“But do you not know that that has happened? In the centre between the four towers was a cap-shaped cupola; on a time such a lightning-flash struck this cupola that nothing remained of it. In the vault underneath lies the father of Prince Boguslav, Yanush—he who joined the mutiny against Sigismund III. His own haiduk laid open his skull, so that he died in vain, as he had lived in sin.”
“But what is that broad building which looks like a walled tent?” asked Pan Yan.
“That is the paper-mill founded by the prince; and at the side of it is a printing-office, in which heretical books are printed.”
“Tfu!” said Zagloba; “a pestilence on this place, where a man draws no air into his stomach but what is heretical! Lucifer might rule here as well as Radzivill.”
“Gracious sir,” answered Volodyovski, “abuse not Radzivill, for perhaps the country will soon owe its salvation to him.”
They rode farther in silence, gazing at the town and wondering at its good order; for the streets were all paved with stone, which was at that period a novelty.
After they had ridden through the market-square and the street of the castle, they saw on an eminence the lordly residence recently built by Prince Yanush—not fortified, it is true, but surpassing in size not only palaces but castles. The great pile was on a height, and looked on the town lying, as it were, at its feet. From both sides of the main building extended at right angles two lower wings, which formed a gigantic courtyard, closed in front with an iron railing fastened with long links. In the middle of the railing towered a strong walled gate; on it the arms of the Radzivills and the arms of the town of Kyedani, representing an eagle’s foot with a black wing on a golden field, and at the foot a horseshoe with three red crosses. In front of the gate were sentries and Scottish soldiers keeping guard for show, not for defence.
The hour was early, but there was movement already in the yard; for before the main building a regiment of dragoons in blue jackets and Swedish helmets was exercising. Just then the long line of men was motionless, with drawn rapiers; an officer riding in front said something to the soldiers. Around the line and farther on near the walls, a number of attendants in various colors gazed at the dragoons, making remarks and giving opinions to one another.
“As God is dear to me,” said Pan Michael, “that is Kharlamp drilling the regiment!”
“How!” cried Zagloba; “is he the same with whom you were going to fight a duel at Lipkovo?”
“The very same; but since that time we have lived in close friendship.”
“ ’Tis he,” said Zagloba; “I know him by his nose, which sticks out from under his helmet. It is well that visors have gone out of fashion, for that knight could not close any visor; he would need a special invention for his nose.”
That moment Pan Kharlamp, seeing Volodyovski, came to him at a trot. “How are you, Michael?” cried he. “It is well that you have come.”
“It is better that I meet you first. See, here is Pan Zagloba, whom you met in Lipkovo—no, before that in Syennitsy; and these are the Skshetuskis—Yan, captain of the king’s hussars, the hero of Zbaraj—”
“I see, then, as God is true, the greatest knight in Poland!” cried Kharlamp. “With the forehead, with the forehead!”
“And this is Stanislav Skshetuski, captain of Kalisk, who comes straight from Uistsie.”
“From Uistsie? So you saw a terrible disgrace. We know already what has happened.”
“It is just because such a thing happened that I have come, hoping that nothing like it will happen in this place.”
“You may be certain of that; Radzivill is not Opalinski.”
“We said the same at Upita yesterday.”
“I greet you, gentlemen, most joyfully in my own name and that of the prince. The prince will be glad to see such knights, for he needs them much. Come with me to the barracks, where my quarters are. You will need, of course, to change clothes and eat breakfast. I will go with you, for I have finished the drill.”
Pan Kharlamp hurried again to the line, and commanded in a quick, clear voice: “To the left! face—to the rear!”
Hoofs sounded on the pavement. The line broke into two; the halves broke again till there were four parts, which began to recede with slow step in the direction of the barracks.
“Good soldiers,” said Skshetuski, looking with skilled eye at the regular movements of the dragoons.
“Those are petty nobles and attendant boyars who serve in that arm,” answered Volodyovski.
“Oh, you could tell in a moment that they are not militia,” cried Pan Stanislav.
“But does Kharlamp command them,” asked Zagloba, “or am I mistaken? I remember that he served in the light-horse squadron and wore silver loops.”
“True,” answered Volodyovski; “but it is a couple of years since he took the dragoon regiment. He is an old soldier, and trained.”
Meanwhile Kharlamp, having dismissed the dragoons, returned to the knights. “I beg you, gentlemen, to follow me. Over there are the barracks, beyond the castle.”
Half an hour later the five were sitting over a bowl of heated beer, well whitened with cream, and were talking about the impending war.
“And what is to be heard here?” asked Pan Michael.
“With us something new may be heard every day, for people are lost in surmises and give out new reports all the time,” said Kharlamp. “But in truth the prince alone knows what is coming. He has something on his mind, for though he simulates gladness and is kind to people as never before, he is terribly thoughtful. In the night, they say, he does not sleep, but walks with heavy tread through all the chambers, talking audibly to himself, and in the daytime takes counsel for whole hours with Harasimovich.”
“Who is Harasimovich?” asked Volodyovski.
“The manager from Zabludovo in Podlyasye—a
