The Deluge- Volume 2 Read online

  Then Pan Zamoyski bowed and went out.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  Pan Zamoyski had not uttered pure calumny to his sister when he spoke of Michael’s love for Anusia, for the young prince had fallen in love with her, as had all, not excepting the pages of the castle. But that love was not over-violent, and by no means aggressive; it was rather an agreeable intoxication of the head and mind, than an impulse of the heart, which, when it loves, impels to permanent possession of the object beloved. For such action Michael had not the energy.

  Nevertheless, Princess Griselda, dreaming of a brilliant future for her son, was greatly terrified at that feeling. In the first moment the sudden consent of her brother to Anusia’s departure astonished her; now she ceased thinking of that, so far had the threatening danger seized her whole soul. A conversation with her son, who grew pale and trembled, and who before he had confessed anything shed tears, confirmed her in the supposition that the danger was terrible.

  Still she did not conquer her scruples of conscience at once, and it was only when Anusia, who wanted to see a new world, new people, and perhaps also turn the head of the handsome cavalier, fell at her feet with a request for permission, that the princess did not find strength sufficient to refuse.

  Anusia, it is true, covered herself with tears at the thought of parting with her mistress and mother; but for the clever girl it was perfectly evident that by asking for the separation she had cleared herself from every suspicion of having with preconceived purpose turned the head of Prince Michael, or even Zamoyski himself.

  Princess Griselda, from desire to know surely if there was a conspiracy between her brother and Kmita, directed the latter to come to her presence. Her brother’s promise not to leave Zamost had calmed her considerably, it is true; she wished, however, to know more intimately the man who was to conduct the young lady.

  The conversation with Kmita set her at rest thoroughly.

  There looked from the blue eyes of the young noble such sincerity and truth that it was impossible to doubt him. He confessed at once that he was in love with another, and besides he had neither the wish nor the head for folly. Finally he gave his word as a cavalier that he would guard the lady from every misfortune, even if he had to lay down his head.

  “I will take her safely to Pan Sapyeha, for Pan Zamoyski says that the enemy has left Lublin. But I can do no more; not because I hesitate in willing service for your highness, since I am always willing to shed my blood for the widow of the greatest warrior and the glory of the whole Commonwealth, but because I have my own grievous troubles, out of which I know not whether I shall bring my life.”

  “It is a question of nothing more,” answered the princess, “than that you give her into the hands of Pan Sapyeha, and he will not refuse my request to be her guardian.”

  Here she gave Kmita her hand, which he kissed with the greatest reverence, and she said in parting,—

  “Be watchful, Cavalier, be watchful, and do not place safety in this, that the country is free of the enemy.”

  These last words arrested Kmita; but he had no time to think over them, for Zamoyski soon caught him.

  “Gracious Knight,” said he, gayly, “you are taking the greatest ornament of Zamost away from me.”

  “But at your wish,” answered Kmita.

  “Take good care of her. She is a toothsome dainty. Some one may be ready to take her from you.”

  “Let him try! Oh, ho! I have given the word of a cavalier to the princess, and with me my word is sacred.”

  “Oh, I only say this as a jest. Fear not, neither take unusual caution.”

  “Still I will ask of your serene great mightiness a carriage with windows.”

  “I will give you two. But you are not going at once, are you?”

  “I am in a hurry. As it is, I am here too long.”

  “Then send your Tartars in advance to Krasnystav. I will hurry off a courier to have oats ready for them there, and will give you an escort of my own to that place. No evil can happen to you here, for this is my country. I will give you good men of the German dragoons, bold fellows and acquainted with the road. Besides, to Krasnystav the road is as if cut out with a sickle.”

  “But why am I to stay here?”

  “To remain longer with us; you are a dear guest. I should be glad to detain you a year. Meanwhile I shall send to the herds at Perespa; perhaps some horse will be found which will not fail you in need.”

  Kmita looked quickly into the eyes of his host; then, as if making a sudden decision, said,—

  “I thank you, I will remain, and will send on the Tartars.”

  He went straight to give them orders, and taking Akbah Ulan to one side he said,—

  “Akbah Ulan, you are to go to Krasnystav by the road, straight as if cut with a sickle. I stay here, and a day later will move after you with Zamoyski’s escort. Listen now to what I say! You will not go to Krasnystav, but strike into the first forest, not far from Zamost, so that a living soul may not know of you; and when you hear a shot on the highroad, hurry to me, for they are preparing some trick against me in this place.”

  “Your will,” said Akbah Ulan, placing his hand on his forehead, his mouth, and his breast.

  “I have seen through you, Pan Zamoyski,” said Kmita to himself. “In Zamost you are afraid of your sister therefore you wish to seize the young lady, and secret her somewhere in the neighborhood, and make of me the instrument of your desires, and who knows if not to take my life. But wait! You found a man keener than yourself; you will fall into your own trap!”

  In the evening Lieutenant Shurski knocked at Kmita’s door. This officer, too, knew something, and had his suspicions; and because he loved Anusia he preferred that she should depart, rather than fall into the power of Zamoyski. Still he did not dare to speak openly, and perhaps because he was not sure; but he wondered that Kmita had consented to send the Tartars on in advance; he declared that the roads were not so safe as was said, that everywhere armed bands were wandering,—hands swift to deeds of violence.

  Pan Andrei decided to feign that he divined nothing “What can happen to me?” asked he; “besides, Zamoyski gives me his own escort.”

  “Bah! Germans!”

  “Are they not reliable men?”

  “Is it possible to depend upon those dog-brothers ever? It has happened that after conspiring on the road they went over to the enemy.”

  “But there are no Swedes on this side of the Vistula.”

  “They are in Lublin, the dogs! It is not true that they have left. I advise you honestly not to send the Tartars in advance, for it is always safer in a large company.”

  “It is a pity that you did not inform me before. I have one tongue in my mouth, and an order given I never withdraw.”

  Next morning the Tartars moved on. Kmita was to follow toward evening, so as to pass the first night at Krasnystav. Two letters to Pan Sapyeha were given him,—one from the princess, the other from her brother.

  Kmita had a great desire to open the second, but he dared not; he looked at it, however, before the light, and saw that inside was blank paper. This discovery was proof to him that both the maiden and the letters were to be taken from him on the road.

  Meanwhile the horses came from Perespa, and Zamoyski presented the knight with a steed beautiful beyond admiration; the steed he received with thankfulness, thinking in his soul that he would ride farther on him than Zamoyski expected. He thought also of his Tartars, who must now be in the forest, and wild laughter seized him. At times again he was indignant in soul, and promised to give the master of Zamost a lesson.

  Finally the hour of dinner came, which passed in great gloom. Anusia had red eyes; the officers were in deep silence. Pan Zamoyski alone was cheerful, and gave orders to fill the goblets; Kmita emptied his, one after another. But when the hour of parting came, not many persons took leave of th
e travellers, for Zamoyski had sent the officers to their service. Anusia fell at the feet of the princess, and for a long time could not be removed from her; the princess herself had evident disquiet in her face. Perhaps she reproached herself in secret for permitting the departure of a faithful servant at a period when mishap might come easily. But the loud weeping of Michael, who held his fists to his eyes, crying like a school-boy, confirmed the proud lady in her conviction that it was needful to stifle the further growth of this boyish affection. Besides, she was quieted by the hope that in the family of Sapyeha the young lady would find protection, safety, and also the great fortune which was to settle her fate for the rest of her life.

  “I commit her to your virtue, bravery, and honor,” said the princess once more to Kmita; “and remember that you have sworn to me to conduct her to Pan Sapyeha without fail.”

  “I will take her as I would a glass, and in need will wind oakum around her, because I have given my word; death alone will prevent me from keeping it,” answered the knight.

  He gave his arm to Anusia, but she was angry and did not look at him; he had treated her rather slightingly, therefore she gave him her hand very haughtily, turning her face and head in another direction.

  She was sorry to depart, and fear seized her; but it was too late then to draw back.

  The moment came; they took their seats,—she in the carriage with her old servant, Panna Suvalski, he on his horse,—and they started. Twelve German horsemen surrounded the carriage and the wagon with Anusia’s effects. When at last the doors in the Warsaw gate squeaked and the rattle of wheels was heard on the drop-bridge, Anusia burst into loud weeping.

  Kmita bent toward the carriage. “Fear not, my lady, I will not eat you!”

  “Clown!” thought Anusia.

  They rode some time along the houses outside the walls, straight toward Old Zamost; then they entered fields and a pine-wood, which in those days stretched along a hilly country to the Bug on one side; on the other it extended, interrupted by villages, to Zavihost.

  Night had fallen, but very calm and clear; the road was marked by a silver line; only the rolling of the carriage and the tramp of the horses broke the silence.

  “My Tartars must be lurking here like wolves in a thicket,” thought Kmita.

  Then he bent his ear.

  “What is that?” asked he of the officer who was leading the escort.

  “A tramp! Some horseman is galloping after us!” answered the officer.

  He had barely finished speaking when a Cossack hurried up on a foaming horse, crying,—

  “Pan Babinich! Pan Babinich! A letter from Pan Zamoyski.”

  The retinue halted. The Cossack gave the letter to Kmita.

  Kmita broke the seal, and by the light of a lantern read as follows:—

  “Gracious and dearest Pan Babinich! Soon after the departure of Panna Borzobogati tidings came to us that the Swedes not only have not left Lublin, but that they intend to attack my Zamost. In view of this, further journeying and peregrination become inconvenient. Considering therefore the dangers to which a fair head might be exposed, we wish to have Panna Borzobogati in Zamost. Those same knights will bring her back; but you, who must be in haste to continue your journey, we do not wish to trouble uselessly. Announcing which will of ours to your grace, we beg you to give orders to the horseman according to our wishes.”

  “Still he is honest enough not to attack my life; he only wishes to make a fool of me,” thought Kmita. “But we shall soon see if there is a trap here or not.”

  Now Anusia put her head out of the window. “What is the matter?” asked she.

  “Nothing! Pan Zamoyski commends you once more to my bravery. Nothing more.”

  Here he turned to the driver,—

  “Forward!”

  The officer leading the horsemen reined in his horse. “Stop!” cried he to the driver. Then to Kmita, “Why move on?”

  “But why halt longer in the forest?” asked Kmita, with the face of a stupid rogue.

  “For you have received some order.”

  “And what is that to you? I have received, and that is why I command to move on.”

  “Stop!” repeated the officer.

  “Move on!” repeated Kmita.

  “What is this?” inquired Anusia again.

  “We will not go a step farther till I see the order!” said the officer, with decision.

  “You will not see the order, for it is not sent to you.”

  “Since you will not obey it, I will carry it out. You move on to Krasnystav, and have a care lest we give you something for the road, but we will go home with the lady.”

  Kmita only wished the officer to acknowledge that he knew the contents of the order; this proved with perfect certainty that the whole affair was a trick arranged in advance.

  “Move on with God!” repeated the officer now, with a threat.

  At that moment the horsemen began one after another to take out their sabres.

  “Oh, such sons! not to Zamost did you wish to take the maiden, but aside somewhere, so that Pan Zamoyski might give free reign to his wishes; but you have met with a more cunning man!” When Babinich had said this, he fired upward from a pistol.

  At this sound there was such an uproar in the forest, as if the shot had roused whole legions of wolves sleeping near by. The howl was heard in front, behind, from the sides. At once the tramp of horses sounded with the cracking of limbs breaking under their hoofs, and on the road were seen black groups of horsemen, who approached with unearthly howling.

  “Jesus! Mary! Joseph!” cried the terrified women in the carriage.

  Now the Tartars rushed up like a cloud; but Kmita restrained them with a triple cry, and turning to the astonished officer, began to boast,—

  “Know whom you have met! Pan Zamoyski wished to make a fool of me, a blind instrument. To you he intrusted the functions of a pander, which you undertook, Sir Officer for the favor of a master. How down to Zamoyski from Babinich, and tell him that the maiden will go safely to Pan Sapyeha.”

  The officer looked around with frightened glance, and saw the wild faces gazing with terrible eagerness on him and his men. It was evident that they were waiting only for a word to hurl themselves on the twelve horsemen and tear them in pieces.

  “Your grace, you will do what you wish, for we cannot manage superior power,” said he, with trembling voice “but Pan Zamoyski is able to avenge himself.”

  Kmita laughed. “Let him avenge himself on you; for had it not come out that you knew the contents of the order and had you not opposed the advance, I should not have been sure of the trick, and should have given you the maiden straightway. Tell the starosta to appoint a keener pander than you.”

  The calm tone with which Kmita said this assured the officer somewhat, at least on this point,—that death did not threaten either him or his troopers; therefore he breathed easily, and said,—

  “And must we return with nothing to Zamost?”

  “You will return with my letter, which will be written on the skin of each one of you.”

  “Your grace—”

  “Take them!” cried Kmita; and he seized the officer himself by the shoulder.

  An uproar and struggle began around the carriage. The shouts of the Tartars deadened the cries for assistance and the screams of terror coming from the breasts of the women.

  But the struggle did not last long, for a few minutes later the horsemen were lying on the road tied, one at the side of the other.

  Kmita gave command to flog them with bullock-skin whips, but not beyond measure, so that they might retain strength to walk back to Zamost. The common soldiers received one hundred, and the officer a hundred and fifty lashes, in spite of the prayers and entreaties of Anusia, who not knowing what was passing around her, and thinking that she had fallen into terrible h
ands, began to implore with joined palms and tearful eyes for her life.

  “Spare my life, knight! In what am I guilty before you? Spare me, spare me!”

  “Be quiet, young lady!” roared Kmita.

  “In what have I offended?”

  “Maybe you are in the plot yourself?”

  “In what plot? O God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

  “Then you did not know that Pan Zamoyski only permitted your departure apparently, so as to separate you from the princess and carry you off on the road, to make an attempt on your honor in some empty castle?”

  “O Jesus of Nazareth!” screamed Anusia.