“As I see you, my master!”
“And spoke with him?”
“Why should I not speak with him, when we met at ‘The Mandrake’ not far from here? I was resting my horses, and he had stopped for the night. An hour would have been short for our talk. I complained of the Swedes, and he complained also of the Swedes—”
“Of the Swedes? He complained also?” asked Pan Yan.
“As of devils, though he was going among them.”
“Had he many troops?”
“He had no troops, only a few attendants; true, they were armed, and had such snouts that even those men who slaughtered the Holy Innocents at Herod’s command had not rougher or viler. He gave himself out as a small noble in pigskin boots, and said that he went with horses to the fairs. But though he had a number of horses, his story did not seem clear to me, for neither his person nor his bearing belonged to a horse-dealer, and I saw a fine ring on his finger,—this one.” Here Jendzian held a glittering stone before the listeners.
Zagloba struck himself on the side and cried: “Ah, you gypsied that out of him! By that alone might I know you, Jendzian, at the end of the world!”
“With permission of my master, I did not gypsy it; for I am a noble, not a gypsy, and feel myself the equal of any man, though I live on rented lands till I settle on my own. This ring Pan Kmita gave as a token that what he said was true; and very soon I will repeat his words faithfully to your graces, for it seems to me that in this case our skins are in question.”
“How is that?” asked Zagloba.