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

came to the voevoda the words of Yeremi: “Kindness may be shown to the conquered alone.” Here again his thoughts fell into darkness, and the precipice yawned beneath his feet.

Meantime midnight was passing. The shouting and shots had decreased in some degree; the whistle of the wind rose in their place, the yard was filled with a snowdrift; the wearied crowds had evidently begun to disperse to their houses; hope entered the hearts of the commissioners.

Voitsekh Miaskovski, a chamberlain from Lvoff, rose from the bench, listened at the window to the drifting of the snow, and said⁠—

“It seems to me that with God’s favor we shall live till morning.”

“Perhaps too Hmelnitski will send more assistance, for we shall not reach our journey’s end with what we have now,” said Pan Smyarovski.

Pan Zelenski, the cupbearer from Bratslav, smiled bitterly: “Who would say that we are peace commissioners?”

“I have been an envoy more than once to the Tartars,” said the ensign of Novgrodek, “but such a mission as this I have not seen in my life. The Commonwealth endures more contempt in our persons than at Korsún and Pilavtsi. I say, gentlemen, let us return, for there is no use in thinking of negotiations.”

“Let us return,” repeated as an echo Pan Bjozovski, the castellan of Kiev; “there can be no peace; let there be war!”

Kisel raised his lids and fixed his glassy eyes on the castellan. “Jóltiya Vodi, Korsún, Pilavtsi!” said he, in hollow tones.

He was silent, and after him all were silent. But Pan Kulchinski, the treasurer of Kiev, began to repeat the rosary in an audible voice; and Pan Kjetovski, master of the chase, seized his head with both hands, and repeated⁠—

“What times, what times! God have mercy upon us!”

The door opened, and Bryshovski, captain of the dragoons of the bishop of Poznania, commander of the convoy, entered the room.

“Serene voevoda,” said he, “some Cossack wants to see the commissioners.”

“Very well,” answered Kisel; “has the crowd dispersed?”

“The people have gone away; they promised to return tomorrow.”

“Did they press on much?”

“Terribly, but Donyéts’ Cossacks killed a number of them. Tomorrow they promise to burn us.”

“Very well, let that Cossack enter.”

After a while the door was opened, and a certain tall, black-bearded figure appeared at the threshold of the room.

“Who are you?” asked Kisel.

“Yan Skshetuski, colonel of hussars of Prince Vishnyevetski, voevoda of Rus.”

The castellan Bjozovski, Pan Kulchinski, and the master of the chase Pan Kjetovski sprang from their seats. All of them had served the past year under the prince at Makhnovka and Konstantinoff, and knew Skshetuski perfectly. Kjetovski was even related to him.

“Is it true, is it true? Is this Pan Skshetuski?” repeated they.

“What are you doing here, and how did you reach us?” asked Kjetovski, taking him by the shoulder.

“In peasant’s disguise, as you see,” said Skshetuski.

“This,” cried Bjozovski to Kisel, “is the foremost knight in the army of the voevoda of Rus; he is famous throughout the whole army.”

“I greet him with thankful heart,” said Kisel, “and I see that he must be a man of great resolution, since he has forced his way to us.” Then to Skshetuski he said: “What do you wish of us?”

“That you permit me to go with you.”

“You are crawling into the jaws of the dragon, but if such is your wish we cannot oppose it.”

Skshetuski bowed in silence.

Kisel looked at him with astonishment. The severe face of the young knight, with its expression of dignity and suffering, struck him. “Tell me,” said he, “what causes drive you to this hell, to which no one comes of his own accord?”

“Misfortune, serene voevoda.”

“I have made a needless inquiry,” said Kisel. “You must have lost some of your relatives for whom you are looking?”

“I have.”

“Was it long since?”

“Last spring.”

“How is that, and you start only now on the search? Why, it is nearly a year! What were you doing in the mean while?”

“I was fighting under the voevoda of Rus.”

“Would not such a true man as he give you leave of absence?”

“I did not wish it myself.”

Kisel looked again at the young knight, and then followed a silence, interrupted by the castellan of Kiev.

“The misfortunes of this knight are known to all of us who served with the prince. We shed more than one tear over them, and it is the more praiseworthy on his part that he preferred to serve his country while the war lasted instead of seeking his own good. This is a rare example in these times of corruption.”

“If it shall appear that my word has any weight with Hmelnitski, then believe me I shall not spare it in your cause,” said Kisel.

Skshetuski bowed a second time.

“Go now and sleep,” said the voevoda, kindly; “for you must be wearied in no small degree, like all of us who have not had a moment’s rest.”

“I will take him to my quarters, for he is my relative,” said Kjetovski.

“Let us all go to rest; who knows whether we shall sleep tomorrow night?” said Bjozovski.

“Maybe an eternal sleep,” concluded the voevoda. Then he went to the small room, at the door of which his attendant was waiting, and afterward the others separated.

Kjetovski took Skshetuski to his quarters, which were some houses distant. His attendant preceded them with a lantern.

“What a dark night, and it howls louder every moment,” said Kjetovski. “Oh, Pan Yan, what a day we have passed! I thought the last judgment had come. The mob almost put the knife to our throats. Bjozovski’s arms grew weak, and we had already begun prayers for the dying.”

“I was in the crowd,” said Skshetuski. “Tomorrow evening they expect a new band of robbers to whom they sent word about you. We must leave here absolutely. But are you going to Kiev?”

“That depends on the answer of Hmelnitski, to whom Prince Chetvertinski has gone. Here are my quarters; come in, I pray you, Pan Yan! I have ordered