Frequently these were detachments as if from the army of Zolotarenko, but really recognizing no authority—simply robber companies, so called “parties” commanded at times even by local bandits. Avoiding engagements in the field with troops and even with townspeople, they attacked small villages, single houses, and travellers.
The nobles on their own account attacked these parties with their household servants, and ornamented with them the pine-trees along the roads; still it was easy in the forest to stumble upon their frequent bands, and therefore Pan Andrei was forced to exercise uncommon care.
But somewhat beyond Pilvishki on the Sheshupa, Kmita found the population living quietly in their homes. The townspeople told him, however, that not longer than a couple of days before, a strong band of Zolotarenko’s men, numbering as many as five hundred, had made an attack, and would, according to their custom, have cut down all the people, and let the place rise in smoke, were it not for unexpected aid which fell as it were from heaven.
“We had already committed ourselves to God,” said the master of the inn in which Pan Andrei had taken lodgings, “when the saints of the Lord sent some squadrons. We thought at first that a new enemy had come, but they were ours. They sprang at once on Zolotarenko’s ruffians, and in an hour they laid them out like a pavement, all the more easily as we helped them.”
“What kind of a squadron was it?” asked Kmita.
“God give them health! They did not say who they were, and we did not dare to ask. They fed their horses, took what hay and bread there was, and rode away.”
“But whence did they come, and whither did they go?”
“They came from Kozlova Ruda, and they went to the south. We, who before that wished to flee to the woods, thought the matter over and stayed here, for the under-starosta said that after such a lesson the enemy would not look in on us again soon.”
The news of the battle interested Kmita greatly, therefore he asked further: “And do you not know who commanded that squadron?”
“We do not know; but we saw the colonel, for he talked with us on the square, he is young, and sharp as a needle. He does not look like the warrior that he is.”
“Volodyovski!” cried Kmita.
“Whether he is Volodyovski, or not, may his hands be holy, may God make him hetman!”
Pan Andrei fell into deep thought. Evidently he was going by the same road over which a few days before Volodyovski had marched with the Lauda men. In fact, that was natural, for both were going to Podlyasye. But it occurred to Pan Andrei that if he hastened he might easily meet the little knight and be captured; in that case, all the letters of Radzivill would fall with him into possession of the confederates. Such an event might destroy his mission, and bring God knows what harm to the cause of Radzivill. For this reason Pan Andrei determined to stay a couple of days in Pilvishki, so that the squadron of Lauda might have time to advance as far as possible.
The men, as well as the horses, travelling almost with one sweep from Kyedani (for only short halts had been given on the road hitherto), needed rest; therefore Kmita ordered the soldiers to remove the packs from the horses and settle themselves comfortably in the inn.
Next day he was convinced that he had acted not only cleverly but wisely, for scarcely had he dressed in the morning, when his host stood before him.
“I bring news to your grace,” said he.
“It is good?”
“Neither good nor bad, but that we have guests. An enormous court arrived here today, and stopped at the starosta’s house. There is a regiment of infantry, and what crowds of cavalry and carriages with servants!—The people thought that the king himself had come.”
“What king?”
The innkeeper began to turn his cap in his hand. “It is true that we have two kings now, but neither one came—only the prince marshal.”
Kmita sprang to his feet. “What prince marshal? Prince Boguslav?”
“Yes, your grace; the cousin of the prince voevoda of Vilna.”
Pan Andrei clapped his hands from astonishment. “And so we have met.”
The innkeeper, understanding that his guest was an acquaintance of Prince Boguslav, made a lower bow than the day before, and went out of the room; but Kmita began to dress in haste, and an hour later was before the house of the starosta.
The whole place was swarming with soldiers. The infantry were stacking their muskets on the square; the cavalry had dismounted and occupied the houses at the side. The soldiers and attendants in the most varied costumes had halted before the houses, or were walking along the streets. From the mouths of the officers were to be heard French and German. Nowhere a Polish soldier, nowhere a Polish uniform; the musketeers and dragoons were dressed in strange fashion, different, indeed, from the foreign squadrons which Pan Andrei had seen in Kyedani, for they were not in German but in French style. The soldiers, handsome men and so showy that each one in the ranks might be taken for an officer, delighted the eyes of Pan Andrei. The officers looked on him also with curiosity, for he had arrayed himself richly in velvet and brocade, and six men, dressed in new uniforms, followed him as a suite.
Attendants, all dressed in French fashion, were hurrying about in front of the starosta’s house; there were pages in caps and feathers, armor-bearers in velvet kaftans, and equerries in Swedish, high, wide-legged boots.
Evidently the prince did not intend to tarry long in Pilvishki, and had stopped only for refreshment, for the carriages were not taken to the shed; and the equerries, in waiting, were feeding horses out of tin sieves which they held in their hands.
Kmita announced to an officer on
