Bazyli

As I had interest expressed in Bazyli having a HEA here is what happened when Serafina's socially inept cousin is introduced to him as a page by Serafina's reprehensible if laconic Ulan.  Matters military, border incursions, foul weather and of course irritating people abound.

Chapter 1 

“Serafina, please, you have to help me, I have nobody to turn to anymore!”

Serafina Jastrzębska regarded her distraught cousin, and turned to the butler who had shown in the dishevelled figure.

“Prepare a room for my cousin, and have tea sent to us. I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone save my husband when he comes home.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the butler, who thought his lady had adapted very well to the high lifestyle and who was an excellent match for his laconic master. The under chambermaid was going to have her ears boxed for suggesting this young cousin was an old flame of the lady and likely to steal her away. Steal her away!  As if Lord Wojsław and Lady Serafina weren’t all over each other like a rash, really sweet it was. And nice of his lordship’s friends, the Sokołowscy, to rescue them from the fool ideas of the lady’s mother.  He hastened off to make tea and give orders for a guest room to be prepared for a young szlachcic. He took the time to reprove the stupid wench whose fool ideas were dangerous if gossiped about, and to inform that young person in frigid tones that her ladyship was looking forward to introducing the young gentleman to her husband.

Ela might be heard to mutter mutinously that the cousins had hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks with enough enthusiasm for anyone to draw some conclusions about them, and was informed that any close relatives might act so, so long as it was only cheeks not lips and a foundling brat raised up to work for decent folk should not display her ignorance about family feelings of those who had them.

Ela, much chastened by this, subsided, as she genuinely adored her mistress, and only worried in a partisan sort of way that the master was so laconic and undemonstrative that he did not show her enough love, making her seek affection elsewhere. Ela  was not as observant of body language as Bartosik, the butler, nor as privy to the times the young couple were together. 

Bartosik brought in tea.

“You will, I hope, forgive me, my lady, if  I mention that as most of the servants are convinced that the szlachcianka is a szlachcic, I have seen no cause to disillusion them of this misapprehension without further instruction from yourself.”

“Oh, very good, Bartosik,” said Serafina.  “This depends much on my cousin, who could scarcely ride one hundred and eighty miles as a szlachcianka.”

“No, my lady, quite so,” said Bartosik. “But my lady will have to decide by what name she is to be known, and my lady will have to be aware if bathing that she will have to do so without aid, since it would be ineligible for even a sister to remain with her.”

“What an excellent fellow you are,” said Serafina’s cousin. “And I am aware that I smell rather pungent. I will like a bath.  I’m living as Jaromir Czerny, my name’s Jaromira. Thank you for keeping my secret. I ... I am embarrassed to be unable to say thank you materially ...”

“Do not worry about it ... my lord,” said Bartosik. “I will have water heated in the bath house immediately, and I will sit guard outside myself.”

“Thank you,” said Jaromira.

Bartosik withdrew.

“And now, tell me what is going on,” said Serafina. She regarded her cousin carefully; Jaromira was a couple of years older than she was, and had been content to help on her father’s farm without marrying. She was as golden-haired as Serafina, and had the same leaf-green eyes, the legacy of their fathers, who were brothers. Jaromira had cut her hair roughly, and was wearing her father’s clothes, which at least did not show as much for being in a slightly old-fashioned cut as it would have done if the family had dressed western style, not Sarmatian. She looked haggard from strain.

“Oh, Serafina, Papa died,” said Jaromira. “And you know that our little farm occupies a corner of land which would make it easier for Lord Dzikowski to get from one part of his holdings to another; Papa always permitted him right of way, because it was easier than having him ruin us, but when Papa died, he said the best solution was to marry me!”

Serafina made a sound of disgust.

“Didn’t you go to my Mama?” she asked.

“Well, yes, and your mother said it was an excellent solution for me, as I was already twenty years old, to marry such an excellent prospect.”

“Oh dear,” said Serafina. “She already knows my opinion when she suggested him to me, before we came to Warszawa. I said that I would not marry him if he was the last man alive and would kill all my sisters and myself to stop any of us being sacrificed to him. He may be fairly young, at thirty, and superficially good looking but he’s a wild beast even when he isn’t drunk.”

“Exactly,” said Jaromira. “So I thought the best thing I could do was to flee to you and ... and join the Ulans.”

“Funny you should say that,” said Serafina. “Do you remember I wrote to you about the sweet little boy, the page, Bronek, who danced with me and got me noticed by my Wojsław?  Well Bronek is no other than Lady Sokołowska. Go and bathe; and Wojsław will know what to do.”   She paused. “No, I’m going to cut your hair properly first. Sit on that stool.”

“You have come out of your shell,” said Jaromira. “Your Wojsław must be good for you.  I take back what I have said about marriage breaking a woman’s will.”

“Your mother was broken by the land, not your father, and he raised you to be a son,” said Serafina. “And oh! How I always admired you when we were growing up, even though Mama did not like us being friends. But you could pass as a page. And I’ve a mind to play a joke on another friend, well cousin, of the Sokołowscy whom Joanna has mentioned, but I’ll talk to Wojsław about it.”

“I am in your hands, my dear little cousin, and ready to trust anyone who makes your eyes sparkle the way your Ulan does,” said Jaromira.

More neatly shorn, and enjoying a bath, Jaromira was unaware her future was being discussed between the Jastrzębscy.

“Bartosik tells me we have your cousin staying with us, masquerading as a boy, and one of the idiot chambermaids, his idiom, is convinced ‘he’ is in love with you,” said Wojsław.

“My lord, be careful; that was quite thirty words in one go, you will over-use your quota,” teased Serafina.

“I’ll show you how many words I need,” said Wojsław, kissing her firmly. Serafina submitted happily to this non-verbal communication, and when her lord came up for air, sighed, pushed him into a chair, perched on his knee, and explained about Jaromira.

An unholy light of glee came into the Ulan’s eyes.

“Oh, I wondered if you would also think of Bazyli Tataryn,” said Serafina. “With whom I have danced a few times, but know better from Joanna’s tales.”

“We owe the Sokołowscy a debt or two; setting up Władek’s cousin, Bazyli, with someone you think suitable is the least we can do,” said Wojsław. “I’ll talk to him, and ask him to take a cousin of my wife’s as a page to see if the said cousin is worth me sponsoring as a towarzysz. That should get her single accommodation. Has she done any sabre drill?”

“Oh, yes!  She was raised just like a boy.  She can rope cows with a lasso, and leap on and off a horse like any Cossack. She and my uncle took down a wolf between them. She can’t do the fancy sword tricks or ride standing on her hands like Joanna and her crazy friends do, but I expect she’d soon learn. She’s quite intrepid.  Were we going to tell him she’s a girl?”

“No, it’s far funnier if we don’t,” said Wojsław.

“Funnier for whom?” asked Serafina.

“Me,” said Wojsław. “And the Falcons. And you?”

“Maybe,” said Serafina. “Oh, my, I will have to warn Jaromira.”

“Warn me what?” said Jaromira, coming into the room, cleaner, neater, and stalking like any szlachcic. “Bartosik says he wouldn’t have guessed now, it was being tired and drooping that did it.”

“Good; Wojsław, my cousin, now Jaromir, Jaromira, my husband.”

“And call me Wojsław,” said Wojsław. 

“He is going to arrange for you to be a page to a cousin of Władek Sokołowski, and not tell him you’re a woman.  Ostensibly it’s to make sure you’re worth sponsoring as a Towarzysz,” said Serafina. “It’s to give you more privacy as you figure out if you can settle in.  Only Bazyli Tataryn is ... well, he fancies himself a ladies’ man, and he does seem to be ... popular.  And he might flirt with you if he doesn’t get used to you as a person before he finds out.”

“Trust him with my life. Trust him with my wife’s life.  Trust him with yours. Not so sure about your virtue,” said Wojsław.”

“You’re using all your word allocation again,” said Serafina. “Jaromira, when I first knew Wojsław, he was inclined to be tongue-tied.  Partly it was to avoid conversation with people he didn’t want to talk to, but he is the strong silent type, so teasing him is obligatory.”

“I see,” said Jaromira, noting the adoration in the eyes of the young Ulan. “I don’t suppose he needs many words.”

“There are better uses for a man’s mouth,” said Serafina. Jaromira chuckled.

“Too much information,” she said. “So you’ll set me up as page with this ... towarzysz?”

“Captain,” said Wojsław. “Ukrainian Ulan. You do the rope thing?”

“I can use a lasso.”

“Good.  Cossacks; crazy.  Serafina says you’ll like them.”

“Well, I guess if I don’t, I can come back here?”

“Certainly,” said Serafina.

“I could do worse than remain dressed as a szlachcic, and become a towarzysz; if you sell my farm, my lord-brother, I might cover the needed costs.”

“Well, let me know all about it, and I’ll send someone out to look it over and administer it,” said Wojsław. “Yes, I’m backsliding again. Some things need words.”

Serafina giggled, and Jaromira rolled her eyes.

“So you want me to take on some farm boy as a page who hopes to be good enough to be a towarzysz if you sponsor him?” said Bazyli Tataryn.

“He thinks his farm will cover the cost,” shrugged Wojsław. “I don’t know if it would, but if he’s any good, as my wife’s only cousin who is like a brother to her, I want to help out. You know my wife; friend of Joanna Sokołowska.”

“Your wife isn’t as scary as Joanna Sokołowska,” laughed Tataryn.  “Give me three good reasons I should take your farm boy which isn’t covering a favour to you.”

“Jaromir knows how to use a lasso already,” said Wojsław. “And has taken a wolf with a sabre with his father. He is a pretty good rider.”

“Very well; bring him in. I’ll test out your farm boy. Tell him it’ll be gruelling.”

“I’m sure he will be glad to be given the chance,” said Wojsław. “For a lad orphaned and alone in the world with the terror tactics of a pig like Jarogniew Dzikowski, having somewhere to go is a priority.”

“Dzikowski of the Dzik Głowa banner?[1]”

“That’s the one.”

“A nasty piece of work; I’ve heard of him. Vicious when sober and evil when drunk. No, a kid shouldn’t have to deal with someone like this; it’d be worse for a girl. How old is he?”

“I didn’t like to ask,” said Wojsław. “He looks about fourteen, though, so too young to be a towarzysz anyway.  I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, well, we can give it a try,” said Bazyli. “I’d rather have had one of the Krasińscy girls as a page, mind; one who hasn’t been as thoroughly corrupted by my cousin Władysław. But there you are! Most of them are too young, and even if I might hope to have what Władysław has, they’re all too much of babies for me. The next youngest is eleven years younger than me.  And it might work for Władysław, but his Joanna is exceptional.”

“That she is,” said Wojsław, who was happy enough with his own bride. But he respected Joanna Sokołowska a great deal.

Like Bazyli, he would happily ride knee-to-knee with her, but romancing her would be far too scary.

Jaromira rode with her cousin-in-law to the barracks where she was to be a page to this unknown Ukrainian, Bazyli Tataryn. She was nervous to say the least, but determined not to let her cousin’s faith in her down, or that of Wojsław for that matter.

The Ulans were exercising in the quadrangle and were performing riding tricks that had Jaromira gasping.

“I don’t know how to do all that!” she whispered to Wojsław.

“No, of course you don’t; you’ll be learning,” said Wojsław. “Likewise juggling with sabres and tossing them about as you tumble, with Cossack dancing.”

“I hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew,” said Jaromira.

“You would if you were a girl raised as a girl,” said Wojsław. “He’s not expecting a boy who looks about fourteen to know it all.”

“Good,” said Jaromira.  Wojsław led her into the stables to unsaddle her horse, and took her into the building to meet her new lord.

She looked up at the big, red-haired man.  It was a very bright red, and he wore it as a scalp lock.  His moustache was the same colour and his green eyes were darker than hers. He was regarding her kindly enough.

“I understand you ride well, can use a lasso, and are trained somewhat in sabre?” he said.

“Oh, y...yes, my lord, but I am n...nowhere near as able as the men practising outside,” said Jaromira, unaccountably shy.

“If you were, you’d be a remarkable prodigy,” said Bazyli. “Well, I have sorted you out somewhere to sleep, it’s a glorified cupboard, but you don’t want to be in with towarzysze yet, until you find your feet, and obviously I won’t expect you to sleep in with my personal servant. So glorified cupboard it is.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Jaromira. She made herself breathe.

Well, this was it; and she was in it for better or worse.

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[1] I know it only works in English but it was fun to call him a Dzik head