With Fire and Sword Page 32

  “May the dogs devour you, may your skins be torn off, may the Jews wear you in their collars!”

  Genuine despair was in the voice of Zagloba.

  “What has happened?” inquired Helena.

  “The wolves have eaten our horses.”

  “Jesus, Mary! both of them?”

  “One is eaten, the other is maimed so that he cannot stand. They didn’t go more than three hundred yards, and are lost.”

  “What shall we do now?”

  “What shall we do? Whittle out sticks for ourselves and sit on them. Do I know what we shall do? Here is pure despair. I tell you, the devil has surely got after us,—which is not to be wondered at, for he must be a friend of Bogun, or his blood relation. What are we to do? May I turn into a horse if I know,—you would then at least have something to ride on. I am a scoundrel if ever I have been in such a fix.”

  “Let us go on foot.”

  “It is well for your ladyship to travel in peasant fashion, with your twenty years, but not for me with my circumference. I speak incorrectly, though, for here any clown can have a nag, only dogs travel on foot. Pure despair, as God is kind to me! Of course we shall not sit here, we shall walk on directly; but when we are to reach Zólotonosha is unknown to me. If it is not pleasant to flee on horseback, it is sorest of all on foot. Now the worst thing possible has happened to us. We must leave the saddles and carry on our own shoulders whatever we put between our lips.”

  “I will not allow you to carry the burden alone; I too will carry whatever is necessary.”

  Zagloba was pleased to see such resolution in Helena.

  “I should be either a Turk or a Pagan to permit you. Those white hands and slender shoulders are not for burdens. With God’s help I will manage; only I must rest frequently, for, always too abstemious in eating and drinking, I have short breath now. Let us take the saddle-cloths to sleep on and some provisions; but there will not be much of them, since we shall have to strengthen ourselves directly.”

  Straightway they began the strengthening, during which Pan Zagloba, abandoning his boasted abstemiousness, busied himself about long breath. Near midday they reached a ford through which men and wagons passed from time to time, for on both banks there were marks of wheels and horses’ tracks.

  “Maybe that is the road to Zólotonosha.”

  “There is no one to ask.”

  Zagloba had barely stopped speaking, when voices reached their ears from a distance.

  “Wait!” whispered Zagloba, “we must hide.”

  The voices continued to approach them.

  “Do you see anything?” inquired Helena.

  “I do.”

  “Who are coming?”

  “A blind old man with a lyre. A youth is leading him, Now they are taking off their boots. They will come to us through the river.”

  After a time the plashing of water indicated that they were really crossing. Zagloba and Helena came out of the hiding-place.

  “Glory be to God!” said the noble, aloud.

  “For the ages of ages!” answered the old man. “But who are you?”

  “Christians. Don’t be afraid, grandfather!”

  “May Saint Nicholas give you health and happiness!”

  “And where are you coming from, grandfather?”

  “From Brovarki.”

  “And where does this road lead to?”

  “Oh, to farmhouses and villages.”

  “It doesn’t go to Zólotonosha?”

  “Maybe it does.”

  “Is it long since you left Brovarki?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  “And were you in Rozlogi?”

  “Yes. But they say that the knights came there, that there was a battle.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Oh, they said so in Brovarki. One of the servants of the princess came, and what he told was terrible!”

  “And you didn’t see him?”

  “I? I see no man, I am blind.”

  “And this youth?”

  “He sees, but he is dumb. I am the only one who understands him.”

  “Is it far from here to Rozlogi, for we are going there?”

  “Oh, it is far!”

  “You say, then, that you were in Rozlogi?”

  “Yes, we were.”

  “So!” said Zagloba; and suddenly he seized the youth by the shoulder. “Ha! scoundrels, criminals, thieves! you are going around as spies, rousing the serfs to rebellion. Here, Fedor, Oleksa, Maksim, take them, strip them naked, and hang or drown them; beat them,—they are rebels, spies,—beat, kill them!”

  He began to pull the youth about and to shake him roughly, shouting louder and louder every moment. The old man threw himself on his knees, begging for mercy; the youth uttered sounds of terror peculiar to the dumb, and Helena looked with astonishment at the attack.

  “What are you doing?” inquired she, not believing her own eyes.

  But Zagloba shouted, cursed, moved hell, summoned all the miseries, misfortunes, and diseases, threatened with every manner of torment and death.

  The princess thought that his mind had failed.

  “Go away!” cried he to her; “it is not proper for you to see what is going to take place here. Go away, I tell you!”

  He turned to the old man. “Take off your clothes, you clown! If you don’t, I’ll cut you to pieces.”

  When he had thrown the youth to the ground Zagloba began to strip him with his own hands. The old man, frightened, dropped his lyre, his bag, and his coat as quickly as he could.

  “Throw off everything or you will be killed!” shouted Zagloba.

  The old man began to take off his shirt.

  Helena, seeing whither matters were tending, hurried away, and as she fled she heard the curses of Zagloba.

  After she had gone some distance she stopped, not knowing what to do. Near by was the trunk of a tree thrown down by the wind; she sat on this and waited. The noises of the dumb youth, the groans of the old man, and the uproar of Zagloba came to her ears.

  At last all was silent save the twittering of birds and the rustle of leaves. After a time the heavy steps of a man panting were heard. It was Zagloba. On his shoulders he carried the clothing stripped from the old man and the youth, in his hands two pair of boots and a lyre. When he came near he began to wink with his sound eye, to smile, and to puff. He was evidently in perfect humor.

  “No herald in a court would have shouted as I have,” said he, “until I am hoarse; but I have got what I wanted. I let them go naked as their mother bore them. If the Sultan doesn’t make me a pasha, or hospodar of Wallachia, he is a thankless fellow, for I have made two Turkish saints. Oh, the scoundrels! they begged me to leave them at least their shirts. I told them they ought to be grateful that I left them their lives. And see here, young lady! Everything is new,—the coats and the boots and the shirts. There must be nice order in that Commonwealth, in which trash dress so richly. But they were at a festival in Brovarki, where they collected no small amount of money and bought everything new at the fair. Not a single noble will plough out so much in this country as a minstrel will beg. Therefore I abandon my career as a knight, and will strip grandfathers on the highway, for I see that in this manner I shall arrive at fortune more quickly.”

  “For what purpose did you do that?” asked Helena.

  “Just wait a minute, and I will show you for what purpose.”

  Saying this, he took half the plundered clothing and went into the reeds which covered the bank. After a time the sounds of a lyre were heard in the rushes, and there appeared, not Pan Zagloba, but a real “grandfather” of the Ukraine, with a cataract on one eye and a gray beard. The “grandfather” approached Helena, singing with a hoarse voice,—

  “Oh, bright falcon, my own brother,


  High dost thou soar,

  And far dost thou fly!”

  The princess clapped her hands, and for the first time since her flight from Rozlogi a smile brightened her beautiful face.

  “If I did not know that it was you, I should never have recognized you.”

  “Well,” said Zagloba, “I know you have not seen a better mask at a festival. I looked into the Kagamlik myself; and if ever I have seen a better-looking grandfather, then hang me. As for songs, I have no lack of them. What do you prefer? Maybe you would like to hear of Marusia Boguslava, of Bondarivna, or the death of Sierpahova; I can give you that. I am a rogue if I can’t get a crust of bread among the worst knaves that exist.”

  “Now I understand your action, why you stripped the clothing from those poor creatures,—because it is safer to go over the road in disguise.”

  “Of course,” said Zagloba; “and what do you suppose? Here, east of the Dnieper, the people are worse than anywhere else; and now when they hear of the war with the Zaporojians, and the victories, of Hmelnitski, no power will keep them from rebellion. You saw those herdsmen who wanted to get our skins. If the hetmans do not put down Hmelnitski at once, the whole country will be on fire in two or three days, and how should I take you through bands of peasants in rebellion? And if you had to fall into their hands, you would better have remained in Bogun’s.”

  “That cannot be! I prefer death,” interrupted Helena.

  “But I prefer life; for death is a thing from which you cannot rise by any wit. I think, however, that God sent us this old man and the youth. I frightened them with the prince and his whole army as I did the herdsmen. They will sit in the reeds naked for three days from terror, and by that time we shall reach Zólotonosha in disguise somehow. We shall find your cousins and efficient aid; if not, we will go farther to the hetmans,—and all this in safety, for grandfathers have no fear of peasants and Cossacks. We might take our heads in safety through Hmelnitski’s camp. But we have to avoid the Tartars, for they would take you as a youth into captivity.”

  “Then must I too disguise myself?”

  “Yes; throw off your Cossack clothes, and disguise yourself as a peasant youth,—though you are rather comely to be a clodhopper’s child, as I am to be a grandfather; but that is nothing. The wind will tan your face, and my stomach will fall in from walking. I shall sweat away all my thickness. When the Wallachians burned out my eye, I thought that an absolutely awful thing had come upon me; but now I see it is really an advantage, for a grandfather not blind would be suspected. You will lead me by the hand, and call me Onufri, for that is my minstrel name. Now dress up as quickly as you can, since it is time for the road, which will be so long for us on foot.”

  Zagloba went aside, and Helena began at once to array herself as a minstrel boy. Having washed in the river, she cast aside the Cossack coat, and took the peasant’s svitka, straw hat, and knapsack. Fortunately the youth stripped by Zagloba was tall, so that everything fitted Helena well.

  Zagloba, returning, examined her carefully, and said,—

  “God save me! more than one knight would willingly lay aside his armor if he only had such an attendant as you; and I know one hussar who would certainly. But we must do something with that hair. I saw handsome boys in Stamboul, but never one so handsome as you are.”

  “God grant my beauty may work no ill for me!” said Helena. But she smiled; for her woman’s ear was tickled by Zagloba’s praise.

  “Beauty never turns out ill, and I will give you an example of this; for when the Turks in Galáts burned out one of my eyes, and wanted to burn out the other, the wife of the Pasha saved me on account of my extraordinary beauty, the remnants of which you may see even yet.”

  “But you said that the Wallachians burned your eye out.”

  “They were Wallachians, but had become Turks, and were serving the Pasha in Galáts.”

  “They didn’t burn even one of your eyes out.”

  “But from the heated iron a cataract grew on it. It’s all the same. What do you wish to do with your tresses?”

  “What! I must cut them off?”

  “You must. But how?”

  “With your sabre.”

  “It is well to cut a head off with this sword, but hair—I don’t know how.”

  “Well, I will sit by that log and put my hair across it, you can strike and cut it off; but don’t cut my head off!”

  “Oh, never fear! More than once have I shot the wick from candles when I was drunk, without cutting the candle. I will do no harm to you, although this act is the first of its kind in my life.”

  Helena sat near the log, and throwing her heavy dark hair across it, raised her eyes to Zagloba. “I am ready,” said she; “cut!”

  She smiled somewhat sadly; for she was sorry for those tresses, which near the head could hardly be clasped by two hands. Zagloba had a sort of awkward feeling. He went around the trunk to cut more conveniently, and muttered:

  “Pshaw, pshaw! I would rather be a barber and cut Cossack tufts. I seem to be an executioner going to my work; for it is known to you that they cut the hair off witches, so that the devils shouldn’t hide in it and weaken the power of torture. But you are not a witch; therefore this act seems disgraceful to me,—for which if Pan Skshetuski does not cut my ears, then I’ll pay him. Upon my word, shivers are going along my arm. At least, close your eyes!”

  “All ready!” said Helena.

  Zagloba straightened up, as if rising in his stirrups for a blow. The metallic blade whistled in the air, and that moment the dark tresses slipped down along the smooth bark to the ground.

  “All over!” said Zagloba, in his turn.

  Helena sprang up, and immediately the short-cut hair fell in a dark circle around her face, on which blushes of shame were beating,—for at that period the cutting of a maiden’s hair was considered a great disgrace; therefore it was on her part a grievous sacrifice, which she could make only in case of extreme necessity. In fact, tears came to her eyes; and Zagloba, angry at himself, made no attempt to comfort her.

  “It seems to me that I have ventured on something dishonorable, and I repeat to you that Pan Skshetuski, if he is a worthy cavalier, is bound to cut my ears off. But it could not be avoided, for your sex would have been discovered at once. Now at least we can go on with confidence. I inquired of the old man too about the road, holding a dagger to his throat. According to what he said, we shall see three oaks in the steppe; near them is the Wolf’s Ravine, and along the ravine lies the road through Demiánovka to Zólotonosha. He said that wagoners go by the road, and it would be possible to sit with them in the wagons. You and I are passing through a grievous time, which I shall ever remember; for now we must part with the sabre, since it befits neither the minstrel nor his boy to have marks of nobility about their persons. I will push it under this tree. God may permit me to find it here some other day. Many an expedition has this sabre seen, and it has been the cause of great victories. Believe me, I should be commander of an army now were it not for the envy and malice of men who accused me of a love for strong drinks. So is it always in the world,—no justice in anything! When I was not rushing into destruction like a fool, and knew how to unite prudence with valor like a second Cunctator, Pan Zatsvilikhovski was the first to say that I was a coward. He is a good man, but he has an evil tongue. The other day he gnawed at me because I played brother with the Cossacks; but had it not been for that you would not have escaped the power of Bogun.”

  While talking, Zagloba thrust the sabre under the tree, covered it with plants and grass, then threw the bag and lyre over his shoulder, took the staff pointed with flintstones, waved his hands a couple of times, and said,—

  “Well, this is not bad. I can strike a light in the eyes of some dog or wolf with this staff and count his teeth. The worst of all is that we must walk; but there is no help. Come!”

  T
hey went on,—the dark-haired youth in front, the old man following. The latter grunted and cursed; for it was hot for him to travel on foot, though a breeze passed over the steppe. The breeze burned and tanned the face of the handsome boy. Soon they came to the ravine, at the bottom of which was a spring which distilled its pure waters into the Kagamlik. Around that ravine not far from the river three strong oaks were growing on a mound; to these our wayfarers turned at once. They came also upon traces of the road, which looked yellow along the steppe from flowers which were growing on droppings of cattle. The road was deserted; there were neither teamsters, nor tar-spots on the ground, nor gray oxen slowly moving. But here and there lay the bones of cattle torn to pieces by wolves and whitening in the sun. The wayfarers went on steadily, resting only under the shade of oak-groves. The dark-haired boy lay down to slumber on the green turf, and the old man watched. They passed through streams also; and when there was no ford they searched for one, walking for a distance along the shore. Sometimes, too, the old man carried the boy over in his arms, with a power that was wonderful in a man who begged his bread. But he was a sturdy minstrel! Thus they dragged on till evening, when the boy sat down by the wayside at an oak-forest and said,—