Falcon without bells 4

 

Chapter 4

 

Sword training started with sticks, which Mira had to admit was a lot safer. He made her learn footwork first.

“If you can’t control your body, you can’t control your sword,” he said. “And some Cossack dancing will both strengthen you and give you better control. The polonez too will help you to move and dip the knee as you go. Fighting is a lot like dancing.”

“I watched you drill, and it’s sheer poetry,” said Mira, admiringly.

“Silly child,” he said, surprised that the admiration of the whelp should please him. “It’s only poetry when your body knows what it is doing without thinking about it. I’ve been doing this for ... well, probably as long as you’ve been alive.”

“And not a sign of the tremours of eld, nor rheumatism!” she said, wide eyed. There were amber sparks of mischief from the hell-rings in her eyes, dancing mischievously at him.

“You whelp, have you any idea how old I am?”

“Not a clue, but it’s young enough that I can tease you about your age without it being a sore point.”

“Well! I can give you a decade or so. I don’t count birthdays so I am not entirely sure.”

“Just a nice age for a big brother,” said Mira. “Are you going to teach me how to leap onto a horse too?”

“Yes; we’ll get you used to my horse, Wiatr, ‘Wind’. He can help train you. He, at least, has the experience and skill to school you.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Now do that drill again. Then we shall begin your wrist and arm strengthening exercises. You are already strong from the work your father made you do, but you must train specific muscles, the forearm muscles. You will hold a sword and do ten repetitions each of moving a sword in your wrist side to side and back and forth, and then repeat.”

Mira nodded.

It was hard concentrating on the movement from front to back of foot that he demanded, and surprisingly hard to perform the sword exercises too.

Mira almost collapsed after her first practice.

“And this time I’ll watch over your bath; but to make sure you are not interrupted,” he said.

“My lord, I am so tired, I doubt I’d notice if a company of Winged Hussars rode through,” said Mira.

“You might not, but they’d notice you. And that’s what I’m guarding against,” he said. “I’ll sit outside the kitchen door.”

She appreciated it; and appreciated having a hot bath.  Jaś the carpenter and his mother and sister shared a room behind the kitchen but opening onto the hall, not into the kitchen. She would not be disturbed.

Daily she went through the footwork, and then the sword drills, moving from the exercises in a single direction to practising the cuts from the wrist, arm extended moving from one cut to the next, the sword describing something like a sideways figure of eight.

“Limit the arm motion,” he said. “The more you let your arm move with a wrist cut, the more you create openings for someone to get past your guard. We’ll work on using your elbow and shoulder and adding it all together.”

Next, he made her add the guard positions between the cuts, to move from cut to guard, setting up patterns for her to follow, so that she might readily move from any cut to guard herself.

Soon he permitted her to add her sword moves to footwork, advancing and retreating as she swung the sword, shadow fencing. She also began to learn the demanding and gruelling moves of the Cossack dance. Bohun watched her.

“I’m going to put a hilt on a stick for you; if you want to learn control, and you need to do so, we might as well start from there,” he said. “You have the control over a kitchen knife, now let’s get you really controlling your sabre. Like this.” He demonstrated, and grinned at her, tossing it from hand to hand.

“Beautiful!” gasped Mira.

“And deadly,” said Bohun. “And you’ll need to be able to switch hands too. The best Cossacks can whirl two blades at once, which can cut down arrows. Unfortunately, less use against bullets.”

Then he started fighting with her.  Mira appreciated that they were using wooden swords, to preclude accidents from her still less controlled movements. It hurt as he punished any failure to parry or any opening she left by slapping her hard with the stick he held with such perfect poise and delicacy. The blows were not delicate, but if she learned to counter the stick, she would also learn to counter a cut. He was remarkably patient and did not lose his temper with his pupil. Indeed, Bohun was pleased with her determination, and with her acceptance of the pain he handed her in her quest to improve. He had wondered if she had declared herself ready to take a world of pain without thinking it through; but she had the courage and will to continue, and to take his painful lessons to heart and learn from them.

 

The pattern of days settled to routine; and Mira, less stiff with each practice session, was happy.

The routine of training was broken one day; they had finished drill, and Mira had washed under the stableyard pump, which was hers to use whilst he drew water from the kitchen yard well to wash off the sweat of their exertions. Mira was glad that Marianna did the washing so they always had clean linen! But this day she had barely withdrawn into the dwór where she would order the day with Marianna and then sit to undertake such mending as was required, a task she was happy to perform, when Ana, sister to the carpenter Jaś and daughter of Marianna, ran in.

“There are two people coming here, I think they are szlachta!” the child said shrilly.”

“Have they soldiers with them?” asked Bohun, roughly.

“No, my lord, just the two of them,” said Ana.

“Go to your mother, child, and do not worry,” said Bohun. “I will not permit them to harm you.”

“What do we do, act as if nothing is amiss, but remain wary?” asked Mira

“Yes, that works as well as anything,” said Bohun. “Hopefully they will accept hospitality and then leave, seeing our need for repairs.”

 

 

The two travellers rode in through the broken gate, the taller with something of a shiver. He looked around with obvious distaste.

 “Fuck, it’s Skrzetuski and Rzędzian,” said Bohun, glancing out of the window at the sound of hoofs on the cobbles.

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” asked Mira.

Bohun looked startled

“In what respect?”

“Well I wouldn’t be able to kill him, which I have no reason to do as he returned your freedom to you. I meant divert, confuse, irritate until he goes away.”

“If anyone can manage that, brat, it’s you. I don’t want to hide. I don’t want him to think I am hiding.”

“Let’s find out what he wants first, my lord; please?  If he’s here to warn you Jeremi did not like his mercy, I can find that out, but if Jeremi asks if he saw you, he will tell truth.   Go up in the rafters and help the boy; he’ll take it kindly, the Lipizzaner won’t look for you there, and if it’s something you need to know, you can quickly be called. Please?  I ... I fear if he has been told to collect you and anyone you are with. I ... I think he would be glad to be able to say he did not see you.”

He hesitated; then ran up the ladder. He was uncertain how he felt about Jan Skrzetuski. He admired the graciousness the knight had shown him and wondered if he could have been as gracious; and he hated him for existing as well. And yet ... Helena was both a bond between them and a gulf. In another life he would have been glad to have called the szlachcic ‘friend.’ It was a reason he had been so ready to hate the man; it was easier to hate someone one might have loved as a brother. He squeezed his eyes briefly shut on unbidden hot tears for the loss of the Kurtcewiczowie, that they had never been true brothers to him, willing to share spoils and adventure but as ready to betray him for one of their own kind.

Mira flung open the door.

“Welcome, welcome visitors to my humble abode. Come in and drink ... well, there’s pump water or pump water at the moment.”

“I’ll settle for pump water then,” said Skrzetuski, smiling at the cocky youth. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”

“I don’t think so, honoured sir,” said Mira. “I am Mirek Sokół at your service.”

“Jan Skrzetuski. I was looking for Jurij Bohun.”

“Oh? What do you want my big brother for?”

“Your big brother? That will account for me thinking you familiar, no doubt. The facial hair and colouring make  lot of difference.”

“Yes, we don’t share a father,” said Mira. “But my brother wanted me somewhere safe. So here I am. And you were telling me why you wanted him.”

“He isn’t here, then? I was sent to find out.  And to warn him if he was here that Prince Jeremi was not amused that I...” he frowned, “...spurned his gift.”

“I heard about it; you are a true knight,” said Mira. “You may look around; you won’t find him here, please search so you can take back word. ... Er, do you have to mention my relationship? I don’t want to be taken as a hostage.”

Jan shrugged.

“It’s of no importance. I won’t mention it, and he won’t ask. Bohun is all he’s interested in. I will search; he will ask if I did, and I need to say truthfully that I looked. It’s not much of a place to live. I hear some hammering.”

“Yes, the villagers were driven off but came back; the carpenter is even younger than I am, but he’s doing what he can to give me a room to live in.”

“Bohun’s horse is in the stables,” said Rzędzian.

“No, Jurko’s horse’s brother is in the stables,” said Mira, working on not sounding as shy as she felt to use his name, and the pet form Helena had mentioned at that. “Cyklon, not Wiatr. Mine. Can’t you tell two related horses apart?”

“At least I’m a szlachcic, not some Cossack from who knows where,” said Rzędzian.

“Oh how brave you are my lord brother to taunt a little boy. My father is a Polish szlachcic too, but we all have a little rain in our lives,” said Mira.

“Hush, Rzędzian,” said Jan. “I will search and then you can show me your horse.”

“Indeed,” said Mira. “My brother’s steed has a white sock; mine does not.” That was enough for the lithe Oleh to slip out and cover the white sock with soot or something; he was in the kitchen listening. She noted the door close silently and knew he was on his way. “Please; come through on the grand tour. This is the great hall, open to visitors with hospitality as usual, and through here, my bedroom, rather more open than usual. My bed at least is dry. Behind the screen is my bed when my brother is in residence. Further on as you can see if you come further is uninhabitable.   Now back here if we go the other way, we have the kitchen, please do not frighten my servants, who are my carpenter’s relatives. Do you want to look in the cellar? It’s dry and cool.  Marianna, fill two tankards of water for our guests, please, while they commune with the onions.”

“I don’t like invading your privacy to search,” said Jan.

“I appreciate that; you will appreciate that I don’t like it happening, or that...” she searched for the name Bohun had used, “Jaroma is an oathbreaker.”

Jan flushed.

“I ... did not fulfil the assumptions he made,” he said.

“So he punishes you by making you seem to go back on your word?” said Mira.

“It’s not like that ...”

“To me, it looks exactly like that.  Are you ready to search the privy? Can we send your man down into the cess-pit? He ought to float, like all the big pieces.”

“He was sorry to be confrontational.”

“If you say so, my lord-brother,” said Mira, tonelessly.

Jan did not bother to look in the outhouse; Rzędzian did. Mira sneered. She led them to the stables and led out Bohun’s magnificent stallion

“See? No white sock,” she said.

“Ride it,” said Rzędzian.  “Nobody else can ride Bohun’s horse.”

Mira rolled her eyes.

As well as swordplay she had been learning more riding tricks.

She vaulted lightly onto the stallion without bothering to saddle up. 

“We don’t do airs above the ground,” she said.

“Sitting on that horse, which is remaining still for you, is enough,” said Jan. “You were wrong, Rzędzian.”

Rzędzian scowled, He had been certain it was Bohun’s horse.

Mira grinned and took Wiatr through a series of military dressage moves, and rode him round the courtyard, swinging off and onto his back, finishing by dismounting at the run, and running alongside the horse to bring him back to the stable. Wiatr whickered happily. His trainee was doing well.

Rzędzian could scarcely believe it; he had been made a fool of, and that was something he found as hard to forgive as the vicious blow Bohun had once given him

“Don’t cross my  path, boy,” he said.

“I wouldn’t want to,” said Mira, gurning horribly at Rzędzian. Jan sighed.

“Rzędzian,” he said.  “Well, Pan Mirek, thank you for your hospitality. Pass my warning to your brother.”

“I will, Pan Jan,” said Mira. “Please put a muzzle on your mutt if you bring it back again.”

Rzędzian went for his sword, and Jan held his wrist.

“For shame, pulling steel on a little boy!” he barked.

“I’d fight him,” said Mira.

“Nobody doubts your courage, lad,” said Jan. “Rzędzian doesn’t like your brother. You don’t help though if you call him a mutt.”

“Oh, I forgot. He’s a szlachcic; a well-bred boar-hound,” said Mira.

“That’s hardly any better,” said Jan.

“Do you like my brother?” asked Mira.

Jan sighed.

“More than I probably should, considering all that is between us.”

“Oh, in that case I apologise to your associate, and to show good will, I’ll do it in words not by barking.”

“If you barked, wouldn’t that say you were the son of a bitch?” said Rzędzian.

“That’s my father, anyway,” said Mira. “I don’t really remember my mother.”

 

 

 

 

That was a relief, to see the back of them.

“How much did you overhear?” she asked Bohun as he jumped down.

“Most of it. You’re creative in your insults.”

“I don’t like that blond idiot of Pan Jan’s. He’s malevolent.”

“Strangely enough I owe him my life too. He patched me up from a nasty wound. Clever to hint to Oleh to cover the one white sock. Wiatr is used to you now as well; just as well.  Have you any idea how much I hated lurking in hiding while you saved us from having to move on before we were ready?”

“Yes, because I’d have hated it too,” said Mira. “But we need to keep a look out.  Will Jaroma believe him?”

“Oh yes; because Skrzetuski is incapable of lying,” said Bohun. “Clever to use the Ukrainian version of his name. And Skrzetuski won’t mention you and he won’t let Rzędzian do so either.”

Mira almost sagged with relief.

Bohun caught her by the arms.

“Are you about to swoon?” he demanded.

“I don’t think so,” said Mira, “But you are comfortingly solid to lean on. My heart is going like a triphammer, which I’ve only just noticed. I can do without visitors, even when relatively benign.”

“One thing which I hope he forgets to pass on, is that it is my room when I am in residence,” said Bohun, grimly. “If he mentions that, we may find watchers set.”

“Well, he was going to look behind the screen and would want to know why there was a second bed, and moreover, he would know it’s your room.”

“He doesn’t know you don’t play the lute.”

“Oh! But your scent is all over the room, it’s impossible to miss it, all musky and comforting,” said Mira.

“I ... I wonder if his senses are as acute as yours ... but I see why you chose to mention it,” he said, disconcerted. “I only notice that your presence is there; I don’t notice my own.”

“One doesn’t, I suppose,” said Mira. She was rather enjoying his scent while he supported her.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than lean on me?” said Bohun.

“Probably,” said Mira. “I’m comfortable.”

“You’re a whelp,” he said,  putting her from him firmly. He firmly recalled to mind the scent of Helena’s hair, ignoring the intrusion of whatever the red-haired whelp used on hers.

 

 

“Brat, are you awake?” he asked, when it irritated him still after having gone to bed.

“My lord? Do you need me?” Mira sat up, knuckling her eyes.  “Oooh, look out!” she exclaimed, as she elbowed the screen and it fell towards the bed.

Bohun rolled off the bed; the screen had too many decorative knobbles to want it to land on him.

“How in Hell...”

“I don’t know, you spoke to me and so I woke up and sat up and it sort of went flying,” said Mira, getting up and kindling a light to help him manhandle the screen back into place.

“And never go anywhere just in a nightgown, my child, especially with a light behind you,” said Bohun, leaping hastily back into bed.  Naturally he was thinking of Helena ... to react to this odd little boy of a girl was ridiculous.

“I am sorry,” said Mira. “What did you want me for?”

“You will laugh; I was only going to ask a totally meaningless question.”

“Well you might as well ask; I’m awake now,” she said, sitting on the end of his bed with her knees drawn up to her, encircled by her arms.

“You look absurdly young like that.  I only wondered what you use in your hair.”

“Oh! It’s marigold. It doesn’t smell very nice, does it? But it brings out the red and deters lice. Does it irritate you?  I can use chamomile instead. There’s lots in the stillroom.”

So that was what Helena used.

“I would rather that you did not use chamomile.”

Mira was putting two and two together.

“No, I had not thought,” she said.

“I don’t mind the smell of marigold. I was just curious.”

“I’ll go back to bed then. Good night.”

“Good night. It was my fault for startling you.”

“It was an Event.  They happen sometimes, when things people do add up and conspire,” she said.

“I can hear you saying that with capitals; why do I think you are prone to Events?”

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, Events may happen but if they are more significant than something harmless like a toppling screen, you should think of ways to  use them tactically.”

“Did you just demote me to Rotmistrz?”

“I believe it’s a promotion from quartermaster.”

“I think I prefer quartermaster.”

“Yes, brat. Shut up and go to sleep.”

 

Bohun  lay awake and though it would be as well if he stayed close to the dwór for a while, in case of any watchers; he worried that Skrzetuski would mention the repairs as well. Or perhaps he would say the bare minimum.  Whatever else one might say about the knight, he was clever and he was shrewd.  He would recognise that mentioning repairs would tell Jeremi that he planned to use the Rozłogi dwor as a base, and that would mean that a trap might be set.  He would not want that for the whelp.

 

****

 

“Was Rozłogi really empty as you reported to Jeremi?” asked Helena.

“Why do you ask? I did not see Bohun,” said Jan. “I said only that I had searched and found no indication that he was there.”

“You hushed Rzędzian when he spoke of a rude brat.”

“Fortunately not until we had left Jeremi’s presence and only to you.  And what do you know of the rude brat? He was cheeky more than rude but he and Rzędzian took a dislike to each other.  He said he was Bohun’s brother.”

“Red haired child?”

“Yes. What have I missed?”

“She was running away and talked me into a letter of introduction to Jurko. So he didn’t turn her away, and she is moderately safe.”

“I assume he’s not there much. Good grief, does he know she’s a girl? In the bedroom she claimed was hers, she said the bed behind the screen was his, hers, I mean, when Bohun was there.”

“I wrote ambiguously and she said she would tell him; perhaps she dared not. He can be so frightening.”

“She didn’t strike me as intimidated.  Rzędzian insists that horse had a white sock when he first saw it; I put it down to his obstinacy in disliking the child.  But Bohun does not hide ... oh. He might if it was for the safety of someone under his protection.”

“I ... do you think he would? I hoped he would look after her to redeem himself in my eyes ...”

“If it was his horse, the child was quite at home on it.”

“Well, I am glad she is safe. You did not report a youth there?”

“Nobody asked me that; so I felt no need to mention that there was anyone there at all,” said Jan. “And I forbade Rzędzian from mentioning it as well.”

“Good.”

Jan chuckled.

“He is still sore over not being sure if he lost the battle of words or not.”

 

 

Rapid synopsis of With Fire and the Sword if anyone needs it

 

The time is around 1650. The place, what is now the Ukraine.

There are two main characters, Jan Skrzetuski, upright, honourable and likeable Polish Szlachcic, and Jurij Bohun, dashing and wild Cossack. They clash over the love of Helena Kurcewiczówna. Helena has been raised by her aunt alongside her five male cousins, who are friendly with Bohun, and go on raids with him into enemy territory. However, the Roszłogi estate belongs to Helena, not her aunt, who has cut a deal with Bohun that if he marries Helena, he will permit her aunt and cousins to continue to have use of the house. This arrangement is one that Helena now abhors, having seen Bohun kill a man in front of her.

Jan, meantime, accidentally saves the life of Bohdan Chmielnicki, a rebel Cossack. He meets up with other major characters Onufry Zagłoba and Longin Podbipięta. On the road they meet up with Helena and her aunt whose carriage is stuck and broken in a stream. This was the point at which I started thinking Helena a pretty poor sap as it’s only about two feet deep, and the horses are standing hock deep, which is not good for horses at all.  Anyway, Jan to the rescue, carrying Helena out, and they are much enamoured of each other. They then dance together and Helena behaves most immodestly in front of Bohun who goes off in a right royal Cossack snit. Jan makes a deal with the old princess that he gets the girl and the old woman gets Rozłogi.

The upshot is that Bohun joins up with Chmielnicki as a rebel, comes back and kills all the Kurcewiczowie who betrayed their oath about Helena. He is planning to marry her anyway.  Zagłoba rescues her, dressed as a boy, from being abducted by Bohun, but Bohun still takes her from where she was left for safety. Rozłogi is burned by looting peasants, Jan has a crisis of faith, but adheres to stern duty because he’s that sort of man.

One of his other friends is Michał Wołodyjowski, also known as the little knight as he is short and slight. Jan’s man, crony, and chief scrounger is a youth called Rzędzian who has larcenous instincts and a talent for healing.

Various excitements like Jan being held captive by Chmielnicki, Bohun half-killing Rzędzian, and being half killed by Wołodyjowski, Jan’s friends rescuing Helena from the witch with whom Bohun had left her, Jan’s commander, Prince Jeremi, impaling envoys, and a nasty siege in which Podbipięta dies and Jan escapes to get reinforcements are the substance of the book, set against the background of the Chmielnicki uprising. The love triangle however permeates the book and gives the tragedy of the fight of Pole vs Cossack a poignant context.

At the end, Bohun is captured, and Jeremi, at first inclined to impale him, hands him over to Jan instead, glossed over in the book but a moving scene in the film.  I’ve gone with the film mostly, with some input from the book.

 

 

Falcon without Bells 1

 

A tribute to Henryk Sienkiewicz. This book picks up where ‘With Fire and the Sword’ (Ogniem I Mieczem) ends, with the intention of giving Jurij Bohun a happy ever after.

Prince Jeremi had been shaving a stake to impale Jurko, but instead had given the Cossack to Jurko’s rival, Jan Skrzetuski.  However, Jan could not bear to see a wild steppe creature like Jurko caged.  He freed Jurko, who rode off into the sunset.

This story introduces Mira, escaping being forced into an abusive relationship by her father.  She sees Jurko’s rebellious spirit as an example, and she seeks him out, looking for freedom. Jurko is unwillingly drawn to her. Meanwhile, Jeremi is not happy with Jan’s mercy.  His plans for Jurko, if he ever gets his hands on the Cossack again, are not pretty.  When Jurko is captured, Mira must take bold and immediate action, if she hopes to save him. Jurko finds himself subject to a number of revelations which draw him back to the Commonwealth and unexpected friendships.

This is the 1650s in a bloody civil war. I'm less gory than Sienkiewicz but be aware

Chapter 1

 

      Jurij Bohun had understood every word Jan Skrzetuski did not say. The szlachcic’s eyes said ‘I don’t hate you. I hate how you have hurt Helena. I am letting you go on the condition that you never lay eyes or hands on her again.’

One long, last look at Helena; he must imprint her on his memory. She looked ... pity ... on him. And turned a loving gaze on her husband.

He looked away; he must get used to a life without the sight of her in his eyes. He must return to the Sich; but maybe first to a place where the ghost of Helena growing up still ran, carefree and coltish, before she hated him so much; where the scent of her still lingered, perhaps, elusively on the air.

He mounted up and let Wiatr cavort. Then he cracked his whip by his boot, the sound a message to the horse to run.

 

Eyes watched the handsome Cossack. He stood as tall as Jan Skrzetuski, who was head and shoulders over the average man, but where the lieutenant was  fair, the Cossack was dark. He did not wear his hair in the oseledets or scalp-lock of a Cossack, or even the czupryna, half-shaven style of a Polish nobleman; his hair was loose, collar-length and dark, wild and untamed as a steppe-pony’s mane. His eyes ... the watcher had been close enough to see that they were not blue, or green or grey, but some ever-changing combination of all of them, like the water of the mighty Dniepr in a storm. Grey predominated now, slatey, sombre, hurt, angry, bright even beneath the heavy hoods of his lids in his swarthy, regular face.  The watcher suspected it would be possible to drown in such eyes. His lips were generous, mobile and expressive beneath the curtains of his long, neat moustache. The shadow of many hours since a shave sat around his jawline, but in no way marred the overall beauty.

 

 

“Who was that beautiful young man your betrothed husband just let go?” asked the young szlachcianka of Helena.  The girl had soft reddish hair and green eyes which looked as if they had recently come suspiciously close to tears. Helena looked curiously at her.

“His name is Jurij Bohun. I ... grew up beside him. He wanted to marry me but I met Jan.  Bohun is intemperate and cruel. He has kidnapped me more than once.”

The girl’s eyes grew round.

“Then ...He is not as beautiful as he looks? he has raped you? Used that horse whip on you?”

“No, of course not! His birth is unknown but he has lived as a szlachcic...” Helena was shocked at the very thought. . “He ... once he said that if he had been a peasant, he would have put a whip across my shoulders and taken me, but that he is a knight. He thought I despised him and thought him a peasant. And it was not that.”

The other girl laughed bitterly. To have seized a woman he desired and not to use her did not sound intemperate or cruel to her.

“Does that count?” she asked. “His birth or status, I mean. Men of all ranks can be cruel.”

Helena gasped.

“Have you ...?”

“Not yet; my father failed to choose a side, though, and seeks to appease Prince Jeremi by giving me to him ... or anyone he wishes to pass me to.”

“Prince Jeremi is a good and honourable commander.”

The girl shuddered. . The thought of Jeremi’s cold, appraising eyes on her, made her certain that if he used her, she would end up broken, like a wild pony conditioned to obedience by the whip.

“Only to those who are his loyal tools. I fear him.”

“I could talk to him ...”

The girl shook her head vehemently. How could the princess fail to find Jeremi threatening? And yet seemed to fear the almost broken Bohun? The redhead had been formulating an idea, and made her decision. Stormy eyes and sweetly-bowed lips won over eyes like ice and lips like a rat trap.

“The man Bohun ... he looked on you as if you were all his soul. Would he do you a favour?”

“He ... yes, probably.”

“I don’t understand how it came about that he should be in the position to look on you as his,” said the girl.

“Oh! It is easy enough.  I grew up with my aunt and five cousins at Rozłogi, which is my inheritance, and they were friendly with Bohun. He is a nameless Cossack, but my cousins did not mind. They joined him on raids against the Turks and Tatars, with his men, as he was acting-colonel of a regiment of Polish Cossacks.  He became enamoured of me, and made a deal with my aunt that if he should marry me, she would continue to live in Rozłogi.  But Jan ... Pan Skrzetuski ... persuaded her to let me marry him because he does not care if we have Rozłogi or not as he has his own lands.”

“It all sounds very underhanded on the part of your aunt to agree to either, if you ask me,” said the girl.

“That’s as maybe; but I chose Jan. Not Bohun.”

“Would you write me an introduction to Bohun? To ask him to protect me?  He looks like a survivor.”

“My dear child! To willingly seek out one like Jurko Bohun? He is ungentle and unkind, and his temper ...”

“And yet you find yourself intact and alive. A man who wears his anger outside is not sly. You admit he has not taken you when he might have done.”

“I hate him.”

“But you do not wish him ill; that speaks something for him.”

“I .... How will you get to him? He might take you under his protection to spite Jeremi ...”

“I’ll arrange that.  Please? Write me a letter ... make it ambiguous whether I am boy or girl ...”

“I must be mad,” sighed Helena. “But you look as trapped as I felt with Jurko ... what is your name?”

“Mirosława. But if you write it then if anyone captures me and reads it they will know I am a girl.”

“If I ask him to care for Mirosław ... and say that you will tell him all ...”

Mira, as Mirosława was more familiarly known, nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t suppose we will meet again but I will always think kindly of you.”

“Will not your father stop you?”

“No, he has gone with Jeremi, trying to get his nose far enough up his arse to get a taste of the wine which goes down the prince’s gullet,” said Mira.

Helena was shocked by the child’s crudity, but tittered anyway, because the image was amusing.

 

Mira spent some time making arrangements. She had always hoped to escape, and had made certain to have money with which to do so. She used a knife to cut off her plaits, and burned them, to conceal her intent. Her father’s razor helped the messiness of the hair over the ears, and the czupryna cut was drastic enough nobody would suspect a girl of using it. She was thankful for her father’s absence. It made it easier to prepare herself, and to remove any excess money or jewellery she might find.  It was no hardship to raid the castle laundry and remove from the dried and ironed clothes such items as would be a foundation for any costume.  A commoner’s cap and an apron as well  as the clothing of some short szlachcic were purloined, and she might risk rummaging through the clothing of the dead to find that the slight szlachcic had also had hussar boots small enough for her. She gave a prayer for the soul of one who must surely have been no more than a boy, riding out for the first time with his father, and thanks to him for his unwitting aid. In shirt, drawers, trousers and boots, she might don other garb over the top to make herself into a boy in a variety of roles. With a gown over, and her head covered, she might weep into a handkerchief in the infirmary, looking for a supposed sweetheart amongst the wounded, and purloining certain supplies.

 

 

 

A little boy in an apron took mead to the jailors of the men captured with Jurko Bohun.  The youth had no illusions what their fate would be when Jeremi returned; Jeremi liked impaling Cossacks. Word was he had been shaving a stake for Bohun, and decided instead in a moment of whimsy to hand the Cossack ataman over to his rival in love. He had not reckoned with Jan Skrzetuski being a better man than many.

As the jailors fell asleep the boy exchanged his serving apron for a kontusz and fur hat and unlocked the cell where the two men waited.

“Hurry up, we haven’t got all night,” said the child.

“What is this and who are you?” demanded one of them from the darkness of the cell.

“You can call me Mirek; I’m Jurko Bohun’s ward,” said Mira. “And I call you...?”

“Taras.”

“Oleh.”

“Good, let’s get going, the horses are saddled. Such clothes as they took from you and all that was in your packs are with your horses.”

Oleh scowled.

“Why should we take your orders?”

“I’m so sorry, your grace, my most gracious lord, what arrangements had you made for your escape that your orders outweigh mine?”

“The child has you there, Oleh,” rumbled Taras, a massive older man with a single scalp lock. “And he’s unquestionably a szlachcic; a Kurcewicz perhaps. Bohun was associated with them.”

Mira smiled. It would do.

“Are we going to get moving or are we going to wait for Jeremi to impale us all?” she said.

“We come, little lord,” said Taras. She barely reached his rib cage so it was fair comment. Oleh was shorter, with a shaved head and very long moustaches. Mira led them quickly to the stables where the ostlers were also asleep.

“You’ve been busy,” said Taras.

“I went to work the moment Pan Jan decided he liked Pan Bohun enough to let him go. He’s not like Jeremi, even if he seems to admire the bastard,” said Mira.

“How come you are running about free?” asked Oleh, suspiciously.

“Hostage,” said Mira. “And nobody asked me to give my parole so I’m not breaking any oaths to anyone because I haven’t made any. They think I’m sweet and harmless. I think I have all your gear.”

“Not a bad job little hostage,” said Taras.  “And will you be a hostage in Bohun’s hands?”

“Now that makes my head ache,” said Mira. “I ... don’t think I’d be important enough to hand back other than denying a pawn to Jeremi.”

“Are you harmless?” asked Oleh.

“Unfortunately, essentially, yes,” said Mira. “Other than being able to sneak around unnoticed dressed as a scullion and able to get my hands on most of the poppy juice in the castle and enough mead to put out half an army. I have been denied sabre lessons or anything useful.  I can ride fairly well and I’ve taught myself a few riding tricks.  I’m clever and I can plan. Otherwise I might as well be a little girl with an embroidery needle.”

“Bohun will train you. If he likes you, he’ll hurt you until you improve,” said Taras.

Mira blinked, assimilated, and nodded. Too much gentleness did nobody any favours

“Understood,” she said.  She had a sabre; she had taken it from the armoury.  It was very plain, and she liked it better than her father’s more ornate blade.  The plain blade with plain black iron hilt felt right in her hand.

If she could learn to use it without cutting her own leg off it would be something.

 

“Two days’ ride, boy, if you can manage to be in the saddle for eight hours a day,” said Taras. “And then we get somewhere we might find Bohun.”

“I’ll manage it,” said Mira. “I will endure.”

They rode, fast to get away, then settling to a trot.

“You want to rise and fall with the horse, boy,” said Taras. “Or else you might never sire children.”

“I see; thanks,” said Mira, who had not learned such refinements of riding in a side saddle.

She endured.

“The lad doesn’t do so badly,” said Taras, critically to his friend.

“Other than being a trifle nice about going off in private about calls of nature,” said Oleh.

“Probably feels embarrassed if things aren’t growing as fast as he feels they ought to,” said Taras. “We’ve all been that age; and he doesn’t know us.”

“At least he brought a shovel so we can cover our traces,” said Oleh. “I still think there’s something odd about him.”

“I’m just expecting Bohun to sort it out,” said Taras.

 

They rode  into a pine forest, open woodland, dotted with streams running down towards the mighty Dniepr. The floor of the forest was largely sandy, and their hoofbeats were muffled on a mix of soft sand and pine needles.  The scent of the pine drifted up, sharp and sweet, clean and pleasant. Mira inhaled it with pleasure.

“Not far now,” said Taras, thinking the boy had sighed in tiredness.

Mira smiled at him. She was tired, though she was trying not to show it; in fact the scent of the pine was sufficiently invigorating to make her feel better.

“Thank you,” she said. “I like this forest.”

Taras grinned back. The boy was all in, he thought, with huge purple circles under his eyes; he was doing well, and had the fortitude not to show his exhaustion too obviously. The big Cossack thought that Bohun would appreciate a whelp with as much courage as he had himself.

 

 

 

They came to an abandoned dwór, partly burned, the gate off its hinges. Mira, exhausted by the gruelling ride did not care so long as they were stopping. It was no grand manor house, but then, that was the way houses in the east were built, wooden constructions, raised off the ground, with a veranda, one story, and at first glance no larger than a wealthy peasant’s house. It may have had more to it behind, but  eastern szlachta were inclined to show their wealth within, not without, with costly hangings.  Being ransacked and partly burned, it probably had little inside, but it was a refuge of sorts.

“It’s worth looking here,” said Taras. “You ever lived here?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Mira. “Someone made a bit of a mess of it.”

“Someone ... ho ho ho, I like you, Panicz, you don’t believe in exaggeration,” said Taras. “I don’t know if there is anyone here ...”

“Someone is here ... there is steam of a horse’s breath at the stable door,” said Mira. “The light is almost gone but there is smoke which obscures the first stars.”

“It almost has to be Bohun, then,” said Taras. “I wondered if you knew the place, if you were related to his foster-family ...”

“You’re fishing for information, Taras,” said Mira. “I’m no relation but I’m wishing myself on Jurij Bohun anyway because when they were handing out impudence, I managed to get a second dose.”

Taras laughed.

“Oh, you are suited to be Bohun’s ward,” he said.

 

 

The door of the dwór opened as they clattered into the cobbled yard. He stood, silhouetted on the threshold, sabre in hand, one foot forward and one back, right hand side advanced and weight on the back foot ready to come forward fighting for his life.

“Who is there?” Defiance and challenge coloured the tone. Mira almost gasped. The voice was as beautiful as the face and figure of the Cossack. It was rich, deep and dark, and she wondered if he ever sang.

“Pan Bohun, it’s us,” said Taras. “Oleh and Taras. And ... a boy.”

“A boy?  Come in quickly.”

Bohun had not sheathed his sabre when they came in, and quickly closed and bolted the door. He regarded Mira narrowly. Mira swept off her hat, held it to her left shoulder and swept it across her body as she bent right over at the waist in the Polish bow.

Bohun was just as beautiful close up; perhaps more so with the dangerous green sparks in his eyes, all loose limbed, wary and perfectly balanced like a bird of prey hovering.

“Mirek ... Sokoł.... at your disposal, my lord,” she said. “I have a letter to give you.”

Bohun raised his eyebrows and sheathed his sabre.

“Well, I didn’t think that Taras had brought you as his lunch,” he said.

“I wouldn’t presume to be more than a mouthful for him,” said Mira.

“The boy drugged the  guards and got us out,” said Oleh. “Said he’s your ward.”

“I don’t recall having a ward,” said Bohun.

“You didn’t; I wished myself on you,” said Mira.

He gave her a penetrating look under hooded lids.

“Why?”

“You look like a survivor.”

“Give me the letter.”

Mira gave him the letter. He read it through and seized her by the throat.

“What is Helena playing at?” he hissed. His eyes bored into hers.

“Answers easier with air to give them,” wheezed Mira, meeting his eyes, scorning to reach up to ineffectually grab his hand as instinct wanted her to do. He was trying to frighten her, and was unaware that having her neck broken by him was less scary than being the plaything of someone like Jeremi, whose reputation was unsavoury and whose eyes were cold wells of cruelty.

“You said ... you little whelp!” Bohun gave a harsh laugh. “You don’t scare easily, do you child? Not like the lovely Helena who is afraid of me.”

“Without good reason as far as I can see, but I don’t know enough to judge,” said Mira.

“The only woman I’ve had cause to kill was her aunt who was an oathbreaker,” said Bohun, harshly.  “Welcome to Helena’s home, the only real home I’ve ever had.  Homely and windproof, isn’t it?” he gestured up to the blackened beams of the roof, holes rapidly stuffed with rags.

“It’s structurally sound; it would rebuild,” said Mira. “I asked Lady Helena to write the letter for me. I expressed my fears as a ... hostage ... and she agreed. She trusts Jeremi, which in my opinion is a mistake, but that’s not my problem. I asked. She agreed. It was a kindness to a stranger.”

“So, I have no real reason at all to keep you?”

“I can make myself useful. Be your page.”

“Why would I need a page?”

“I’m good at overhearing things.  You can use me to run unobtrusive errands. I can cook.”

“How good are you with that?” Bohun indicated her sabre.

“I’m useless; I was never permitted to learn. Taras says if you like me you will introduce me to a world of pain until I’m half capable.”

“I didn’t put it quite like that,” said Taras.

Bohun grinned a rather feral grin.

“The whelp is right though.  I respect you more for honesty than for trying to pretend knowledge you do not have.  Helena said you would explain more.”

“Yes, but for your ears only.”

“Go and see to the horses,” said Bohun to his men. They went out. He regarded her. “And?” he said.

“My father would not join either side. His lands are now under Jeremi. I’m ... appeasement. My name is Mirosława.  Lady Helena said you would probably take me under your protection to spite Jeremi.”

“What a high opinion she has of me,” Bohun half sneered, a slight tic to his face.

“I asked her if you had violated her when you had her in your power. She seemed surprised that anyone would think you might. That told me more about you than her words of despite.”

“You’re an interesting brat, you know; you read what people don’t say.”

“Yes, and you’re busy not saying that you are intrigued enough and amused enough to make me your page. And will teach me the sabre.”

“He wasn’t joking about the world of pain.”

“But I get a skill from it.”

“You do.  You can cook, you said?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I took some ducks on the way.  If you can turn them into more palatable stew than I can, I’ll be pleased.”

“Any supplies here?”

“The peasants who burned the place winnowed through most of it. You can have a look in the cellars to see if they missed anything.”