V.
The assembly on the Vistula island at Raciążek, which the king attended around Corpus Christi, took place under an ill omen. It did not lead to the agreement and settlement of various matters that were achieved at the same place two years later, when the king recovered the Dobrzyń Land, which Opolczyk had treacherously pawned to the Krzyżacy, along with Dobrzyń and Bobrowniki.
Jagiello arrived greatly irritated by the slander that the Krzyżacy spread about him at Western courts and in Rome itself, and at the same time angered by the Order's dishonesty.
The Master refused to conduct negotiations about Dobrzyń, and did so deliberately. Both he and the other dignitaries of the Order repeated daily to the Poles: "We do not want war with you or with Lithuania, but Samogitia is ours, because Witold himself gave it to us. Promise that you will not help him, and the war with him will end sooner. Then there will be time to talk about Dobrzyń, and we will make many concessions to you."
But the royal counselors, possessing sharp, experienced minds and knowing the Krzyżacy's lie, did not allow themselves to be deceived. "When you grow in power, your insolence will increase," the Masters replied. "You say that Lithuania is none of your concern, yet you want to seat Skirgjello on the throne in Vilnius. But by the dear God! That is Jagiello's inheritance. He alone appoints whomever he wishes as prince in Lithuania. Therefore restrain yourselves, lest our great king punish you!"
To which the Master said that if the king was truly the lord of Lithuania, let him order Witold to cease the war and return Samogitia to the Order. Otherwise, the Order would have to strike Witold where it could reach and wound him.
And so the disputes dragged on from morning to evening, as if on a mistaken circular path. The king, unwilling to commit to anything, grew more and more impatient and told the Master that if Samogitia were happy under the Krzyżacy's hand, Witold would not lift a finger, for he would find neither pretext nor cause.
The Master, who was a calm man and more aware than the other brothers of Jagiello's power, tried to placate the king. Ignoring the murmurs of some hotheaded and proud komturs, he did not spare flattering words, and at times even struck a humble note. But even in that humility hidden threats sometimes emerged, so it led nowhere. The negotiations on important matters quickly fell apart, and by the second day they began to speak only of lesser issues.
The king sharply attacked the Order for maintaining bands of robbers, for raids and plunder along the border, for the abduction of Jurandówna and little Jaś of Kretków, for the murder of peasants and fishermen. The Master denied everything, twisted, swore it was done without his knowledge, and in turn made accusations that not only Witold but also Polish knights helped the pagan Samogitians against the Cross. As proof, he cited Macko of Bogdaniec.
Fortunately, the king already knew from Powała what the knights from Bogdaniec had been seeking in Samogitia, and he was able to reply to the accusation all the more easily because Zbyszko was in his retinue, while in the Master's retinue were both Baden brothers, who had come in the hope that they might get to joust with the Poles in the lists.
But that did not happen either. The Krzyżacy had intended, if things went smoothly, to invite the great king to Torun and there for several days hold feasts and games in his honor. But in the face of failed negotiations, which had bred mutual hostility and anger, there was no desire for entertainment.
Only on the side, in the morning hours, among themselves, the knights showed off a little in strength and skill. But, as the cheerful Kniaz Jamont said, even that went against the Krzyżacy, because Powała of Taczew proved stronger in arm than Arnold von Baden, Dobko of Olesnica in the lance, and Lis of Targowisko surpassed everyone in jumping over horses.
On that occasion, Zbyszko came to an agreement with Arnold von Baden about the ransom. De Lorche, who as a count and a lord of great importance looked down on Arnold, opposed this, claiming he would take everything upon himself. But Zbyszko thought that knightly honor required him to pay the number of grzywnas to which he had committed himself. Therefore, although Arnold himself wanted to lower the price, he accepted neither that concession nor the mediation of Lord de Lorche.
Arnold von Baden was a rather simple man, whose greatest asset was his enormous arm strength. He was quite dimwitted, somewhat greedy for money, but almost honest. There was no Krzyżacki cunning in him, and therefore he did not hide from Zbyszko why he wanted to lower the agreed price. "There will be no agreement between the great king and the Master," he said, "but there will be an exchange of prisoners. In that case, you will be able to get your uncle back for free. I prefer to take something rather than nothing, because my purse is always empty and often barely holds enough for three garnce of beer a day. Without five or six, it's a loss to me!" But Zbyszko got angry at him for such words: "I pay because I gave my knightly word, and I don't want it cheaper, so that you know we are worth that much." At that, Arnold embraced him, and the knights, both Polish and Krzyżaccy, praised him, saying:
"It is right that he wears the belt and spurs at such a young age, for he feels his honor and dignity."
Meanwhile, the king and the Master did indeed agree on an exchange of prisoners. In the process, strange things came to light, about which the bishops and dignitaries of the kingdom later wrote letters to the Pope and various courts. In Polish hands there were indeed quite a few prisoners, but they were grown men in the prime of life, taken by force of arms in border battles and skirmishes. In the hands of the Krzyżacy, however, there were mostly women and children, captured in night raids for ransom.
The Pope himself in Rome took note of this, and despite all the cunning of Jan von Felde, the Order's procurator at the Holy See, he loudly expressed his anger and indignation at the Order.
As for Macko, there were difficulties. The Master did not genuinely create them, but only pretended, to give weight to each concession. He claimed that a Christian knight who had fought alongside the Samogitians against the Order should, in justice, be sentenced to death. In vain the royal counselors recounted everything they knew about Jurand and his daughter, and about the terrible wrongs that the Order's servants had committed against the two of them and against the knights from Bogdaniec. In response, the Master, by a strange coincidence, repeated almost the same words that Duchess Aleksandra Ziemowitowa had once said to the old knight from Bogdaniec:
"You present yourselves as lambs, and ours as wolves. Yet of those four wolves who took part in the abduction of Jurandówna, not one lives, while the lambs walk safely about the world."
And it was the truth. However, to this truth the lord of Taczew, present at the deliberations, replied with the following question:
"Yes, but was any of them killed by treachery? And did not all those who fell, fall with swords in hand?"
The Master had nothing to reply, and when he noticed that the king was beginning to frown and flash his eyes, he yielded, not wanting to drive the formidable ruler to an outburst. It was then decided that each side would send envoys to collect the prisoners. On the Polish side, Zyndram of Maszkowice, who wished to observe the Krzyżacy's power up close, and the knight Powała were appointed for this purpose, and with them Zbyszko of Bogdaniec.
Kniaz Jamont did Zbyszko this service. He interceded for him with the king, thinking that the young man would see his uncle sooner, and would more surely bring him back if he went for him as a royal envoy. The king did not refuse the request of the young prince, who, because of his cheerfulness, kindness, and beautiful face, was a favorite of both the king and the entire court, and moreover never asked anything for himself. Zbyszko thanked him with all his heart, for now he was completely certain that he would get Macko out of the Krzyżacy's hands.
"Many envy you," he said to him, "that you remain at the majesty's side, but it is just so, because you use your intimacy with the king only for the good of others, and no one has a better heart than you."
"It is good to be at the majesty's side," replied the young boyar, "but I would still prefer to be in the field against the Krzyżacy. And I envy you that you have already fought them."
After a moment he added:
"Komtur von Wenden of Torun arrived yesterday, and this evening you will go to him for the night, with the Master and the Master's retinue."
"And then to Malbork?"
"And then to Malbork."
Here Kniaz Jamont began to laugh:
"It will be a short journey, but a sour one, because the Krzyżacy got nothing from the king, and they will have no joy from Witold either. He has reportedly gathered all the Lithuanian forces and is going to Samogitia."
"If the king helps him, there will be a great war."
"All our knights pray to God for that. But even if the king, out of compassion for Christian blood, does not start a great war, he will help Witold with grain and money, and it is not impossible that some Polish knights will go to him as volunteers."
"Indeed," replied Zbyszko. "And perhaps the Order itself will declare war on the king for that?"
"Ah, no!" replied the prince. "As long as the current Master lives, that will not happen."
And he was right.
Zbyszko had known the Master before, but now, on the road to Malbork, being together with Zyndram of Maszkowice and Powała almost constantly at his side, he could observe him better and get to know him better. And so this journey only confirmed his conviction that the Grand Master, Konrad von Jungingen, was not an evil and corrupt man. He often had to act dishonestly, because the entire Order of the Krzyżacy stood on unrighteousness. He had to commit wrongs, for the Order was built on human wrong. He had to lie, for he had inherited lies along with the insignia of the mastership, and from an early age he had grown accustomed to regarding it only as political cunning. But he was not a cruel man. He feared the judgment of God and, as much as he could, curbed the pride and insolence of those Order dignitaries who deliberately pushed for war with Jagiello's power. Yet he was a weak man. The Order had for centuries been so accustomed to coveting what was others', to plundering, to taking neighboring lands by force or trickery, that Konrad not only could not restrain this rapacious hunger, but involuntarily, by force of acquired momentum, he himself succumbed to it and tried to satisfy it.
Far away were the days of Winrich von Kniprode, the days of iron discipline that made the Order the admiration of the entire world. Already under the previous Master before Jungingen, Konrad Wallenrod, the Order became drunk with its own ever-growing power, which temporary defeats could not weaken. It was intoxicated with glory, success, and human blood, so that the bonds that held it in strength and unity loosened. The Master observed, as much as he could, law and justice. As much as he could, he personally softened the iron hand of the Order that weighed on peasants, townsmen, and even on the clergy and the nobility who held their lands as fiefs in the territories of the Krzyżacy. So in the vicinity of Malbork, one peasant or burgher could boast not only of prosperity but even of wealth. But in farther lands, the arbitrariness, cruelty, and debauchery of the komturs trampled on the law, spread oppression and extortion, squeezed out the last penny by means of taxes imposed on their own authority, or even without any pretext, squeezed out tears, often blood. So that in entire vast regions there was one wail, one misery, one complaint. Even if the good of the Order demanded, as it sometimes did in Samogitia, greater leniency, such commands came to nothing in the face of the komturs' unruliness and their innate cruelty. So Konrad von Jungingen felt like a charioteer who, driving unruly horses, had let the reins slip from his hands and left the chariot to the will of fate. Often evil forebodings took hold of his soul, often the prophetic words came to his mind: "I set them as bees of usefulness and established them on the threshold of Christian lands, but behold they have risen against me. For they care not for the soul and have no pity on the bodies of that people who have turned from error to the Catholic faith and to me. They have made slaves of them, and not teaching them God's commandments and denying them the Holy Sacraments, they condemn them to even greater hellish torments than if they had remained in paganism. And they wage wars to spread their greed. Therefore the time will come when their teeth will be broken out, and their right hand will be cut off, and their right leg will be crippled, so that they may acknowledge their sins."
The Master knew that those reproaches, which a mysterious voice had made to the Krzyżacy in the revelation of Saint Bridget, were justified. He understood that a structure built on another's land and another's wrong, supported by lies, deceit, and cruelty, could not stand long. He feared that, undermined for years by blood and tears, it would collapse at one blow from the powerful Polish hand. He sensed that the chariot pulled by unruly horses must end in the abyss, so he tried to make the hour of judgment, wrath, defeat, and misery come as late as possible. For this reason, despite his weakness, he offered unyielding resistance in only one thing to his proud and insolent advisors: he would not allow war with Poland. In vain they accused him of fear and incompetence, in vain the border komturs pushed with all their might for war. When the fire was about to erupt, he always withdrew at the last moment, and then gave thanks to God in Malbork that he had managed to hold back the sword raised over the Order's head. But he knew it had to come.
So this conviction that the Order stood not on God's law but on unrighteousness and lies, and this premonition of the approaching day of ruin, made him one of the most unhappy men in the world. He would surely have given his life and blood if it could be otherwise, if there were still time to turn back to the right path. But he himself felt that it was too late. To turn back would mean returning to the rightful owners all the fertile, rich lands seized by the Order God knows how long ago, and with them a multitude of cities as rich as Gdansk. And that was not all! It would mean renouncing Samogitia, renouncing attempts on Lithuania, sheathing the sword, and finally leaving these lands where there was no one left to convert, and settling perhaps again in Palestine or on one of the Greek islands, to defend the Cross there against the true Saracens. But no, that was impossible, for it would amount to a death sentence on the Order. Who would agree to that? And what master could demand such a thing? Konrad von Jungingen's soul and life were clouded with shadow, but if any man came forward with such advice, he would be the first to sentence him, as a madman, to a dark cell. He had to go on and on, until the day when God Himself would set the limit.
So he walked on, but in oppressive anxiety and sadness. The hair on his beard and temples was already silvering, and his once keen eyes were half covered by heavy eyelids. Zbyszko never once saw a smile on his face. The Master's countenance was not threatening, nor even gloomy; it was only, as it were, tired by some quiet suffering. In armor, with a cross on his chest, in the center of which was a black eagle in a square, and in a large white cloak also adorned with a cross, he gave an impression of gravity, majesty, and sadness. Konrad had once been cheerful and loved amusements, and even now he did not shun splendid feasts, spectacles, and tournaments. On the contrary, he himself hosted them, but neither in the throng of splendid knights who came as guests to Malbork, nor in the joyful uproar amid the blare of trumpets and clatter of arms, nor over goblets filled with Malmsey wine, did he ever cheer up. When everything around him seemed to breathe power, splendor, inexhaustible wealth, unyielding strength, when the envoys of the emperor and other Western kings exclaimed in rapture that the Order alone sufficed for all kingdoms and the power of the entire world, he alone was not deluded, and he alone remembered the ominous words revealed to Saint Bridget:
"The time will come when their teeth will be broken out, and their right hand will be cut off, and their right leg will be crippled, so that they may acknowledge their sins."