— He is a noble, said Macko at last.
— Then let him swear on his knightly honor that he will appear before any court.
— I swear on my knightly honor! cried Zbyszko.
— Good. What are you called?
Macko gave his name and coat of arms.
— If you are from the court of Princess Januszowa, then ask her to intercede with the king on your behalf.
— We are not from the court. We come from Lithuania, from Prince Witold. Would that we had never met any court. It was from this meeting that misfortune came upon the lad.
And then Macko began to recount what had happened at the inn. He spoke of meeting the duchess’s court and of Zbyszko’s vow, but then a sudden anger seized him against Zbyszko, through whose recklessness they had fallen into such a dire predicament. Turning to the youth, he shouted:
— I wish you had died at Vilnius! What were you thinking, you scoundrel?
— Well, said Zbyszko, after my vow I prayed to Lord Jesus to give me Germans to fight and promised him an offering, so when I saw the peacock feathers and with them a cloak with a black cross, a voice cried within me: Strike the German, what a miracle! And so I leaped—who wouldn’t have?
— Listen, interrupted Powala of Taczew. I wish you no ill, for I see clearly that this youth sinned more from the frivolity natural to his age than from malice. I would gladly overlook his deed and ride on as if nothing had happened. But I could only do that if that komtur promises not to complain to the king. Ask him—perhaps he will take pity on the lad.
— I’d rather go to judgment than bow to a Teutonic Knight! cried Zbyszko. That would not befit my yeoman honor.
At that, Powala of Taczew looked at him sternly and said:
— You do wrong. Your elders know better than you what befits and what does not befit knightly honor. People have heard of me as well, and I tell you this: if I had committed such a deed, I would not be ashamed to ask forgiveness.
Zbyszko was ashamed, but after looking around, he replied:
— The ground here is flat, just needs a little tramping down. Rather than apologize to the German, I’d rather fight him on horseback or on foot, to the death or captivity.
— You’re stupid, interrupted Macko. How will you fight with an envoy? Not for you to fight with him, nor for him to fight with such a stripling!
Then he turned to Powala:
— Forgive me, noble sir. The boy has been wilded to the bone by war, but it’s better he not speak to the German, or he’ll just insult him. I will speak, I will ask. And if after his embassy is over, that komtur wants to fight me in a garden enclosure, man to man, then I will face him.
— He is a knight of great lineage, who does not face just anyone, replied Powala.
— How so? Do I not wear a belt and spurs? Even a prince can stand against me.
— True, but don’t tell him that unless he mentions it himself, for I fear he might hold a grudge against you. Well, may the Lord God help you.
— I’ll go and vouch for you, Macko said to Zbyszko, but you wait!
And having said this, he approached the Teutonic Knight, who had stopped a few steps away and sat motionless on his huge horse, like a camel, resembling a cast-iron statue, listening with the utmost indifference to the previous conversation.
Macko had learned German during his long years of war. He now began to explain to the komtur in his native language what had happened, to blame the youth’s young age and impulsive mind, to whom it had seemed that God himself had sent him a knight with a peacock crest, and finally to ask for forgiveness for Zbyszko.
But the komtur’s face did not even twitch. Stiff and upright, with head raised, he looked at the speaking Macko with his steel-gray eyes so indifferently and yet contemptuously, as if he were looking not at a knight or even a man, but at a stake in a fence.
The yeoman of Bogdaniec noticed this, and although his words remained courtly, his soul began to rage visibly; he spoke with increasing effort, and blushes appeared on his sunburned cheeks.
It was evident that in the face of this cold pride he was struggling with himself not to grind his teeth and not to burst out terribly.
But Powala had a good heart and noticed this, so he decided to help. In his youth, he had sought various knightly adventures at the courts of Hungary, Austria, Burgundy, and Bohemia, which had made his name widely known. He too had learned German, so now he addressed Macko in that language, with a conciliatory and deliberately jesting tone:
— You see, sir, the noble komtur thinks the whole affair is not even worth a word. Not only in our kingdom, but everywhere, youths are often not in their right minds, but such a knight does not war with children, neither by sword nor by law.
At that, Lichtenstein puffed out his straw-colored mustaches and without a word, rode forward, passing Macko and Zbyszko.
And a mad rage began to lift the hair under their helmets, and their hands trembled toward their swords.
— Wait, mother of the Teutonic Knight, said the older yeoman of Bogdaniec through clenched teeth. Now I will make a vow to you and I will find you, as soon as you finish your embassy.
But Powala, whose heart also began to flood with blood, said:
— That can wait. Let the duchess speak for you now, or else woe to the lad.
Having said this, he rode after the Teutonic Knight, stopped him, and they talked animatedly for a while. Both Macko and Zbyszko noticed that the German knight did not look at Powala with such a proud face as he had at them, and this made them even angrier. After a moment, Powala turned back to them and, waiting a moment for the Teutonic Knight to move away, said to them:
— I spoke on your behalf, but he is an unforgiving man. He says that he will not complain only if you do what he wants.
— What does he want?
— He said this: I will stop to greet the Duchess of Masovia; let them come up, let them dismount, let them take off their helmets, and from the ground with bare heads let them beg me.
At that, Powala looked sharply at Zbyszko. After a moment, he added:
— It is hard for people of noble birth, I understand, but I must warn you that if you do not do this, who knows what awaits you—perhaps the executioner’s sword.
The faces of Macko and Zbyszko turned to stone. Silence fell again.
— Well, and what? asked Powala.
And Zbyszko replied calmly and with such gravity, as if he had aged twenty years in that single moment:
— What can I say? God’s power is over men.
— How so?
— Thus: even if I had two heads and someone were to cut off both, I have one honor, which I am not allowed to dishonor.
At that, Powala grew serious and, turning to Macko, asked further:
— And what do you say?
— I say, replied Macko gloomily, that I raised this boy from infancy... Our lineage rests on him, because I am old—but he cannot do this, even if he were to perish.
Here his stern face began to twitch, and suddenly his love for his nephew burst forth with such force that he grabbed him in his iron-gauntleted hands and began to cry out:
— Zbyszko! Zbyszko!
And the young knight was astonished and, returning his uncle’s embrace, said:
— Oh! I didn’t know you loved me so much!
— I see that you are true knights, said moved Powala. And since the young man swore to me on his honor that he would appear, I will not imprison him. Men like you can be trusted. So be of good cheer. The German will stay in Tyniec for a day or two, so I will see the king first and will tell him the story in such a way as to anger him as little as possible. It’s lucky I managed to break the lance—very lucky!
But Zbyszko said:
— If I must give my head anyway, then let me at least have the pleasure of breaking the Teutonic Knight’s bones.
— That you can defend your own honor, and yet do not understand that you would bring shame upon our whole nation, replied Powala impatiently.
— Understand, I do understand, said Zbyszko, but that’s why I regret it...
Powala then turned to Macko:
— You know, sir, if this youth manages to wriggle out of this somehow, you should put a hood on his head like they do with falcons. Otherwise, he won’t die a natural death.
— He could wriggle out if you, sir, would hide from the king what happened.
— And what will we do with the Teutonic Knight? I can’t exactly tie his tongue in a knot.
— True, true!
Talking thus, they set off back toward the duchess’s court. Powala’s servants, who had previously been mixed with Lichtenstein’s men, now rode behind him. In the distance, among the Masovian caps, one could see the peacock feathers of the Teutonic Knight swaying in the breeze and his bright helm shining in the sun.
— Strange is the Teutonic Knight nature, said the knight from Taczew as if in thought. When a Teutonic Knight is in a bad position, he will be as understanding as a Franciscan, as humble as a lamb and sweet as honey—you couldn’t find a better one in the world. But let him feel power behind him, and no one puffs up more, and you will not find less mercy anywhere. Apparently the Lord Jesus gave them flint instead of hearts. I have observed many different nations and have often seen how a true knight will spare another who is weaker, saying to himself: I will gain no honor if I trample on one who is down. But a Teutonic Knight is then most relentless. So hold him by the neck and don’t let go, or else woe to you. Look at that envoy: he wanted not only your apology but also your dishonor. But I am glad that will not happen.
— He’ll not see that! cried Zbyszko.
— Be careful too that he doesn’t notice any worry on your part, or he’ll be immediately pleased.
After these words, they rode up to the retinue and joined the duchess’s court. The Teutonic envoy, seeing them, immediately assumed an expression of pride and contempt, but they pretended not to see him at all. Zbyszko took his place beside Danusia and began to cheerfully tell her that from the hill one could already see Kraków well. Macko, meanwhile, was telling one of the minstrels about the extraordinary strength of the lord of Taczew, who had broken the lance in Zbyszko’s hand like a dry twig.
— And why did he break it? asked the minstrel.
— Because the lad aimed at the German, but only for fun.
The minstrel, who was a noble and a worldly man, did not think such a joke very proper, but seeing that Macko spoke lightly of it, he also did not take it to heart. Meanwhile, the Teutonic Knight began to be irritated by this behavior. He looked once and then again at Zbyszko, then at Macko, and finally understood that they would not dismount and that they were deliberately paying him no attention. Then something flashed in his eyes like steel, and immediately he began to take his leave.
And as he moved off, the lord of Taczew could not resist saying to him at parting:
— Ride boldly, valiant knight. This is a peaceful land, and no one will attack you, except perhaps some jesting child.
— Although the customs in this country are strange, I sought not protection but your company, replied Lichtenstein. Thus I hope we will meet again, both at this court and elsewhere.
In his last words there was a hidden threat, so Powala replied seriously:
— God grant it...
Having said this, he bowed and turned away; then he shrugged and said in a half-voice, but so that those nearest could hear:
— Weakling! I could lift him out of the saddle with the point of my lance and hold him in the air for three Hail Marys!
And he began to talk with the duchess, whom he knew well. Anna Danuta asked him what he was doing on the road, and he told her that he was riding on the king’s orders to keep the peace in the area, where, due to the great number of guests gathering from all sides to Kraków, some quarrel could easily occur. And as proof, he cited what he had just witnessed. Thinking, however, that there would be time enough to ask the duchess to intercede for Zbyszko when the need arose, he did not give the incident too much importance, not wanting to spoil the merriment. And so the duchess even laughed at Zbyszko for being so eager to get to the peacock crests. Others, upon hearing about the breaking of the lance, admired the lord of Taczew for doing it so easily with one hand.
And he, being somewhat boastful, rejoiced in his heart that they praised him, and finally he himself began to tell of his deeds, which had made his name famous especially in Burgundy at the court of Philip the Bold. Once there, during a tournament, after breaking his lance, he seized a knight from Ardennes around the waist, pulled him out of the saddle, and threw him up to the height of a lance, although the Ardennais was entirely clad in iron. Philip the Bold gave him a gold chain for it, and the duchess a velvet slipper, which he thereafter wore on his helmet.