“Ah, everything will be as lax as grandfather’s whip.”
The general rejoicing in Hreptyoff over Basia’s recovery was troubled only by the remembrance of the injury which Azya’s treason had wrought in the Commonwealth, and the terrible fate of old Pan Novoveski, of Pani and Panna Boski, and of Eva. Basia was troubled no little by this, and with her everyone; for the events at Rashkoff were known in detail, not only in Hreptyoff, but in Kamenyets and farther on. A few days before, Pan Myslishevski had stopped in Hreptyoff; notwithstanding the treason of Azya, Krychinski, and Adurovich, he did not lose hope of attracting to the Polish side the other captains. After Pan Myslishevski came Pan Bogush, and later, news directly from Mohiloff, Yampol, and Rashkoff itself.
In Mohiloff, Pan Gorzenski, evidently a better soldier than orator, did not let himself be deceived. Intercepting Azya’s orders to the Tartars whom he left behind, Pan Gorzenski fell upon them, with a handful of Mazovian infantry, and cut them down or took them prisoners; besides, he sent a warning to Yampol, through which that place was saved. The troops returned soon after. So Rashkoff was the only victim. Pan Michael received a letter from Pan Byaloglovski himself, giving a report of events there and other affairs relating to the whole Commonwealth.
“It is well that I returned,” wrote Pan Byaloglovski, among other things, “for Novoveski, my second, is not in a state now to do duty. He is more like a skeleton than a man, and we shall be sure to lose a great cavalier, for suffering has crushed him beyond the measure of his strength. His father is slain; his sister, in the last degree of shame, given to Adurovich by Azya, who took Panna Boski for himself. Nothing can be done for them, even should there be success in rescuing them from captivity. We know this from a Tartar who sprained his shoulder in crossing the river; taken prisoner by our men, he was put on the fire, and divulged everything. Azya, Krychinski, and Adurovich have gone to Adrianople. Novoveski is struggling to follow without fail, saying that he must take Azya, even from the centre of the Sultan’s camp, and have vengeance. He was always obstinate and daring, and there is no reason now to wonder at him, since it is a question of Panna Boski, whose evil fate we all bewail with tears, for she was a sweet maiden, and I do not know the man whose heart she did not win. But I restrain Novoveski, and tell him that Azya himself will come to him; for war is certain, and this also, that the hordes will move in the vanguard. We have news from Moldavia from the perkulabs, and from Turkish merchants as well, that troops are assembling already near Adrianople—a great many of the horde. The Turkish cavalry, which they call ‘spahis,’ are mustering too; and the Sultan himself is to come with the janissaries. My benefactor, there will be untold myriads of them; for the whole Orient is in movement, and we have only a handful of troops. Our whole hope is in the rock of Kamenyets, which, God grant, is provisioned properly. In Adrianople it is spring; and with us almost spring, for tremendous rains are falling and grass is appearing. I am going to Yampol; for Rashkoff is only a heap of ashes, and there is no place to incline one’s head, or anything to put into the mouth. Besides, I think that we shall be withdrawn from all the forts.”
The little knight had information of equal and even greater certainty, since it came from Hotin. He had sent it too a short time before to the hetman. Still, Byaloglovski’s letter, coming from the remotest boundary, made a powerful impression on him, precisely because it confirmed that intelligence. But the little knight had no fears touching war, his fears were for Basia.
“The order of the hetman to withdraw the garrisons may come any day,” said he to Zagloba; “and service is service. It will be necessary to move without delay; but Basia is in bed yet, and the weather is bad.”
“If ten orders were to come,” said Zagloba, “Basia is the main question; we will stay here until she recovers completely. Besides, the war will not begin before the end of the thaws, much less before the end of winter, especially as they will bring heavy artillery against Kamenyets.”
“That old volunteer is always sitting within you,” replied the little knight, with impatience; “you think an order may be delayed for private matters.”
“Well, if an order is dearer to you than Basia, pack her into a wagon and march. I know, I know, you are ready at command to put her in with forks, if it appears that she is unable to sit in the wagon with her own strength. May the hangman take you with such discipline! In old times a man did what he could, and what he couldn’t he didn’t do. You have kindness on your lips, but just let them cry, ‘Haida on the Turk!’ then you’ll spit out your kindness as you would a peachstone, and you will take that unfortunate woman on horseback with a lariat.”
“I without pity for Basia! Fear the wounds of the Crucified!” cried the little knight.
Zagloba puffed angrily for a time, then looking at the suffering face of Pan Michael, he said—
“Michael, you know that I say what I say out of love really parental for Basia. Otherwise would I be sitting here under the Turkish axe, instead of enjoying leisure in a safe place, which at my years no man could take ill of me? But who got Basia for you? If it shall be seen that it was not I, then command me to drink a vat of water without a
