right is this," said the stranger, "that the king has intrusted to me the safety of the environs of Krakow, and they call me Powala of Taczew."
At these words, Macko and Zbyszko glanced at the knight, then returned to their scabbards the half drawn swords and dropped their heads, not because they were frightened but in respect for this famous and very well-known name. Powala of Taczew, a nobleman of a powerful family and a mighty lord, possessor of large estates round Radom, was at the same time one of the most famous knights in the kingdom. Rybalts sang about him in their songs, citing him as an example of honor and gallantry, praising his name as much as the names of Zawisza of Garbow and Farurej, Skarbek of Gora, Dobek of Olesnica, Janko Nanszan, Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, and Zandram of Maszkowic. At this moment he was the representative of the king, therefore to attack him was to put one's head under the executioner's axe.
Macko becoming cooler, said with deep respect:
"Honor and respect to you, sir, to your fame and to your gallantry."
"Honor to you also, sir," answered Powala; "but I would prefer to make your acquaintance under less serious circumstances."
"Why?" asked Macko.
Powala turned toward Zbyszko.
"What have you done, you youngster? You attacked an envoy on the public highway in the king's presence! Do you know the consequences of such an act?"
"He attacked the envoy because he was young and stupid; therefore action was easier for him than reflection," said Macko. "But you will not judge him so severely, after I tell you the whole story."
"It is not I who will judge him. My business is only to put him in fetters."
"How is that?" said Macko, looking gloomy again.
"According to the king's command."
Silence followed these words.
"He is a nobleman," said Macko finally.
"Let him swear then upon his knightly honor, that he will appear at the court."
"I swear!" exclaimed Zbyszko.
"Very well. What do they call you?"
Macko mentioned the name and the coat of arms of his nephew.
"If you belong to Princess Janusz' court, beg her to intercede for you with the king."
"We are not with her court. We are returning from Litwa, from Prince Witold. Better for us if we had never met any court! This misfortune has come from that."
Here Macko began to tell about what had happened in the inn; he spoke about the meeting with the princess and about Zbyszko's vow. Then suddenly he was filled with anger against Zbyszko, whose imprudence had caused their present dreadful plight; therefore, turning toward him, he exclaimed:
"I would have preferred to see you dead at Wilno! What have you done, you young of a wild boar!"
"Well," said Zbyszko, "after the vow, I prayed to the Lord Jesus to give me some Germans; I promised him a present; therefore when I perceived the peacock feathers, and also a mantle embroidered with a cross, immediately some voice cried within me: 'Strike the German! It is a miracle!' Well I rushed forward then; who would not have done it?"
"Listen," interrupted Powala, "I do not wish you any evil. I see clearly that this youngster sinned rather from youthful giddiness than from malice. I will be only too glad to ignore his deed and go forward as if nothing had happened. But I cannot do this unless that comthur will promise that he will not complain to the king. Beseech him; perhaps he also will pity the lad."
"I prefer to go before the courts, than to bow to a Krzyzak!"[30] exclaimed Zbyszko. "It would not be befitting my dignity as a wlodyka."
Powala of Taczew looked at him severely and said:
"You do not act wisely. Old people know better than you, what is right and what is befitting a knight's dignity. People have heard about me; but I tell you, that if I had acted as you have, I would not be ashamed to ask forgiveness for such an offence."
Zbyszko felt ashamed; but having glanced around, answered:
"The ground is level here. Instead of asking him for forgiveness, I would prefer to fight him on horseback or on foot, till death or slavery."
"You are stupid!" interrupted Macko. "You wish then to fight the envoy?"
Here he turned to Powala:
"You must excuse him, noble lord. He became wild during the war. It will be better if he does not speak to the German, because he may insult him. I will do it. I will entreat him to forgive. If this comthur be willing to settle it by combat, after his mission is over, I will meet him."
"He is a knight of a great family; he will not encounter everybody," answered Powala.
"What? Do I not wear a girdle and spurs? Even a prince may meet me."
"That is true; but do not tell him that, unless he mentions it himself; I am afraid he will become angry if you do. Well, may God help you!"
"I am going to humiliate myself for your sake," said Macko to Zbyszko; "wait awhile!"
He approached the Knight of the Cross who had remained motionless on his enormous stallion, looking like an iron statue, and had listened with the greatest indifference to the preceding conversation. Macko having learned German during the long wars, began to explain to the comthur in his own language what had happened; he excused the boy on account of his youth and violent temper, and said that it had seemed to the boy as though God himself had sent the knight wearing a peacock tuft, and finally he begged forgiveness for the offence.
The comthur's face did not move. Calm and haughty he looked at Macko with his steely eyes with great indifference, but also with great contempt. The wlodyka of Bogdaniec noticed this. His words continued to be courteous but his soul began to rebel. He talked with increasing constraint and his swarthy face flushed. It was evident that in the presence of this haughty pride, Macko was endeavoring to restrain his anger.
Powala having noticed this, and having a kind heart, determined to help Macko. He had learned to speak German while seeking knightly adventures at the Hungarian, Burgundian and Bohemian courts, when he was young. Therefore he now said in that language in a conciliatory but jesting tone:
"You see, sir, the noble comthur thinks that the whole affair is unimportant. Not only in our kingdom but in every country the youths are slightly crazy; but such a noble knight does not fight children, neither by sword nor by law."
Lichtenstein touched his yellow moustache and moved on without a word, passing Macko and Zbyszko.
A dreadful wrath began to raise the hair under their helmets, and their hands grasped their swords.
"Wait, you scoundrel!" said the elder wlodyka through his set teeth; "now I will make a vow to you. I will seek you as soon as you have finished your mission."
But Powala, whose heart began to bleed also, said:
"Wait! Now the princess must speak in favor of the boy; otherwise, woe to him!"
Having said this, he followed the Knight of the Cross, stopped him and for a while they talked with great
