“Your grace,” said he, “must go through the whole Commonwealth to reach the king. Swedish troops are nothing, for we may avoid the towns and go through the woods; but the worst is that the woods, as is usual in unquiet times, are full of parties of freebooters, who fall upon travellers; and your grace has few men.”
“You will go with me, Pan Kyemlich, and your sons and the men whom you have; there will be more of us.”
“If your grace commands I will go, but I am a poor man. Only misery with us; nothing more. How can I leave even this poverty and the roof over my head?”
“Whatever you do will be paid for; and for you it is better to take your head out of this place while it is yet on your shoulders.”
“All the Saints of the Lord! What does your grace say? How is that? What threatens me, innocent man, in this place? Whom do we hinder?”
“I know you robbers!” answered Pan Andrei. “You had partnership with Kopystynski, and killed him; then you ran away from the courts, you served with me, you took away my captured horses.”
“As true as life! O Mighty Lady!” cried the old man.
“Wait and be silent! Then you returned to your old lair, and began to ravage in the neighborhood like robbers, taking horses and booty everywhere. Do not deny it, for I am not your judge, and you know best whether I tell the truth. If you take the horses of Zolotarenko, that is well; if the horses of the Swedes, that is well. If they catch you they will flay you; but that is their affair.”
“True, true; but we take only from the enemy,” said the old man.
“Untrue; for you attack your own people, as your sons have confessed to me, and that is simple robbery, and a stain on the name of a noble. Shame on you, robbers! you should be peasants, not nobles.”
“Your grace wrongs us,” said old fox, growing red, “for we, remembering our station, do no peasant deed. We do not take horses at night from any man’s stable. It is something different to drive a herd from the fields, or to capture horses. This is permitted, and there is no prejudice to a noble therefrom in time of war. But a horse in a stable is sacred; and only a gypsy, a Jew, or a peasant would steal from a stable—not a noble. We, your grace, do not do that. But war is war!”
“Though there were ten wars, only in battle can plunder be taken; if you seek it on the road, you are robbers.”
“God is witness to our innocence.”
“But you have brewed beer here. In few words, it is better for you to leave this place, for sooner or later the halter will take you. Come with me; you will wash away your sins with faithful service and win honor. I will receive you to my service, in which there will be more profit than in those horses.”
“We will go with your grace everywhere; we will guide you through the Swedes and through the robbers—for true is the speech of your grace, that evil people persecute us here terribly, and for what? For our poverty—for nothing but our poverty. Perhaps God will take pity on us, and save us from suffering.”
Here old Kyemlich rubbed his hands mechanically, and his eyes glittered. “From these works,” thought he, “it will boil in the country as in a kettle, and foolish the man who takes no advantage.”
Kmita looked at him quickly. “Only don’t try to betray me!” said he, threateningly, “for you will not be able, and the hand of God only could save you.”
“We have never betrayed,” answered Kyemlich, gloomily, “and may God condemn me if such a thought entered my head.”
“I believe you,” said Kmita, after a short silence, “for treason is something different from robbery; no robber will betray.”
“What does your grace command now?” asked Kyemlich.
“First, here are two letters, requiring quick delivery. Have you sharp men?”
“Where must they go?”
“Let one go to the prince voevoda, but without seeing Radzivill himself. Let him deliver the letter in the first squadron of the prince, and come back without awaiting an answer.”
“The pitch-maker will go; he is a sharp man and experienced.”
“He will do. The second letter must be taken to Podlyasye; inquire for Pan Volodyovski’s Lauda squadron, and give it into the hands of the colonel himself.”
The old man began to mutter cunningly, and thought, “I see work on every side; since he is sniffing with the confederates there will be boiling water—there will be, there will be!”
“Your grace,” said he, aloud, “if there is not such a hurry with this letter, when we leave the forest it perhaps might be given to some man on the road. There are many nobles here friendly to the confederates; anyone would take it willingly, and one man more would remain to us.”
“You have calculated shrewdly,” answered Kmita, “for it is better that he who delivers the letter should not know from whom he takes it. Shall we go out of the forest soon?”
“As your grace wishes. We can go out in two weeks, or tomorrow.”
“Of that later; but now listen to me carefully, Kyemlich.”
“I am attending with all my mind, your grace.”
“They have denounced me in the whole Commonwealth as a tyrant, as devoted to the hetman, or altogether to Sweden. If the king knew
