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

And he felt himself master of the Ukraine. The Zaporojians clung to him, for never under any man’s command had they so wallowed in blood and booty. A people wild by nature rallied to him; for while the peasant of Mazovia or of Great Poland bore without a murmur that burden of power and oppression which in all Europe weighed upon the “descendants of Ham,” the man of the Ukraine drew into himself with the air of the steppes a love of freedom as unbounded, wild, and vigorous as the steppes themselves. Could he wish to walk after the plough of a master when his gaze was lost in the fields of God, and not of a master; when beyond the Cataracts the Saitch called to him, “Leave your lord, and come to freedom!” when the stern Tartar taught him war, accustomed his eyes to conflagration and slaughter and his hands to weapons? Was it not pleasanter for him to frolic with Hmelnitski and “slay the lords” than to bend his proud back before a land steward?

Besides this, the people rallied to Hmelnitski, for whoever did not went into captivity. In Stamboul a prisoner was exchanged for ten arrows, and three for a bow seasoned by the fire⁠—such was the number of them! The multitude indeed had no choice; and one song, wonderful for that time, has remained, which long afterward succeeding generations sang of that leader called a Moses⁠—“Oh, that the first bullet might not miss that Hmelnitski!”

Villages, towns, and hamlets disappeared; the country was turned into a desert and a ruin⁠—a wound which ages were not able to heal. But that leader and hetman did not see this, or did not wish to see it; for he never saw anything by reason of himself, and he grew and fattened on blood and fire. In his own monstrous self-love he was destroying his own people and his own country; and now he brings in those commissioners to Pereyasláv with the thunder of cannon and the tolling of bells, as a separate ruler, as a hospodar, as a prince!

The commissioners went into the den of the lion hanging their heads, and the remnant of hope was quenched in them. Meanwhile Skshetuski, riding behind the second rank of sleighs, examined carefully the faces of the colonels who had come with Hmelnitski, to find among them Bogun. After fruitless search on the Dniester to a point beyond Yagorlik, the plan had long since matured in the soul of Pan Yan, as the last and only method, to find Bogun and challenge him to a death-struggle. The unfortunate knight knew, it is true, that in such a venture Bogun might destroy him without a struggle or give him up to the Tartars; but he thought better of Bogun. He was aware of his courage and mad daring, and was almost sure that, having the choice, he would fight for the princess. Therefore he formed the plan to bind Bogun by an oath that in case of his death he would let Helena go. Of himself Skshetuski did not care; and supposing that Bogun would say, “If I die, she is neither for me nor for you,” he was ready to agree to this and bind himself by oath, if he could only save her from the hands of the enemy. Let her seek peace in the cloister for the rest of her life. He would seek that peace first in war, and then if death did not come to him, would seek it under the habit, as did all suffering souls in that age. The way seemed to Skshetuski straight and clear; and since at Zamost the idea of a struggle with Bogun had been given, now that his search along the reeds of the Dniester was fruitless, that way seemed the only one. With this purpose he hurried from the Dniester in one journey, resting nowhere, hoping to find Bogun without fail either near Hmelnitski or in Kiev, especially since, according to what Zagloba had said in Yarmolintsi, the chief was to be married in Kiev with three hundred tapers.

But Skshetuski sought him in vain among the colonels. He found instead many old acquaintances of peace times⁠—such as Daidyalo, whom he had seen in Chigirin; Yashevski, who had been an envoy from the Saitch to the Prince; Yarosha, a former sotnik of the prince; Naókolopályets, Grusha, and many others. He determined then to ask them.

“We are old acquaintances,” said Skshetuski, approaching Yashevski.

“I knew you in Lubni; you are one of Prince Yeremi’s knights. We drank and frolicked together in Lubni. And what is your prince doing?”

“He is well.”

“In spring he will not be well. He hasn’t met Hmelnitski yet; but he will meet him, and will have to go to destruction alone.”

“As God judges.”

“God is good to our father Hmelnitski. Your prince will never return to his Tartar bank on the east of the Dnieper. Hmelnitski has many a Cossack, and what has your prince? He is a good soldier. And are you not in his service now?”

“I attend the commissioners.”

“Well, I am glad; you are an old acquaintance.”

“If you are glad, then do me a service, and I shall be thankful.”

“What service?”

“Tell me where is Bogun, that famous ataman, formerly of the Pereyasláv regiment, who must have a high office among you now.”

“Silence!” answered Yashevski, threateningly. “It is your luck that we are old acquaintances and that I drank with you, otherwise I should stretch you on the snow with this whirlbat.”

Skshetuski was astonished; but being a man of ready courage, he squeezed his baton and asked: “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad, nor do I wish to threaten you; but there is an order from Hmelnitski that if any of you, even one of the commissioners, should ask a question, to kill him on the spot. If I do not do this, another will; therefore I