Dance of Ravens 1

I am very late this morning; last night was a scorcher, and if I was asleep much before 3 I'll be surprised, an uneasy and uncomfortable night. I'm not complaining though, my tortoise is happy and it's nice not to hurt.  Minor discomfort can be lived with. I'll have a siesta in the garden in the shade later.

in this story some loose  ends are tied up, Milena finds herself, the extent of Filip's perfidy, a reliable man and a lot more confidence. There are Falcons as well because you can't keep them out of anything.

Chapter 1

The loose-limbed figure of the rider shook himself to get rid of the damp, which could not make up its mind if it was rain, sleet, or rather wet hail.

He had reached the village of Dolany, which seemed to be undergoing some renovations still this late in the year.  No, most of the houses looked sound, it was only the church still under renovation. And the priest and all the workmen stopping to stare at him.

He reined in, and the priest came over, as the traveller doffed his sodden hat to the church and crossed himself.

“Are you lost, my son?” asked the priest, looking over the scarred visage of the rider.

A touch of a smile ghosted over the rider’s lips.

“That depends if you mean spiritually or bodily, Father,” he replied.

“I try to do my best for both eventualities,” said the priest. “Are you looking for Lord Sokołowski?”

“Yes. He was looking for warriors to teach a number of youngsters.”

“Lord Sokołowski has taken upon himself the charge of caring for an unusually large number of szlachta orphans and bastards,” said Father Mateusz. “He has these lands attainted from traitors. And it so happens that there are more children than there are parents able to take them in. Two of my lord’s sisters-in-law assist with the small children, but there is need of a school.” He cocked his head on one side, laughter wrinkling at the side of his eyes as he added, “I hope you are not afraid of martial women, my lord; the Biały-Kruk women are quite as dangerous as the men.”

“White Raven are they?  Crazy as Cossacks, I heard.”

“I think any Cossack grants them best,” said Mateusz. The traveller raised an eyebrow. The priest laughed. “Oh, you’ll like them, I am sure,” he said. “Just be aware that their women do not play with weapons, those who learn; give them respect as warriors. As one szlachcic to another, to avoid embarrassment.”

“Really?”

“Really. But if you don’t take any notice of me you will soon learn. The quickest route to Sokolarnia, The Mews is down this street, take a dogleg left and it’s at the end of the road.”

“The Mews?”

“It houses our Falcons ...”

The stranger’s brows creased slightly in puzzlement.

“You speak in a way that suggests Sokołowski is loved; it surely cannot be the man I am thinking of?  Tall, part-Cossack, scar across the face, scowl like a thundercloud, evil grin when fighting,  wicked with two swords?”

“No longer wicked with two swords; he lost one arm to the traitor Zabiełło.”

“Ah! A tragedy.”

“Yes; but he is determined that his wife will equal or surpass him.”

“That cannot be easy for her.”

Mateusz laughed.

“Our lady-brother- sister protects us as much as our lord-brother does. I wouldn’t want to duel her ...uh, if my cloth did not preclude it anyway. She’s fast.  I’ve seen her work out with my lord-brother; she’s a worthy towarzysz.”  He added, “And yes, it is the same Sokołowski. I suspect there are many things you do not know about him.”

“Come on, Milena, you can do better than that.”

“You... cruel beast, Joasia ... “

“You wanted to learn enough to protect the little ones. I’m going to make you as good as you can be. You’re about twenty years too late but it’s never too late to learn something.”

“I know ...”

The traveller’s lip curled seeing a woman  at practice on the veranda, working out against a youth who was very, very good.  She was plainly having trouble. The priest did not know what he was talking about. What was Sokołowski thinking of? The woman was trying hard, poor thing. Sokołowski could be a relentless trainer. She was dressed in black; he would have assumed mourning but then Sokołowski liked the colour, so who knew?

The traveller dismounted and led his horse closer, bowing.

“Lady Sokołowska?” he said to the taller woman.

“Oh, no, I’m Milena Dobczykowa,” said Milena. “You want my little sister, lord ...?”

“Joachim Jędrowski. I was told Lord Sokołowski was looking for veterans to teach.”

Milena and Joanna regarded him with interest. He was not as tall as Władysław, but his loose-limbed appearance made him look taller than he was. He dismounted with a careless grace of one who lives in the saddle for much of the time, standing bare-headed, having doffed to Milena. His face had received  more severe damage at some point than Władysław’s, and one eye was white and sightless where it was crossed by the heavy burn scar. The other was brown. His hair was completely white, where it grew, the thick purplish scar running onto the left side of his head. Such white hair looked odd with his very dark moustache, which drooped on the side of the scar, and rose of its own accord on the other side. He was probably on the right side of forty, but it was hard to tell.

Joanna vaulted lightly over the railing to the veranda.

“I’ll show you to the stables and take you to my lord,” she said. “My sister will be pleased to rest; she has only been learning the sword for a couple of weeks, to help protect the children.”

“Who is going to attack children in the heart of Poland?” asked Jędrowski.  

“You say that, but you weren’t here for the attempt to blow up the dwór, the shootings, and other mayhem,” said Joanna.

“Queen of Poland!”

“She is our protector and guide,” said Joanna.

“So ... you are Lady Sokołowska’s brother?  And Sokołowski’s page?” the brat was grinning. Well, he’d soon sort him out in class if he turned out to be cheeky.   The boy must not think he would have special privileges for being the lord’s brother-in-law. He must still be a schoolboy. No more than thirteen, at a guess, maybe younger. The lip was shy of any growth.

The grooms in the stables showed the lad deference; but he accepted it with an easy grace, neither courting nor deprecating it.

“My Lord Jędrowski, you will like to change I expect; I will have a bath sent for you to warm up,” said Joanna. “If I give you half an hour, will that suffice? It is Friday, so my lord is busy with petitions and problems if you wish to take longer.”

“An hour would be welcome,” said Jędrowski, yearning for a hot bath.

“It shall be so,” said Joanna. “I’ll put you in a guest room for now in case you find it too challenging.”

“I doubt that,” said Jędrowski.

“I hope you are equal to it; Władek and I find ourselves run ragged trying to do it all ourselves.”

“What, he permits you to teach?”

A raise of one blonde eyebrow signified that the whelp considered it an odd question.

“I find myself quite able,” said Joanna, serenely.

“You know what you are doing, teaching a beginner swordplay.  You call Lord Sokołowski by his first name?”

Joanna chuckled.

“I wonder if I should tell you?” she said. “You had not asked my name, after all.”

“Very well; what is your name?”

“Joanna Sokołowska. Pray, make yourself at home,” she showed him into a guest room, and whirled off while he was still gaping.

After a moment’s intense embarrassment, Joachim laughed. The priest was right; the ... the lady was fast, and was clearly holding back when teaching her sister some basics.

Presently a bath and a stream of servants with hot water came in and soon he was sinking into deep, hot water.  The first adequate bath he had had since ... well it was hard to recall. Inns sometimes offered baths but they were rarely better than lukewarm  and never quite enough water. He revelled in the heat coursing through him, and then there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he asked, wondering if he had overstayed his time in the bath.

“My name’s Mestek, my lord; Mama sent me to light your fire and to say sorry for her that she didn’t do it before.”

“Come in, Mestek,” said Joachim, assuming that this was the housekeeper’s child with so outmoded a pet name.

The door opened, and a small figure slid in like an eel, shutting the door quickly to minimise draught. He hardly looked old enough to be lighting fires by himself! He also had on the kontusz of a szlachcic, and a properly tied sash, both in black with silver threads. His eyes were hazel, almost golden, and he had a fuzz of golden brown hair. He beamed broadly, displaying two gaps in his teeth. Seven years old or so, then.

The fire was already laid, and Joachim reflected he could have lit it himself; he must be too used to hardship. The boy tinkered with it a little, and then used the tinder-box with what looked to be the ease of long practice to light it.  He plainly knew what he was doing and soon a fire was roaring, the logs crackling.

The child stood on one leg, regarding Joachim.

“Assessing me to see if you want to keep me?” said Joachim.

“Something like that, my lord,” said Mestek.

“Well, frankness is refreshing,” said Joachim. “You know why I’ve come, then?”

“Yes, my lord.  You’re our lord-brother-teacher.  And you need to know that Papa made us all a promise when he rescued us, specially the ones who had bad parents like the Morski children.  He promised nobody would hit us with fists, or lock us in cupboards or outhouses or strike us on the face or give any spanking which drew blood. So I thought I’d save Papa the trouble by checking that with you myself.”

“Cocky little beast, aren’t you?” said Joachim, shocked.

Mestek beamed at me.

“Lord Aleksander calls me The Hetman,” he said.

“I can see why. And who is Papa?”

“Oh! I thought you had met Mama; I’m Mestek Sokołowski,” said Mestek. “I’m adopted; I’m one of the Zabiełło bastards but I can forget all about that and learn to be a crazy Cossack. I have a pony and we do tricks.”

“Of course you have a pony and do tricks; Władysław Sokołowski would beggar himself to make sure his offspring had a pony,” said Joachim. He could have kicked himself when the child looked alarmed. .

“I don’t think he did,” he said, sounding uncertain.

“No, he has lands; I only wanted to say that he’d consider it more important than luxuries for himself.”

“Mama and Papa are very aus... austere people,” said Mestek. “Can I get you anything else?”

“You can hand me the towel and tell your Mama that I am now getting out,” said Joachim. “Thank you for lighting the fire.”

“You’re welcome, my lord!” said Mestek, passing the towel and running off. He was careful with the door again on his way out, Joachim noted. Well, some cheekiness could be overlooked if there was also a helpful nature to go with it; the child was definitely not sly. More, he seemed to assume an air of authority in his father’s house, for being given responsibilities. And he was not too proud to do the work of a servant and light a fire.

Because Mama forgot.  And probably had other duties, unless the child volunteered to get a look at the new teacher.

Lady Sokołowska was waiting for him outside the door when he finished dressing. He gasped. As a boy she was a handsome little boy; as a woman, she was a beauty, dressed, he noted in approval, in their national fashion, not after the manner of the west.

“I do apologise about the fire,” she said. “If I had known you were coming, I’d have had it all warm and cheery. It seems profligate to heat rooms not in use and excess work for the servants, too. But it might be a good idea to keep one room ready. I hope you did not freeze too much?”

“The hot bath was welcome, thank you; and the room was not cold. I am not used to luxury.”

He was well-spoken with an unexpectedly soft voice and a lilt of Lithuanian in it. His clothes were of good quality, but repaired and old. Rather like Władysław’s had been.

“You fell on hard times?”

“You could say that.”

He was not going to be any more forthcoming than that. Joanna brought him to the hall where Władysław spent Friday afternoons listening to the problems of his people. They came in on the end of him berating a peasant.

“You’re an idiot, Pełk, you should have spoken to me before. I don’t bite; you could have spoken to me in church, or sent your boy with message that it was an emergency.  Good grief, it isn’t every day that some fool bird goes right through the thatch; and then your girl wouldn’t be ill now.  Wilk, collect Pełk’s daughter, and bring her up to the infirmary; she will be warmer here. Idzik, lad, tell Lady Milena to prepare a bed for the child. I’ll have the thatcher out within the hour.” He signed to another man who nodded and left.

“Yes, my lord,” said the boy dispatched to the lady.

That one really was a boy ... Joachim thought.

Sokołowski turned, and his eyes were dancing with golden flecks in the green, a whimsical smile on his mouth.

“That one really is a boy, yes,” he said. “One of our orphans; Idzik will be having lessons with you. His swordplay has been neglected; he was going to train as a physician like his father.”

“What happened?”

“He discovered that physicians can take life in crueller ways than warriors,” said Władysław. “We have damaged children here, my lord-brother; most of your pupils have suffered either bereavement or ill-treatment, Mestek as much as any, but he’s a sunny-natured child and philosophical about life.  Every now and then he says something which sets me off being angry at his grandsire again, but there’s no point worrying about it. He’s open enough. Idzik has problems to work through, but he and his brother seem to be able to talk. Their sister lives with her best friend, and the only child who troubles me seriously is the one who has had no cruelty in his life, indeed the reverse. Adam is shaking down, but he’s frankly a bit of a worm. Youngest child of a doting mother, who lost her husband when the boy was young. He fought with the Bar Confederation, the uprising against the King in mistaken defence of the Golden Rights of the Sarmatian way,” he added. “The older boys are fine, and none of our responsibility, thank goodness!  Paulina and Judyta are a little bit precious too, but Olek wants them to have an education. Both are also recently bereaved. Don’t worry about trying to get your head around families; there’s a sufficiency of adopted children to make it confused. Mieszko Zabiełło was a slut, and we have a dozen or so surviving offspring of his about the place. Mestek is one of them.”

“I ... it is a far cry from what I was expecting,” said Joachim.

“There’s still time to back out,” there was a faint look of derision on that hawk-face as Władysław almost sneered the words.

“I won’t back out,” said Joachim.  Mestek might be sunny-natured, but it could surely not be easy for children to have a grim guardian like Sokołowski!