“At the stopping-places,” answered Kmita, jestingly, “I commanded my attendants to plough my skin with discipline, so as to drive out the less worthy motives, which have their seat under the skin, and which I confess were plaguing me worse than horseflies.”
“Ah, you see—Is she a worthy maiden?”
“Really so; and terribly pretty.”
“And the Turk was at hand?”
“But she is as honest as a nun; that I must say for her. And as to suffering I think that would come sooner from the Zamoyski guardianship than from you.”
Here Kmita told what had taken place and how. Then the hetman fell to clapping him on the shoulder and laughing—
“Well, you are a crafty fellow! Not in vain do they tell so much of Kmita. Have no fear! Pan Zamoyski is not a stubborn man, and he is my friend. His first anger will pass, and he will even laugh at it himself and reward you.”
“I need no reward!” interrupted Kmita.
“It is well that you have ambition and are not looking for favor. Only serve me against Boguslav, and you will not need to think of past outlawry.”
Sapyeha was astonished when he looked at the soldier’s face, which a moment before was so open and joyous. Kmita at mention of Boguslav grew pale in an instant, and his face took on wrinkles like the face of a dog, when preparing to bite.
“Would that the traitor were poisoned with his own spittle, if he could only fall into my hands before his death!” said he, gloomily.
“I do not wonder at your venom. Have a care, though, that your anger does not choke your adroitness, for you have to deal with no common man. It is well that the king sent you hither. You will attack Boguslav for me, as you once did Hovanski.”
“I will attack him better!” said Kmita, with the same gloom.
With this the conversation ended. Kmita went away to sleep in his quarters, for he was wearied from the road.
Meanwhile the news spread through the army that the king had sent the baton to their beloved chief. Joy burst out like a flame among thousands of men. The officers of various squadrons hurried to the quarters of the hetman. The sleeping town sprang up from its slumber. Bonfires were kindled. Standard-bearers came with their standards. Trumpets sounded and kettledrums thundered; discharges from muskets and cannon roared. Pan Sapyeha ordered a lordly feast, and they applauded the whole night through, drinking to the health of the king, the hetman, and to the coming victory over Boguslav.
Pan Andrei, as was agreed, was not present at the feast.
The hetman at the table began a conversation about Boguslav, and not telling who that officer was who had come with the Tartars and brought the baton, he spoke in general of the perversity of Boguslav.
“Both Radzivills,” said he, “were fond of intrigues, but Prince Boguslav goes beyond his dead cousin. You remember, gentlemen, Kmita, or at least you have heard of him. Now imagine to yourselves, what Boguslav reported—that Kmita offered to raise his hand on the king our lord—was not true.”
“Still Kmita helped Yanush to cut down good cavaliers.”
“It is true that he helped Yanush; but at last he saw what he was doing, and then not only did he leave the service, but as you know, being a man of daring, he attacked Boguslav. It was close work there for the young prince, and he barely escaped with his life from Kmita’s hands.”
“Kmita was a great soldier!” answered many voices.
“The prince through revenge invented against him a calumny at which the soul shudders.”
“The devil could not have invented a keener!”
“Do you know that I have in my hands proofs in black and white that that was revenge for the change in Kmita?”
“To put infamy in such a way on anyone’s name! Only Boguslav could do that! To sink such a soldier!”
“I have heard this,” continued the hetman: “Kmita, seeing that nothing remained for him to do in this region, hurried off to Chenstohova, rendered there famous services, and then defended the king with his own breast.”
Hearing this, the same soldiers who would have cut Kmita to pieces with their sabres began to speak of him more and more kindly.
“Kmita will not forgive the calumny, he is not such a man; he will fall on Boguslav.”
“Boguslav has insulted all soldiers, by casting such infamy on one of them.”
“Kmita was cruel and violent, but he was not a parricide.”
“He will have vengeance!”
“We will be first to take vengeance for him!”
“If you, serene great mighty hetman, guarantee this with your office, it must have been so.”
“It was so!” said the hetman.
And they lacked little of drinking Kmita’s health. But in truth there were very violent voices against this, especially among the former officers of Radzivill. Hearing these, the hetman said—
“And do you know, gentlemen, how this Kmita comes to my mind? Babinich, the king’s courier, resembles him much. At the first moment I was mistaken myself.”
Here Sapyeha began to look around with more severity and to speak with greater seriousness—
“Though Kmita were to come here himself, since he has changed, since he has defended a holy place with immense bravery, I should defend him with my office of hetman. I ask you therefore, gentlemen, to raise no disturbance here by reason of this newly arrived. I ask you to remember that he has come here by appointment of the king and the Khan. But especially do I recommend this to you who are captains in the general militia, for with you it is harder to preserve discipline.”
Whenever Sapyeha spoke thus, Zagloba alone dared to murmur, all others would
