With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕

he was in a hurry. In two or three days he carried out his orders, inspected the horses, paid Pan Tshaskovski, returned to Warsaw, and at the appointed time, yes, an hour earlier, he was at Lipki with Zagloba and Pan Kushel, whom he had asked to be his other second.

On arriving in front of the inn kept by a Jew, they entered to moisten their throats a little with mead and amuse themselves with conversation at the glass.

“Here, scald-head! is your master at the castle?” asked Zagloba of the innkeeper.

“He is away in the town.”

“Are there many nobles stopping in Lipki?”

“My house is empty. Only one has stopped with me, and he is sitting in the next room⁠—a rich man, with servants and horses.”

“And why did he not go to the castle?”

“Because it is evident he does not know our master. Besides, the place has been closed for a month past.”

“Maybe it is Kharlamp,” said Zagloba.

“No,” said Volodyovski.

“Well, Pan Michael, it seems to me that it is he. I’ll go and see who it is. Jew, has this gentleman been long here?”

“He came today, not two hours ago.”

“And don’t you know where he came from?”

“I do not; but it must be from a distance, for his horses are used up; his men said, from beyond the Vistula.”

“Why did he come here then to Lipki?”

“Who knows?”

“I’ll go and see,” repeated Zagloba; “perhaps it is some acquaintance.” Approaching the closed door of the room, he knocked with his sword-hilt and said: “Worthy sir, may I enter?”

“Who is there?” answered a voice within.

“A friend,” said Zagloba, opening the door. “Ah, begging your pardon, maybe I’m not in season,” he added, pushing his head into the room. He drew back suddenly, and slammed the door as if he had looked on death. On his face was depicted terror coupled with the greatest astonishment. His mouth was open, and he looked with vacant stare on Volodyovski and Kushel.

“What is the matter?” asked Volodyovski.

“By the wounds of Christ, be quiet!” said Zagloba. “Bogun is there!”

“Who? What’s happened to you?”

“There⁠—Bogun!”

Both officers rose to their feet.

“Have you lost your reason? Compose yourself! Who is it?”

“Bogun! Bogun!”

“Impossible!”

“As I live! As I stand before you here, I swear to you by God and all the saints.”

“Why are you so disturbed?” asked Volodyovski. “If he is there, then God has given him into our hands. Compose yourself! Are you sure that it is he?”

“As sure as that I am speaking to you, I saw him; he was changing his clothes.”

“And did he see you?”

“I don’t know; I think not.”

Volodyovski’s eyes gleamed like coals. “Jew,” whispered he, beckoning hurriedly with his hand. “This way! Are there doors from the room?”

“No, only through this room.”

“Kushel, you go under the window!” whispered Pan Michael. “Oh, he will not escape us this time!”

Kushel, without speaking a word, ran out of the room.

“Come to your senses,” said Volodyovski. “Not over you, but over his neck hangs destruction. What can he do to you? Nothing!”

“Nothing; but from astonishment I am unable to catch my breath.” And he thought to himself: “True, I have nothing to fear. Pan Michael is with me. Let Bogun be afraid!” And putting on a terribly savage look, he grasped the hilt of his sabre. “Pan Michael, he must not escape us.”

“But is it he?⁠—for still I can’t believe. What should he be doing here?”

“Hmelnitski has sent him as a spy; that is most certain. Wait! Pan Michael, we will seize him and lay down the condition that unless he gives up the princess, we will deliver him to justice. If he gives up the princess, then let the devil take him.”

“But are there not too few of us⁠—two, and Kushel? He will defend himself like a madman, and he has attendants also.”

“Kharlamp will come with two; there will be six of us. That’s enough; be quiet!”

At that moment the door opened, and Bogun entered the room. He could not have seen Zagloba looking into his room, for at the sight of him he quivered suddenly, a flush as it were went over his face, and his hand as quick as lightning rested on the hilt of his sabre; but all this lasted only the twinkle of an eye. The flush went from his face, which grew slightly pale.

Zagloba looked at him, and said nothing. The ataman also remained silent, and in the room a fly on the wing could be heard. Those two persons whose fates had crossed in such a wonderful manner pretended at the moment not to know each other. The interval was rather long; it appeared to Pan Michael that whole ages were passing.

“Jew,” said Bogun, all at once, “is it far from here to Zaborovo?”

“Not far,” answered the Jew. “Are you going now?”

“Yes,” said Bogun, and turned toward the door leading to the anteroom.

“With your permission,” sounded the voice of Zagloba.

The chief halted at once as if he had grown to the floor, and turning to Zagloba, fastened his dark and terrible eyes on him. “What do you wish?” asked he, curtly.

“It seems to me that we made acquaintance somewhere⁠—at a wedding on a farm in Russia, was it not?”

“Yes,” said the chief haughtily, putting his hand again on the hilt.

“How does your health serve you?” asked Zagloba. “For you rode off in such haste that I had no time to bid you farewell.”

“And were you sorry for that?”

“Of course I was sorry. We should have had a dance, and the company would have been larger.” Here Zagloba pointed to Volodyovski. “This is the cavalier who came in, and he would have been glad of a nearer acquaintance with you.”

“Enough of this!” shouted Pan Michael, rising suddenly. “I arrest you, traitor!”

“With what authority?” asked the ataman, raising his head haughtily.

“You are a rebel, an enemy of the Commonwealth, and have come here as a spy.”

“And who are you?”

“Oh, I will not explain that to you; but you won’t escape me!”

“We shall see,” said Bogun. “I should not