounded widely throughout Poland and in foreign kingdoms. So Matsko and Zbyshko saw there Zavisha Charny and his brother Farurey, and Skarbek Abdank, and Dobko of Olesnitsa, who on a time had unhorsed twelve German knights in Torun in a tournament, and the gigantic Pashko Zlodye, and Povala of Tachev, who was their good friend, and Kron of Koziglove, and Martzin of Vrotsimovitse, who carried the grand banner of the kingdom, and Florian Yelitchik, and Lis of Targovisko, who was terrible in hand-to-hand conflict, and Stashko of Harbimovitse, who in full armor could leap over two horses.

There were many other famous knights who marched before the banner from various lands, and from Mazovia, who were called "men before the banner" because they went in the front ranks to battle.

Their acquaintances and especially Povala greeted Matsko and Zbyshko with gladness, and began to converse of former times and events with them.

"Hei!" said Povala to Zbyshko. "Thou hast heavy reckonings indeed with the Knights of the Cross, but I think now thou wilt pay them for everything."

"I will pay them with blood even; indeed I will pay for everything!"

"But thou knowest that thy Kuno Lichtenstein is now grand comtur?"

"I know, and my uncle knows also."

"God grant me to meet him," interrupted Matsko; "for I have a special account with that man."

"I know! but we too have challenged him," answered Povala. "He answered that his office did not permit him to meet us. Well! perhaps it will permit him now."

To this, Zavisha, who spoke always with great dignity, said,—

"He will be his to whom God predestines him."

But Zbyshko from pure curiosity laid his uncle's case before the judgment of Zavisha, and asked if Matsko had not accomplished his vow by this, that he had fought with a relative of Lichtenstein, who had offered himself as substitute, and which relative he had killed. All cried out that he had accomplished it. The stubborn Matsko alone, though he was comforted by the decision, said,—

"Yes, but I should feel surer of salvation if I could meet him."

And then they began to talk of the capture of Gilgenburg, and of the approaching great battle, which they expected soon, for there was nothing left the Grand Master but to bar the way before Yagello.

Just as they were breaking their heads over the question of how many days there would be before the encounter, a tall, thin knight approached them; he was dressed in red cloth with a cap of similar material on his head, and spreading his arms he said in soft, almost feminine accents,—

"A greeting to thee, Knight Zbyshko of Bogdanets!"

"De Lorche!" exclaimed Zbyshko, "thou here!"

And he seized him in his embrace, for a pleasant memory of the man had remained with him, and when they had kissed each other, as if they were the nearest of friends, he inquired with delight,—

"Art thou here on our side?"

"There are many knights of Guelders perhaps on the other side," answered De Lorche, "but I owe service from Dlugolyas to my lord, Prince Yanush."

"Then thou art the heir of old Mikolai of Dlugolyas?"

"Yes. After the death of Mikolai, and of his son, who was killed at Bobrovniki, Dlugolyas came to the wonderful Yagenka, who for the last five years is my wife and lady. "

"In God's name!" cried Zybshko, "tell how all this happened to thee!"

But De Lorche, greeting old Matsko, said,—

"Your former armor-bearer, Hlava, told me that I should find you both here, and now he is waiting in my tent, and is watching over the supper. True, it is far from here, since it is at the other end of the camp, but we will pass quickly on horseback—so come with me."

Then turning to Povala, with whom he had become acquainted formerly at Plotsk, he added,—

"And you, noble sir. It will be an honor and a happiness for me."

"Very well," answered Povala. "It is pleasant to converse with acquaintances; and besides, we shall look at the camp."

And they went out to mount their horses. But before mounting, De Lorche's servant put the cloak on his shoulders, which evidently he had brought on purpose. When this man approached Zbyshko, he kissed his hand, and said,—

"An obeisance and honor to you, lord. I am your servant of years ago, but you cannot recognize me in the dark. Do you not remember Sanderus?"

"As God is dear to me!" cried Zbyshko.

At that moment was renewed in him the remembrance of past pains and sorrows, and of former misfortunes, just as a couple of weeks before, when the troops of the king joined the regiments of the princes of Mazovia, and he met his former armor-bearer Hlava after a long interval. So he said,—

"Sanderus! Well, I remember those former times and thee! What hast thou done since those days, and where hast thou been? Art thou bearing relics about yet?"

"No, lord. Till last spring I was a sexton at the church in Dlugolyas, but as my late father occupied himself with the military art, when the war broke out brass on the church bell-towers became disgusting to me, and the desire for steel and iron was roused in me—"

"What do I hear?" cried Zbyshko, who somehow could not imagine to himself Sanderus standing up to battle, with a sword, or a spear, or an axe in his hand.

But, while holding the stirrup for him, Sanderus said,—

"A year ago, at command of the Bishop of Plotsk, I went to Prussian regions, and thereby rendered considerable service,—but I will tell that later; and now mount, your greatness, for that Bohemian count whom you call Hlava is waiting for us with supper at the tent of my lord."

Zbyshko sat on the horse, and approaching Pan de Lorche he rode at his side so as to speak with him freely, for he was curious to learn his story.

"I am tremendously glad," said Zbyshko, "that thou art on our side, but I wonder, for thou hast served the Knights of the Cross."

"Those serve who take pay," replied De Lorche, "but I have never taken pay. No,—I went to the Knights of the Cross only to seek adventures and win the belt of a knight, which, as is known to thee, I received from the hands of a Polish prince. And while remaining long years in those countries I came to know on whose side was justice; and when I also married here and settled down, how could I appear against you? I am now a man of this country, and observe how I have learned your language. I have even forgotten my own somewhat."

"But thy property in Guelders? For, as I have heard, thou art a relative of the ruling house there, and an heir to many castles and villages."

"I yielded my inheritance to my relative, Foulk de Lorche, who paid me for it. Five years ago I was in Guelders and brought back from there considerable wealth, with which I purchased property in Mazovia."

"But how did it happen thee to marry Yagenka of Dlugolyas?"

"Ah, who can understand a woman? She trifled with me always till the time came when I was tired of such action, and declared to her that from grief I would go to a war in Asia, and never return again. She began to cry unexpectedly, and said, 'Then I will be a nun.' I fell at her feet for those words and two weeks later the Bishop of Plotsk blessed us in church."

"Hast thou children?" inquired Zbyshko.

"After the war Yagenka is going to the grave of Queen Yadviga to implore her," answered De Lorche, sighing.

"That is well. They say that method is certain,—and that in such cases there is no better intercessor than our holy queen. Before long all will go to Cracow, for a decisive battle will take place in a few days, and then peace will come."

"Yes."

"But the Knights of the Cross of course consider thee as a traitor?"

"No," answered De Lorche. "Thou knowest how I guard my knightly honor. Sanderus, at command of the Bishop of Plotsk went to Malborg, so I sent through him a letter to the Grand Master Ulrich, in which I notified him of the end of my service and explained to him the reasons why I am on your side."

"Ha! Sanderus!" cried Zbyshko. "He told me that brass in the church bells has become disgusting to him, and that a desire for steel is roused in him, which seems strange to me, for he had always the heart of a hare."

Pan de Lorche laughed.

"Sanderus," said he, "has only this much to do with steel that he shaves me and my armor-bearers."

"Is that it?" asked Zbyshko, amused.

They rode on sometime in silence, then De Lorche raised his eyes toward the sky, and said,—

"I have invited you to supper, but it will be breakfast before we reach my tent."

"The moon is shining yet. Let us go on!"

So coming up with Matsko and Povala they rode four abreast through the broad street of the camp, which was traced out, at command of the leaders, between tents and fires, so that passage might be commodious.

Wishing to reach the tents of the Mazovian regiments which were at the other end of the camp, they had to pass the whole length of it.

"Since Poland is Poland," said Matsko, "no one has seen such armies, for nations have come in from all regions of the earth."

"No other king can bring out such armies," answered De Lorche, "for no king has such a mighty kingdom."

But the old knight turned to Povala, and asked,—

"How many regiments have come with Prince Vitold?"

"Forty," answered Povala. "Our Polish and the Mazovian regiments number fifty, but they are not arranged in the same way as Vitold's men, for with him sometimes a number of thousands serve under one banner. Ha! We have heard that the Grand Master called them a rabble, better at spoons than at swords, but God grant that he said that in an evil hour for himself, since I think that the Lithuanian spears will be terribly reddened with the blood of the Order."

"But these whom we are passing now, who are they?" inquired Pan de Lorche.

"Those are Tartars; Vitold's feudatory, Saladin, brought them."

"Are they good in battle?"

"Lithuania understands how to war with those Tartars, and has conquered a considerable part of them, for this reason they were forced to come to this war. It is difficult for knights of western Europe to meet them, for they are more terrible in retreat than attack."

"Let us look at them more nearly," said De Lorche. And they rode toward the fires, which were surrounded by men whose arms were entirely naked. They were dressed, notwithstanding the summer season, in sheep-skin coats, the wool outside. They were sleeping for the greater part directly on the ground, or on straw which was steaming from heat, but many were sitting on their heels near the blazing fires; some were shortening the night hours by singing wild songs in nasal tones and striking in accompaniment one shin bone of a horse against another, which produced a strange and disagreeable clatter; some had small drums or were thrumming on stiffly drawn bow-strings; others were eating pieces of meat freshly snatched from the fire, still steaming and bloody, on which they blew through pouting, bluish lips. In general these people looked so wild and ill-omened that it was easier to take them for some terrible creatures of the forest than human beings.

The smoke of the fires gave out a sharp odor of the horseflesh and mutton which were roasting in them, and round about from burnt hair and heated sheep-skin coats the smell was unendurable, while from fresh hides and blood it was nauseating.

From beyond the street, where there were horses, came the smell of dung and sweat; those beasts, a number of hundreds of which were kept for scouting in the neighborhood, had gnawed the grass from beneath their own feet and were biting one another, squealing shrilly, and snorting. Horseboys quieted them with their voices and with rawhide whips.

It was unsafe to go alone among the Tartars, for those wild people were greedy to a degree unheard of. Directly behind them were a few companies of Bessarabians, a little less wild, with horns on their heads; and long-haired Wallachians, who instead of steel armor had wooden, painted plates on their breasts and shoulders, and wore masks representing vampires, skeletons, or beasts; and farther on, Serbs, whose camp, asleep at that hour, sounded in the daytime at halts, as if it were one immense lute; so many flutes, balalaikas, moltankas, and various other musical instruments were there in it.

The fires flashed, and from the sky, amid clouds which the strong wind blew apart, shone the great clear moon, and by those gleams our knights reviewed the camp. Beyond the Serbs were situated the unfortunate Jmud men. The Germans had drawn torrents of blood from those people, and still they sprang up to new battles at every summons from Vitold. And now, as if with a prescience that their evil fate would end soon and forever, they had marched to that camp under lead of Skirvoillo, whose name alone filled the Germans with rage and with terror. The fires of the Jmud men touched directly on those of Lithuania, for they were the same people, they had the same customs, and almost the same language.

But at the entrance of the camp of Lithuania a gloomy picture struck the eyes of the knights. There on a gallows made of unhewn poles were hanging two bodies, which the wind swayed with such force that the gallows-frame squeaked complainingly. The horses snorted at sight of the bodies and rose on their haunches, while the knights made the sign of the cross with devotion, and when they had ridden farther Povala said,—

"Prince Vitold was with the king, and I was there when men brought in the criminals. Our bishops and lords had complained previously that Lithuanians are too savage in warfare, and do not even spare churches. So when these were brought in (they were considerable people, but the unfortunates had, as it seems, desecrated the Holy Sacrament) the prince was so filled with anger that it was a terror to look at him, and he commanded the two men to hang themselves. One of them urged on the other: 'Well, hurry! thou wilt make the prince still more angry!' And terror fell on all, for the men did not fear death, but the anger of the prince, just as much, or more, than God's anger."

"Yes, I remember," said Zbyshko, "when in Cracow the king was enraged at me about Lichtenstein, Prince Yamont, who was an attendant of the king, advised me immediately to hang myself. And he gave that advice out of friendship, though I should have challenged him to trampled earth had it not been, as is known to you, that they were to cut my head off."

"Prince Yamont has learned knightly customs since then," said Povala.

Thus conversing they passed the great camp of Lithuania and the three splendid regiments of Rus, of which the largest was that of Smolensk, and went to the Polish campground. In that were fifty regiments, the kernel and also the forehead of all the forces. In that camp the armor was superior, the horses larger, and the knights better exercised, being second in nothing to those from the West of Europe. In strength of body, in endurance of hunger, of cold, and of labor, those men from Great and Little Poland even surpassed the warriors of the West, who were softer and more intent on their own comfort. The Poles were simpler in manners, their armor was more rudely forged, but its temper was better, while their disdain for death and their immense persistence in battle astonished many a time those knights from afar, in those days, the French and English.

De Lorche, who knew Polish knights from of old spoke thus,—

"Here is the strength and the hope. I remember that in Malborg the knights complained more than once that in battle they were forced to purchase every hand-breadth of earth with streams of blood."

"Blood will flow in a river now also," said Matsko, "for the Order has never assembled such forces thus far."

"The Knight Korzbog, who went with letters from the king to the Grand Master," added Povala, "declared that the Knights of the Cross say that neither the Roman Cæsar nor any king has such forces, and that the Order could conquer all kingdoms."

"Pshaw! we are greater in number," said Zbyshko.

"That is true, but they think little of Vitold's forces, because made up, as they say, of men armed in any fashion, and because they are crushed at the first blow, like an earthen pot beneath a hammer. But whether that be true or untrue, I know not."

"It is true, and untrue," answered the prudent Matsko. "Zbyshko and I campaigned with them once. Their weapons are inferior, and their horses are small, hence it happens often that they flee before the onset of Knights of the Order; but their hearts are as brave, or even braver than those of the Germans."

"That will be shown soon," said Povala. "Tears flow to the king's eyes continually at the thought that so much Christian blood will be shed, and at the very last moment he would be glad to conclude a just peace, but the pride of the Knights will not let matters end thus."

"As true as life! I know the Knights of the Order, and we all know them," added Matsko. "God has already arranged the scales on which he will place our blood and that of the enemies of our race."

They were not far now from the Mazovian regiments, among which stood the tent of Pan de Lorche, when they saw in the middle of the "street" a large crowd of people close together and looking at the sky.

"Stand, there! stand!" cried a voice in the crowd.

"But who is speaking, and what are ye doing?" inquired Povala.

"I am the parish priest of Klobuko. But who are ye?"

"Povala of Tachev, the knights of Bogdanets, and Pan de Lorche."

"Oh, that is you, lords," said the priest in a mysterious voice, as he approached Povala's horse. "But look at the moon and see what is happening on it. This night is prophetic and wonderful!"

The knights raised their faces and looked at the moon, which had grown pale, and was near to its setting.

"I cannot distinguish anything," said Povala. "But what do you see?"

"A monk in a cowl is fighting with a king who is wearing his crown. Look! Oh, there! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit! Oh, how terribly they wrestle,—God be merciful to us sinners."

There was silence round about, for all held the breath in their breasts.

"Look! look!" cried the priest.

"True, there is something there," said Matsko.

"True! true!" confirmed others.

"Ha! the king has thrown the monk!" cried the priest on a sudden. "He has put his foot on him! Praised be Jesus Christ!"

"For ages of ages!"

At that moment a great black cloud covered the moon, and the night became dark, but the light of fires quivered in bloody stripes across the road.

The knights rode on, and when they had gone some distance Povala inquired,—

"Did ye see anything?"

"At first, nothing," answered Matsko, "but afterward I saw distinctly both the king and the monk."

"And I."

"And I."

"That is a sign from the Lord," said Povala. "Ah, in spite of the tears of our king, it is evident that there will be no peace."

"And the battle will be such as the world does not remember," said Matsko.

And they went farther in silence, with hearts overflowing and solemn.

But when they were not far from De Lorche's tent a whirlwind rose with such force that in the twinkle of an eye it scattered the fires of the Mazovians. Through the air went thousands of firebrands, blazing splinters, and sparks, while it was filled with clouds of smoke.

"Hei; it is blowing dreadfully!" said Zbyshko, pulling down his cloak which the wind had thrown over his head.

"And in the wind it is as if groans and the weeping of people were heard."

"Dawn is not distant, but who knows what the day will bring him?" added De Lorche.