Marcelina 1

 I just realised it's a couple of weeks over a year since I started posting Wojceich's adventures, when the winged hussars arrived in my life.  So that's 12 published and a further four completed, nearly five with this one. I am so happy to have the Raven Banner and its associates in my life! 

Anyway, I've been pushing on with Marcelina's story, she having been wished onto Kajetan Wolski as a page by the schemes of Mariola, and this is how she settles in with him and some towarzysze, and how they go off at Starosta Mlocki's behest to mop up the little trouble Bazyli and Mira got involved in.  I'm just starting chapter 18 so on the home straight, as you might say, with a few things dropped in to tie in with future stories. 

Worrals' litter mate, Rebel, is curled up on my knee one side while I balance the laptop precariously on the other; she is taking on the onerous task of primary kitty-editor. She also needs the comfort. They weren't as close as some siblings, but she misses her sister. 

So the first few chapters will cover a few things you've seen, but from Marcelina's POV and with other things happening. 

Chapter 1

 

 

Marcelina Hulewiczówna was afraid anyone near her could hear her heart hammering. She had reached the city of Większy-Bydlin, where her brother Konrad’s unit was based. If he was still an Ulan and had not been cashiered as Papa said. Marcelina had taken some of Konrad’s old clothes and come dressed as a boy, because it was safer and easier.

The uniform of a Rotmistrz, a captain, she knew, and, trembling, she approached the tall, handsome man with the insignia of his rank. He had long, dark hair caught in a tail, and long, dark moustaches like a Cossack, and shoulders like an ox.  He turned to give her a quizzical look.

 “Oh, please, my lord, I am looking for my brother,” she said. 

“And who is your brother?” asked the Rotmistrz.

“Konrad Hulewicz, my lord,” said Marcelina.

“I’m sorry, lad, he isn’t here at the moment,” said the Rotmistrz. “He’s on secondment to the law enforcement of the city, and I believe he’s out of town.”

Marcellina was fighting tears, blinking hard on them..

“You’re exhausted; sit down and I’ll send for tea,” said the Rotmistrz. “What’s your name?”

“M ... Marceli. Marcyś,” said Marcelina, flushing that she had almost given herself away.

“Is there anything I can help with?” asked The Rotmistrz, waving to a servant, and miming tea for two.

“I don’t think so,” said Marcelina. “I don’t even know if Konrad can help, but ... but I ran away to ask him ... Papa gets more and more unreasonable. He ... he said Konrad had been cashiered, but I don’t believe that any more than I believe my sister has gone to whore herself after driving her husband to kill himself!”

“Queen of Poland!” said the Rotmistrz. “No, young Hulewicz has not been cashiered; anything but, he has an exemplary record ... well, in terms of being an Ulan, slightly less so in terms of damage to city property with his friend, with some misplaced zeal ... but I understand that the starosta is pleased with him.”

Marcelina was much relieved, and brightened.

“Oh, well, that’s good to know. I ... I suppose if he’s out of the city, he doesn’t have a place where I can stay.”

“How old are you, child?”

“Sixteen, my lord.”

“Surely not!” The Rotmistrz looked taken aback. He frowned in thought.  “You’re either a lot younger than sixteen, or, so help me, I think I recall Konrad saying he had only sisters,” he said.

Her hand went to her mouth.

Tea arrived and he poured her a cup.

“What’s your real name, little girl?”

“Marcelina. I ... I don’t want to marry the man Papa has found for me. He won’t marry off Laurentyna because she’s ... not all there; and Eugenia is betrothed and very pleased with herself over it. And Zuzanna is only thirteen, so she’s safe for a while.”

“Well! I believe the best place for you might be with the substarosta’s wife.”

“She’ll look at me askance for being dressed as a boy.”

The Rotmistrz laughed.

“She’s a White Raven; they’re all insane. She serves as Lord Bystrzanowski’s page. She’d look after you until your brother is back in town, and would write to him for you, or pop your letter in with dispatches. Though it’s a little late now. Where’s your horse?”

“I don’t have one, my lord. I ... I saved all I could, not giving all I earned to Papa, but it didn’t run to a horse. I walked, and got lifts on carts. I’ve been walking day and night for nearly five days, and I ... I didn’t ought to have sat down somewhere comfortable ...”

“You poor brat. You’re all in. I’ll find you a cubby hole to sleep overnight, and we’ll worry about what to do long term in the morning. I don’t suppose you’ve been eating enough, either?”

“I’m too tired to eat,” said Marcelina.

“What I will do, my child, is to put you to bed, and then I will go and get a plate of bread and cheese and fruit, and some drinking water, and if you wake refreshed enough to eat in the night, you shall do so.”

“You are very kind.”

Her voice was already slurred.

The Rotmistrz picked her up effortlessly; she was asleep when he deposited her on a bed in a small single room not far from his own. He raided the kitchen and left a meal on the commode for her. A little mystery of a girl, but tomorrow was another day.

 

Marcelina awoke, wondering where on earth she was. The last few days, she had curled up in shelter outside to snatch a few hours’ doze at a time, never really sleeping. But last night ...

She blushed as she remembered that she had been carried to bed in the strong arms of her brother’s captain.

There was food, too!  Hungrily, Marcelina tore into bread and cheese and sausage, drinking the water left in a carafe. It was already light long since, but she had been left to sleep off her journey so hopefully the Rotmistrz would not mind.  She stripped, and washed, and put on clean breast bands and a clean shirt; she had not brought any girls’ clothes at all. He knew! She remembered, blushing. But he would have to take her as she was.

She ventured out of the little room, and a door further down the passage opened, and a large man came out. Her heart hammered.

“Panicz Hulewicz?” said the man. “I’m Janko, I’m Rotmistrz Wolski’s batman. He asked me to listen for you and be at your command if you need anything.”

“I ... is there a latrine?” asked Marcelina.

“Certainly, my lord; this door here,” said Janko. “It’s an officer’s latrine, but I have permission to use it too. Knock when you are ready and I’ll take you to the Rotmistrz.”

“Thank you,” said Marcelina.

The latrine had two stalls, each of which was basically a board over a stone drain, but it was a lot more comfortable than the lack of facilities of the average bush, and Marcelina was glad of the refinement of paper squares hung on a hook. She washed her hands under the pump outside which ran into a drain which presumably joined up with the two latrine drains. Then she went and knocked on the door as instructed.

Janko opened it, and she caught a glimpse of the bedroom behind, largely sparse, but with a patchwork comforter on the bed, and a strangely decorated ewer and bowl on the commode, being black with white figures on, much like a cameo. It was severe and restrained, but beautiful. Marcelina suspected it said a lot about the man who owned it.

Janko came out and shut the door behind him, closing off Marcelina’s nosy view.

“This way, my lord,” said Janko.

Marcelina followed. She had left her meagre possessions in the room where she had slept.  They went down a flight of stairs, and to another door.

Janko knocked, and at a muffled invitation, opened the door.

“Panicz Hulewicz, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you, Janko.  Perhaps you will see to clearing the plates and so on I left for the boy, and seeing to any washing,” said Wolski.  “I don’t believe you brought much, panicz?”

“No, my lord, only clean underlinen,” said Marcelina. “But ... but I can wash it...”

“We’ll worry about it later, then,” said Wolski.  “Thank you, Janko, that will be all.”

Janko withdrew.

“There’s a breast-band,” said Marcelina.

“Ah! I see,” said Wolski.  “Now, my name is Kajetan Wolski, in case you didn’t know it, and I have nothing but praise for your brother. I thought we might go and see Lady Bystrzanowska. She’s used to female pages, so she’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Marcelina, dubiously.

He smiled at her.

“I think the main issue is to assure you that you will be safe from being made to marry someone you referred to when half asleep as ‘The Upiór’. I cannot think that anyone should me married to such a person, even if the name is applied half in jest. It wasn’t, was it?”

“Well, obviously I do not believe in such things,” said Marcelina, blushing. “But he looks as though he was born before the Deluge and has lived every intervening year.”

“Which is not good,” said Wolski.

 

 

They walked the short distance from the barracks to the outskirts of town. There was a driveway, and a rather baroque house, with steep green roofs, and wide windows. It seemed to be trying to look in some way organic, striving for curves rather than sharp planes. There was a semi-basement, raised first level, and two more floors above that.

“Now that looks the sort of house where upiory ought to live ... er, inhabit,” said Marcelina.

“I understand that it had that reputation until Lord Bystrzanowski bought it for his bride and did it up,” said Wolski. “I’m told it has good climbing surfaces for practising.”

“Er ... practising what?” asked  Marcelina.

“Climbing. Did I mention the White Ravens are eccentric?” said Wolski.

“You said they were insane, and the house agrees,” said Marcelina with apprehension.

Wolski grinned at her, gave her his arm to mount the sweeping steps, and knocked on the door.

“Sssh, they might hear!” said Marcelina.

The door opened, and they were ushered into a front room which overlooked the steps. It was a more or less circular room, one side of which was all windows. It was decorated in blue, and as well as some comfortable looking chairs and day beds and a well-upholstered window seat, there was a large grand pianoforte. The jolly-looking blonde girl at the piano got up, and came forward.

“Why, Rotmistrz Wolski, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”

“Lady Bystrzanowska, this is Konrad Hulewicz’s sister,” said Wolski, presenting a nervous Marcelina.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Mariola Bystrzanowska. She seemed neither shocked nor surprised to be told that Marcelina was a girl, and smiled kindly.  “Are you fleeing from the abuses of your father, or is there a specific problem?”

“Oh, please, my lady, I’m running away because my father wants to marry me to a nasty old goat, and I’d be his fifth wife, but he’s rich. And Eugenia is happy to marry the wealthy man he found for her because she wants to be rich and have servants, and she doesn’t care what her husband is like. And Laurentyna isn’t marriagable because she’s not all there, because it was a long birth, and Zuzanna is only thirteen so he can’t really marry her off, and Lord Fincke looks like he’s been dead a year or so, and when he looks at me, I feel dirty.”

“Well, of course you mustn’t marry him if he disgusts you so. I will write to Konrad. Did you leave any letter?”

“Not likely! I didn’t want to leave any clues.”  Marcelina tossed her head.

“Your father might assume you went to your brother’s company of course.”

Marcelina shook her head emphatically.

“He thinks Konrad must have been cashiered for having to take a low job like being a constable, and please, lady, that’s his words, not what Konrad wrote, for I rescued his letter when Papa threw it on the fire. And Lord Wolski assures me he is not cashiered. And I don’t believe Stefania is a whore either. But I don’t know where she is.”

“Oh, I heard all about your father from Stefania,” said Mariola. “She’s living with me at the moment, as it happens, and working as a clerk for our starosta who doesn’t care if he has a female clerk so long as she can do the job. Now, I should think if your father doesn’t accept that Konrad is doing very well for himself, he might not look in the barracks; I was wondering if Lord Wolski might need a page until Konrad goes and tells your father what he thinks of him.”

“What does a page do?” asked Marcelina.

“Oh, runs errands, learns sabre drill and horse riding tricks like the towarzysze; takes messages, does little jobs for his or her lord which are too small and silly for a servant to do, but which free up time for him,” said Mariola. “Also is there for him to grumble to, about the vicissitudes of daily life, the idiocy of the men under him, the greater idiocies of those in command above him, the iniquities of the Sejm, the shortcomings of his current mistress ... I beg your pardon, Lord Wolski?”

“I spluttered over the calumny about discussing a mistress – if I had one – with a whelp of tender years and specifically a girl,” said Wolski.

“Oh, well, the rest is valid,” said Mariola. “We Ravens like our girls to spend some time as pages to understand our menfolk better. You’ve cared for her most tenderly overnight, I am sure Konrad would be grateful. I’ll have her happily, but it might be as well to hide her in obviousness for a while. Konrad has a second horse, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, it’s a brute, but it won’t matter as much for a page as for a fighting Ulan,” said Wolski.

“Which would you rather do, Marcelina?” asked Mariola.

Marcelina peeped up at Wolski.

“May I try being a page?” she asked. “Being a boy is very freeing.”

“Isn’t it?” said Mariola. “I need to sort out your hair. Perhaps Lord Wolski will send you over a livery based on the company’s uniform, and you can return when properly coiffed. Now how radical are you going to be if I do your hair, no worse than a short cut all over, a near shave all over, or a czupryna cut?”

Marcelina giggled.

“Papa would never expect any kind of radical male haircut.”

“Now, when you cut your hair, did you burn it?”

“No, but I cut it when I got off our land and buried it in the nearest village midden.”

“Good girl.”

Wolski found himself dismissed, and Marcelina was led firmly to a stool and sat down whilst the energetic lady whirled off to get things. Wrapped in a sheet, Marcelina was asked,

“Are you sure? It takes a while to grow back.”

“Oh, yes, please, my lady.”

“Oh, call me Mariola.  Everyone does, except when I’m being Lew.  You’ve got a good bone structure which will survive a czupryna cut.  I wore mine with a tail but you cut yours off short so that option is out. I’ll cut it short at the sides first to make shaving it easier. You’ll have to ask Wolski to shave it once every couple of weeks for you until you learn to do it yourself, of course, but being blonde it shouldn’t need doing more often than that. Ash blonde, too, so even paler than mine. You will be a pretty boy, but I think your chin is firm enough to carry off being boyish. You know it’s going to be hard work?”

“So’s farmwork and having to sew in the evening to support Konrad,” said Marcelina.

“Support?  I hadn’t heard he was that expensive, it’s Dawid, his friend, who is the extravagant one, and Dawid can afford it,” said Mariola.

“It’s what Papa said,” said Marcelina, shrugging.

“I don’t think much of your Papa,” said Mariola.

“I hate him,” said Marcelina.

“I can’t say I see why you shouldn’t,” agreed Mariola.  “There, what do you think?”

Marcelina stared into the mirror held up for her and saw a handsome little boy. Her hair was shaven just above the ears, and around the neck as she could find by feel, in an old-fashioned cut leaving a circle of short hair on top of the head rather than a strip.

“Oh yes!” she said, in satisfaction.