Pani Boski wept without ceasing during the reading of the letter; and Zosia accompanied her, raising her blue eyes to heaven. Meanwhile, and before Pan Michael had finished, Basia ran in, dressed in woman’s garments; and seeing tears in the eyes of the ladies, began to inquire with sympathy what the matter was. Therefore Pan Michael read the hetman’s letter for her; and when she had listened to it carefully, she supported at once and with eagerness the prayers of the hetman and Pani Boski.
“The hetman has a golden heart,” cried Basia, embracing her husband; “but we shall not show a worse one, Michael. Pani Boski will stay with us till her husband’s return, and you will bring him in three months from the Crimea. In three or in two, is it not true?”
“Or tomorrow, or in an hour!” said Pan Michael, bantering. Here he turned to Pani Boski, “Decisions, as you see, are quick with my wife.”
“May God bless her for that!” said Pani Boski. “Zosia, kiss the hand of the lady commandress.”
But the lady commandress did not think of giving her hands to be kissed; she embraced Zosia again, for in some way they pleased each other at once. “Help us, gracious gentlemen,” cried she. “Help us, and quickly!”
“Quickly, for her head is burning!” muttered Zagloba.
But Basia, shaking her yellow forelock, said, “Not my head, but the hearts of those gentlemen are burning from sorrow.”
“No one will oppose your honest intention,” said Pan Michael; “but first we must hear Pani Boski’s story in detail.”
“Zosia, tell everything as it was, for I cannot, from tears,” said the matron.
Zosia dropped her eyes toward the floor, covering them entirely with the lids; then she became as red as a cherry, not knowing how to begin, and was greatly abashed at having to speak in such a numerous assembly.
But Basia came to her aid. “Zosia, and when did they take Pan Boski captive?”
“Five years ago, in 1667,” said Zosia, with a thin voice, without raising the long lashes from her eyes. And she began in one breath to tell the story: “There were no raids to be heard of at that time, and papa’s squadron was near Panyovtsi. Papa, with Pan Bulayovski, was looking after men who were herding cattle in the meadows, and the Tartars came then on the Wallachian road, and took papa, with Pan Bulayovski; but Pan Bulayovski returned two years ago, and papa has not returned.”
Here two tears began to flow down Zosia’s cheeks, so that Zagloba was moved at sight of them, and said, “Poor girl! Do not fear, child; papa will return, and will dance yet at your wedding.”
“But did the hetman write to Pan Zlotnitski through Pyotrovich?” inquired Volodyovski.
“The hetman wrote about papa to the sword-bearer of Poznan,” recited Zosia; “and the sword-bearer and Pan Pyotrovich found papa with Aga Murza Bey.”
“In God’s name! I know that Murza Bey. I was in brotherhood with his brother,” said Volodyovski. “Would he not give up Pan Boski?”
“There was a command of the Khan to give up papa; but Murza Bey is severe, cruel. He hid papa, and told Pan Pyotrovich that he had sold him long before into Asia. But other captives told Pan Pyotrovich that that was not true, and that the murza only said that purposely, so that he might abuse papa longer; for he is the cruellest of all the Tartars toward prisoners. Perhaps papa was not in the Crimea then; for the murza has his own galleys, and needs men for rowing. But papa was not sold; all the prisoners said that the murza would rather kill a prisoner than sell him.”
“Holy truth!” said Pan Mushalski. “They know that Murza Bey in the whole Crimea. He is a very rich Tartar, but wonderfully venomous against our people, for four brothers of his fell in campaigns against us.”
“But has he never formed brotherhood among our people?” asked Pan Michael.
“It is doubtful!” answered the officers from every side.
“Tell me once what that brotherhood is,” said Basia.
“You see,” said Zagloba, “when negotiations are begun at the end of war, men from both armies visit one another and enter into friendship. It happens then that an officer inclines to himself a murza, and a murza an officer; then they vow to each other life-friendship, which they call brotherhood. The more famous a man is, as Michael, for instance, or I, or Pan Rushchyts, who holds command in Rashkoff now, the more is his brotherhood sought. It is clear that such a man will not conclude brotherhood with some common fellow, but will seek it only among the most renowned murzas. The custom is this—they pour water on their sabres and swear mutual friendship; do you understand?”
“And how if it comes to war afterward?”
“They can fight in a general war; but if they meet alone, if they are attacking as skirmishers, they will greet each other, and depart in friendship. Also if one of them falls into captivity, the other is bound to alleviate it, and in the worst case to ransom him; indeed, there have been some who shared their property with brothers. When it is a question of friends or acquaintances, or of finding someone, brothers go to brothers; and justice commands us to acknowledge that no people observe such oaths better than the Tartars. The word is the main thing with them, and, such a friend you can trust certainly.”
“But has Michael many such?”
“I have three powerful murzas,” answered Volodyovski; “and one of them is from Lubni times. Once I begged him of Prince Yeremi. Aga Bey is his name; and even now, if he had to lay his head down for me, he would lay it down. The other two are equally reliable.”
“Ah,” said Basia, “I should like to conclude brotherhood with the Khan himself, and free all the prisoners.”
“He would
