With Fire And Sword Part 90

"You will thank me still more before long; and I will thank you for this, that you took the young woman from Rozlogi to Bar. There I found her; and I would ask you to the wedding, but it will not be to-day nor to-morrow,--there is war at present,--and you are an old man, perhaps you will not live to see it."

Zagloba, notwithstanding the terrible position in which he found himself, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. "To the wedding!" he muttered.

"But what did you think?" asked Bogun. "That I was a peasant, to constrain her without a priest, or not to insist on being married in Kieff. You brought her to Bar not for a peasant, but for an ataman and a hetman."

"Very good!" thought Zagloba. Then he turned his head to Bogun. "Give the order to unbind me," said he.

"Oh, lie awhile, lie awhile! You will go on a journey. You are an old man, and you need rest before the road."

"Where do you wish to take me?"

"You are my friend, so I will take you to my other friend, Krivonos.

Then we shall both think how to make it pleasant for you."

"It will be hot for me," muttered Zagloba; and again the ants were walking over his back. At last he began to speak:--

"I know that you are enraged at me; but unjustly, G.o.d knows. We lived together, and in Chigirin we drank more than one bottle. I had for you the love of a father for your knightly daring; a better love you did not find in the whole Ukraine. Isn't that true? In what way have I crossed your path? If I had not gone with you to Rozlogi, we should have lived to this day in kind friends.h.i.+p; and why did I go if not out of friends.h.i.+p for you? And if you had not become enraged, if you had not killed those unhappy people,--G.o.d is looking at me,--I should not have crossed your path. Why should I mix in other men's affairs? I would have preferred to see the girl yours; but through your Tartar courts.h.i.+p my conscience was moved, and besides it was a n.o.ble's house.

You yourself would not have acted otherwise. I might, moreover, have swept you out of the world with the greatest gain to myself. And why did I not do it? Because I am a n.o.ble. Be ashamed of yourself too, for I know you wish to take vengeance on me. As it is, you have the girl in your hands. What do you want of me? Have not I guarded as the eye in my head this your property? Since you have respected her it is to be seen that you have knightly honor and conscience; but how will you extend to her the hand which you steep in my innocent blood? How will you say to her, 'The man who led you through the mob and the Tartars I delivered to torment'? Have shame, and let me go from these bonds and from this captivity into which you have seized me by treachery. You are young, and know not what may meet you, and for my death G.o.d will punish you in that which is dearest to you."

Bogun rose from the bench, pale with rage, and approaching Zagloba, began to speak in a voice stifled with fury,--

"Unclean swine! I will have straps torn from you, I'll burn you on a slow fire, I'll drive spikes into you, I'll tear you into rags."

In an access of fury he grasped at the knife hanging from his belt, and for a moment pressed it convulsively in his hand. The edge was already gleaming in Zagloba's eyes, when the chief restrained himself, thrust the knife back into the scabbard, and cried: "Boys!"

Six Zaporojians came into the room.

"Take that Polish carrion, throw it into the stable, and guard it as the eye in your head!"

The Cossacks took Zagloba,--two by his hands and feet, one behind by the hair,--and carrying him out of the house bore him through the yard, and threw him on a dung-heap in the stable standing at one side. Then they closed the door. Complete darkness surrounded the prisoner, but in the cracks between the wall-planks and through holes in the thatch the dim light of night penetrated here and there. After a while Zagloba's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He looked around, and saw there were no pigs in the stable, nor Cossacks. The conversation of the latter, however, reached him clearly through all the four walls.

Evidently the whole building was surrounded closely; but in spite of these guards Zagloba drew a long breath.

First of all, he was alive. When Bogun flashed his knife above him he was convinced that his last moment had come, and he recommended his soul to G.o.d,--it is true with the greatest fear. But evidently Bogun decided to save him for a death incomparably more complicated. He desired not only to take revenge, but to glut himself with vengeance on the man who had stolen from him the beauty, belittled his Cossack glory, and covered him with ridicule, swaddling him like a baby. It was therefore a gloomy prospect for Pan Zagloba; but he was comforted by the thought that he was still living, that likely they would take him to Krivonos and begin to torture him there, and consequently he had a few, perhaps a number of days before him. In the mean while he lay in the stable alone, and could in the midst of the quiet night think of stratagems.

That was the one good side of the affair; but when he thought of the bad ones the ants began to travel over his spine in thousands.

"Stratagems! If a pig lay here in this stable, he would have more stratagems than I, for they would not tie him crosswise to a sabre. If Solomon had been bound in this way, he would have been no wiser than his trousers or my boot-heel. Oh, my G.o.d, my G.o.d, for what dost thou punish me? Of all people in the world I wanted most to avoid this scoundrel, and such is my luck that he is just the man I have not avoided. I shall have my skin dressed like sviboda cloth. If another had taken me, I might promise to join the rebellion and then run away.

But another would not have believed me, and this one least of all. I feel my heart dying within me. The devils have brought me to this place. Oh, my G.o.d! my G.o.d!"

But after a while Zagloba thought that if he had his hands and feet free, he might more easily use some stratagem. Well, let him try! If he could only push the sword from under his knees, the rest would go on more easily. But how was he to push it out? He turned on his side, he could do nothing; then he fell into deep thought.

Next he began to rock himself on his back with increasing rapidity, each moment pus.h.i.+ng himself half the length of his body ahead. He got heated; his forehead was in greater perspiration than during the dance.

At times he stopped and rested; at times he interrupted the work, for it appeared some one of the Cossacks was coming to the door; then he began with renewed ardor. At last he pushed himself forward to the wall.

After that he began to sway in another direction, not from head to foot, but from side to side, so that every time he struck lightly against the wall with the sabre, which was pushed in this way from under his knees, moving more and more toward the middle of the stable from the side of the hilt. Zagloba's heart began to beat like a hammer, for he saw that this method might be effectual.

He worked on, trying to strike with the least noise, and only when the conversation of the Cossacks was louder than the light blow. At last the moment came when the end of the sheath was on a line with his wrist and his knee, and further striking against the wall could not push it out. But hanging from the other side was a considerable and much heavier part of the sabre, taking into consideration the hilt with the cross usually on sabres. Zagloba counted on that cross.

He began to rock himself for the third time, but now the great object of his efforts was to turn himself with his feet toward the wall.

Attaining this, he began to push himself up with his feet. The sabre still clung under his knees and his hands, but the hilt became more and more involved in the uneven surface of the ground. At length the cross caught rather firmly. Zagloba pushed the last time. For a moment joy nailed him to the spot; the sabre had dropped out.

He removed his hands then from his knees, and though they were still bound he caught the sabre with them. He held the scabbard with his feet and drew out the blade. To cut the bonds on his feet was the work of a moment. It was more difficult in the case of his hands. He was obliged to put his sabre on the ground with the edge up, and draw the cords along the edge until he had cut them. When he had done this he was not only free from bonds, but armed. He drew a long breath, then made a sign of the cross and began to thank G.o.d.

But it was very far yet from the cutting of the bonds to the rescuing of himself from the hands of Bogun.

"What further?" asked Zagloba of himself.

He found no answer. The stable was surrounded by Cossacks; there were about a hundred. A mouse could not have pa.s.sed through un.o.bserved, and what could a man as bulky as Zagloba do?

"I see that I am beginning to come to the end of my resources," said he to himself. "My wit is only good to grease boots with, and you could buy better grease than it from the Hungarians at the fair. If G.o.d does not send me some idea, then I shall become roast meat for the crows; but if he does send me an idea, then I promise to remain in continence like Pan Longin."

The louder conversation of the Cossacks behind the wall interrupted his thoughts. He sprang up and put his ear to a crack between the timbers.

The dry pine gave back the voices like the sounding-board of a lute.

"And where shall we go from here, Father Ovsivuyu?" asked one voice.

"To Kamenyets, of course," said another.

"Nonsense! The horses can barely drag their legs; they will not get there."

"That's why we stop here; they will have rest by morning."

A moment of silence followed; then the first voice was heard lower than before. "And it seems to me, father, that the ataman is going from Kamenyets to Yampol."

Zagloba held his breath.

"Be silent if your young head is dear to you!" was the answer.

Another moment of silence, but from behind the other walls came whispering.

"They are all around, on the watch everywhere," muttered Zagloba; and he went to the opposite wall. Meanwhile were heard the noise of chewing oats and the snorting of horses evidently standing right there; among these horses the Cossacks were lying on the ground and talking, for their voices came from below.

"Ah!" said one, "we have come here without sleeping, eating, or feeding our horses, so as to go on the stake in the camp of Yeremi."

"The people who have fled from Yarmolintsi saw him as I see you. What they tell is a terror. He is as big as a pine-tree; in his forehead are two firebrands, and he has a dragon under him for a horse."

"Lord, have mercy on us!"

"We ought to take that Pole with the soldiers and be off."

"How be off, when as it is the horses are just dying?"

"A bad fix, brother! If I were the ataman, I would cut off the heads of those Poles, and go back to Kamenyets, even on foot."

"We will take him with us to Kamenyets, and there our ataman will play with him."

"The devils will play with you first!" muttered Zagloba.