"Well, Pan Kuklinovski," said he, "who is better, Kmita or Kuklinovski?" Then he seized the burning tow and took a step nearer. "Thy camp is distant one shot from a bow, thy thousand ruffians are within call, there is thy Swedish general a little beyond, and thou art hanging here from this same beam from which 'twas thy thought to roast me. Learn to know Kmita! Thou hadst the thought to be equal to Kmita, to belong to his company, to be compared with him? Thou cut-purse, thou low ruffian, terror of old women, thou offscouring of man. Lord Scoundrel of Scoundrelton! Wry-mouth, trash, slave! I might have thee cut up like a kid, like a capon; but I choose to roast thee alive as thou didst think to roast me."
Saying this, he raised the tow and applied it to the side of the hanging, hapless man; but he held it longer, until the odor of the burned flesh began to spread through the barn.
Kuklinovski writhed till the rope was swinging with him. His eyes, fastened on Kmita, expressed terrible pain and a dumb imploring for pity; from his gagged lips came woful groans; but war had hardened the heart of Pan Andrei, and there was no pity in him, above all, none for traitors.
Removing at last the tow from Kuklinovski's side, he put it for a while under his nose, rubbed with it his mustaches, his eyelashes, and his brows; then he said,
"I give thee thy life to meditate on Kmita. Thou wilt hang here till morning, and now pray to God that people find thee before thou art frozen."
Then he turned to Kosma and Damian. "To horse!" cried he, and went out of the barn.
Half an hour later around the four riders were quiet hills, silent and empty fields. The fresh breeze, not filled with smoke of powder, entered their lungs. Kmita rode ahead, the Kyemliches after him. They spoke in low voices. Pan Andrei was silent, or rather he was repeating in silence the morning "Our Father," for it was not long before dawn.
From time to time a hiss or even a low groan was rent from his lips, when his burned side pained him greatly. But at the same time he felt on horseback and free; and the thought that he had blown up the greatest siege gun, and besides that had torn himself from the hands of Kuklinovski and had wrought vengeance on him, filled Pan Andrei with such consolation that in view of it the pain was nothing.
Meanwhile a quiet dialogue between the father and the sons turned into a loud dispute.
"The money belt is good," said the greedy old man; "but where are the rings? He had rings on his fingers; in one was a stone worth twenty ducats."
"I forgot to take it," answered Kosma.
"I wish you were killed! Let the old man think of everything, and these rascals haven't wit for a copper! You forgot the rings, you thieves? You lie like dogs!"
"Then turn back, father, and look," muttered Damian.
"You lie, you thieves! You hide things. You wrong your old father, such sons! I wish that I had not begotten you. You will die without a blessing."
Kmita reined in his horse somewhat. "Come this way!" called he.
The dispute ceased, the Kyemliches hurried up, and they rode farther four abreast.
"And do you know the road to the Silesian boundary?" asked Pan Andrei.
"O Mother of God! we know, we know," answered the old man.
"There are no Swedish parties on the road?"
"No, for all are at Chenstohova, unless we might meet a single man; but God give us one!"
A moment of silence followed.
"Then you served with Kuklinovski?" asked Kmita.
"We did, for we thought that being near we might serve the holy monks and your grace, and so it has happened. We did not serve against the fortress, God save us from that! we took no pay unless we found something on Swedes."
"How on Swedes?"
"For we wanted to serve the Most Holy Lady even outside the walls; therefore we rode around the camp at night or in the daytime, as the Lord God gave us; and when any of the Swedes happened alone, then we that is O Refuge of sinners! we "
"Pounded him!" finished Kosma and Damian.
Kmita laughed. "Kuklinovski had good servants in you. But did he know about this?"
"He received a share, an income. He knew, and the scoundrel commanded us to give a thaler a head. Otherwise he threatened to betray us. Such a robber, he wronged poor men! And we have kept faith with your grace, for not such is service with you. Your grace adds besides of your own; but he, a thaler a head, for our toil, for our labor. On him may God "
"I will reward you abundantly for what you have done," said Kmita. "I did not expect this of you."
The distant sound of guns interrupted further words. Evidently the Swedes had begun to fire with the first dawn. After a while the roar increased. Kmita stopped his horse; it seemed to him that he distinguished the sound of the fortress cannon from the cannon of the Swedes, therefore he clinched his fist, and threatening with it in the direction of the enemies' camp said,
"Fire away, fire away! Where is your greatest gun now?"
CHAPTER V
The bursting of the gigantic culverin had really a crushing effect upon Miller, for all his hopes had rested hitherto on that gun. Infantry were ready for the assault, ladders and piles of fascines were collected; but now it was necessary to abandon all thought of a storm.
The plan of blowing up the cloister by means of mines came also to nothing. Miners brought in previously from Olkush split, it is true, the rock, and approached on a diagonal to the cloister; but work progressed slowly. The workmen, in spite of every precaution, fell frequently from the guns of the church, and labored unwillingly. Many of them preferred to die rather than aid in the destruction of a sacred place.
Miller felt a daily increasing opposition. The frost took away the remnant of courage from his unwilling troops, among whom terror was spreading from day to day with a belief that the capture of the cloister did not lie within human power.
Finally Miller himself began to lose hope, and after the bursting of the gun he was simply in despair; a feeling of helplessness and impotence took possession of him. Next morning he called a council, but he called it with the secret wish to hear from officers encouragement to abandon the fortress.
They began to assemble, all wearied and gloomy. In silence they took their places around a table in an enormous and cold room, in which the steam from their breaths stood before their faces, and they looked from behind it as from behind a cloud. Each one felt in his soul exhaustion and weariness; each one said to himself: "There is no counsel to give save one, which it is better for no man to be the first to give." All waited for what Miller would say. He ordered first of all to bring plenty of heated wine, hoping that under the influence of warm drink it would be easier to obtain a real thought from those silent figures, and encouragement to retreat from the fortress.
At last, when he supposed that the wine had produced its effect, he spoke in the following words
"Have you noticed, gentlemen, that none of the Polish colonels have come to this council, though I summoned them all?"
"It is known of course to your worthiness that servants of the Polish squadron have, while fishing, found silver belonging to the cloister, and that they fought for it with our soldiers. More than ten men have been cut down."
"I know; I succeeded in snatching a part of that silver from their hands, indeed the greater part. It is here now, and I am thinking what to do with it."
"This is surely the cause of the anger of the Polish colonels. They say that if the Poles found the silver, it belongs to the Poles."
"That's a reason!" cried Count Veyhard.