Written from before Helena saw Bohun brain a man in front of her, at a time when she listened still wide-eyed to the stories he and her cousins told of their derring do. This assumes Helena overheard a certain conversation, and decided to be frank with Jurko.
Kurylo looked at his kinsman and ataman and laughed. The handsome young Cossack had his arms full of jewels and gold, and carried some woman’s headdress stiff with jewels by the expedient of putting it on his own dark, unruly locks.
“The harem princess look doesn’t go with the bloodstains, ataman,” he said.
Jurij Bohun grinned at him, his even teeth very white in his regular tawny face.
“How else am I to carry it?” he asked. His sea-coloured eyes danced with fun knowing that he looked ridiculous. He had not looked ridiculous to the Janissaries he had recently been slaying with his quick sabre.
“Don’t you have enough?”
“You can never have enough loot. Besides, I am depriving the Turks of it, and every złoty’s worth taken from them is one they cannot spend on war. Also, I need to impress the old princess.”
Kurylo made a face.
The princess was the mother of the Kurcewiczowie often accompanied Bohun and his Cossacks on their raids on the Tatars and the Sultanate, and Kurylo was not certain it was healthy. The five –or four since the oldest had been captured and blinded – might be technical princes but in fact fulfilled the Polish proverbial description of dirt-poor szlachciura as ‘bare foot but with spurs.’
“We are your brothers, not them,” he said.
“I ... it is a place of roots, of a kind,” said Bohun. “I have no father that I know of.”
Kurylo shrugged.
“So? It is not uncommon. You fancy their cousin.”
Bohun flushed.
“She’s still little more than a child,” he said, defensively.
“You want her. So wait until she’s old enough, and take her,” said Kurylo.
“I can’t do that! She’s a szlachcianka; more, a princess, and ... and I want to marry her.”
“You do have it bad. Well, with this haul, why not enter negotiations with the old woman and get it all settled?”
“I ... yes, I might,” said Bohun. “She tells me to call her ‘mother’ but I think all her love goes to the loot I take, which she sincerely adores. I don’t like how she treats Helena either; calls her a burden, and slaps her readily which she’d never have dared do when her husband was alive. And her sons take some of their tone from her, and though they are not unkind as such to the child, they make like they look down on her. I ... I know what that is like,” he muttered. “It destroys the spirit. I fear that many years more of it will leave her cowed, and the spirit of fun gone from her.”
oOoOo
Helena Kurcewiczówna listened to a conversation between her cousins’ friend, Jurij Bohun, and her aunt. She was shocked at herself for listening, knowing that eavesdropping was seriously rude, and that eavesdroppers rarely hear good of themselves.
But he loved her!
Her father had loved her, but did not take her with him when he went into exile.
Her uncle loved her, but he died.
Wassylij, her blind cousin, was kind to her.
Love ... that was to crave for. Maybe Bohun wasn’t as scary as he sometimes looked. Certainly when he laughed, his sea-coloured eyes crinkled in his dark, handsome face, and at the sides of his long, elegant moustaches, dimples lurked. Oh he was sweet when he laughed; and he was handsome all the time. He was newly promoted Captain of Registered Cossacks, and he had come to show off his new title, she supposed, as well as more loot from another raid. Rozłogi dripped with fine fabrics from the adventures he and her cousins had, and they told many a story in the evenings. It sounded exciting.
Helena lurked, in order to accost him.
Helena was just fifteen years old, and she was a princess. Not that it meant much. She had been effectively orphaned at the age of four, when her father, Wassylij had been accused of treason and had fled. Her Uncle Konstantin had done his best for her until he had died, and then her governess had been dismissed, and though not treated quite as a servant, she was expected to do all the sewing and mending for the family, and her uncouth aunt had no good word for her. The old princess was a Cossack woman with the barest veneer of sophistication. Illiterate herself, she had never seen a reason to have her sons taught the skills which marked the difference between szlachta and the peasantry. Effectively, Helena felt as though she had gone from being raised as a princess to being a peasant, and that would have been hard, but bearable if she had only been loved. With the dubious care of a cold, hard woman she was miserable.
“Jurko, may I speak to you?” Helena asked when he had left her aunt and was striding towards the stable.
Jurko Bohun smiled at Helena. She was barely a woman, but the promise of beauty lay upon her, if one looked past the gawkiness of a teen-aged girl. Her features were regular and her hair a rich brown, echoed in her big, beautiful eyes.
“Of course, princess,” he replied to her. How solemn her dark eyes were! She should not need to look so solemn, so ready to cringe from hurt, her eyes should laugh.
“I overheard,” she said, abruptly. “I overheard you bargaining my dowry to my aunt for my hand in marriage, to let her keep Rozłogi.”
He was disconcerted, and gave her the curious upwards glance through his brows which subconsciously she read as a man hurt too often to look straight.
“I know it’s your house, but do you think she’d ever let you take it?” he asked, softly. “She’d find a way. And she’s quite ruthless. Any husband of yours who did not surrender it ...” he left the thought hanging. “It wasn’t an attempt to rush you into marriage,” he added, hastily. He gazed at her with his liquid, sea-green eyes.
“I hate my aunt,” said Helena. “But I don’t know you. You spend all your time with my cousins, and they call me ‘little girl’ and despise me. If I marry you, I’d want you to keep your promise to the letter, and permit her to remain, but not as head of the house. I’d want her in a servant’s room, not the chatelaine of my house.”
He chuckled, and his dimples danced.
“Oh, very clever, Halszka! I did not specify anything,” he said. “She wouldn’t take it lying down.”
“Have you any idea what she really thinks of you, Jurko?” said Helena, in a cold, hard little voice. “She encourages you to call her ‘mother’, and calls you her falcon. Behind your back she gloats to me about how clever her sons were to cultivate your friendship as you fill the dwór with riches in your craving to have a real family. She wants you to bed her, you know; I’ve seen her watching you, and she has that look ... you know.” She blushed. “When she says ‘my falcon’ to you, she ... her eyes burn. And I don’t suppose any agreement over my fate would remain ...unaltered. Nor do I think she would hesitate for a moment if she thought she could get a better deal selling me to someone else. I think the only reason she hasn’t given me to her sons to play with, apart from them having a shred or two of decency left, is because I’m a commodity.”
“Hell!” said Jurko, shocked. “I ... my cuckoo, I can’t let her treat you like that.”
“Jurko, take me with you on your next raid, and teach me to be brave enough to stand up to her, and let me get to know you,” she said, impulsively.
“What?” he was nonplussed.
“You and my cousins seem to enjoy yourselves, so take me with you. I want to have fun too, and being stuck here with her is no fun at all. Please, Jurko! Then I will understand you better.” She laid a slender hand on his chest.
“Sweet Helena, we fight.” He laid his shapely, capable hand on hers. She felt the calluses on his hand from gripping a sabre.
“Then teach me sabre so I can fight with you.” It was a rash suggestion, impulsive; if she had not been feeling so down at having been beaten so hard for clumsy stitchery before Jurko had come and lifted her spirits by declaring love for her, she might never have spoken so.
He flushed.
“We ... we fight the Turk and the Tatars. And ... and sometimes there are female slaves...” he tailed off.
She looked at him in horror.
“Jurko! If ... if the Tatars came when you were away, we would have no defence and the next slave girl you wanted to use might be me. You know how my aunt hates me; can you guarantee that she would not bargain to hand me over?”
He gasped in horror, and tears sprang to his emotional eyes.
“Halszka! I could not bear that! I had not thought of it.”
“I ... I think you would be such a bohatyr if you rescued the women and children, and brought them back,” said Helena, turning her big dark eyes on with full intensity.
“Go steal clothing from your cousin Mikołaj’s room; he’s the nearest to you in size,” said Jurko. “We’ll have to cut your hair.”
She gasped; it was shameful for a woman to have her hair cut save on her wedding night, but for her own safety ... Helena reasoned that in a way, it marked her marriage to Jurko.
Captain Bohun regarded his men.
“Right, you depraved goat-fucking good-for-nothing Cossacks, no more screwing the slaves,” he said. “You want to touch, you bought it and you chose a wife. We’re bringing them all back, to prove it can be done, that we do not have to be at ransom to the Tatars. What, is a quick screw worth more to you than living eternally in glory as heroes?”
The young boy beside him turned approving, worshipful eyes on him, and Jurko’s cup ran over.
“You’re our ataman,” said one of the older Cossacks. “May we ask why?”
“We need to improve our position,” said Jurko. “You know the rumblings amongst the Cossack atamans who have been badly treated by the Lach[1] landowners. And you also know how nothing good has ever come of it. When it happens again, we must be so famous, so covered with glory that we are not mistrusted, not made scapegoats. We have it good with our life fighting for Poland, and we have plunder besides, and our Pułkownik is indulgent, but Prince Jeremi neither likes nor trusts us. We need to have enough popular support to avoid him demonising us.”
This caused a mutter of approval. Jurko knew that it was affection and respect for himself which would be the deciding factor in whether his men joined the next charismatic leader of the Sich; and proud as he was of his Cossack roots, he craved acceptance by true szlachta, not just those like the Kurtzewiczowie.
“Jurko,” said Helena, “I know you don’t like Prince Jeremi Korybut Wiśniowiecki, but my father was his father’s man ...you told me my father was cleared, which my aunt has never done. I wondered if we should ... you know, write to him, and tell him the situation.”
“I don’t write so good,” said Jurko, flushing a dull red.
“I can teach you, when we are on the ship, and not doing a lot,” said Helena.
“I ... yes, I would like that,” said Jurko. “But will you write? I can append my name.”
“Yes, I will,” said Helena. “And let us get that sent with one of your Cossacks.”
“To my dread lord and prince, Jeremi Wiśniowiecki, herbu Korybut,” wrote Helena, who was copying the style of official letters she had seen.
“Written by the hand of Helena Kurcewiczówna-Bułyha for herself and for Jurij Bohun, Captain of Cossacks. My prince, it is Captain Bohun who has told me that my father’s name was cleared, my aunt still informing me that I am the daughter of a traitor, who should be grateful for her care of me.
As I understand it, I am heir of Rozłogi, but Captain Bohun has told me that my aunt has told him that if he will blink at her keeping the house and lands for herself and her sons, my cousins, he might have me in marriage. My prince, my Cossack captain is a true knight who does all he might to protect me; my cousins are kindly, but they are simple men, and in the thrall of their mother, my aunt. I have left Rozłogi in the guise of a boy, under the captain’s protection, since I cannot bear the slights, the lies and the cruelty of my aunt any longer. I do not count her as my legal guardian, but I consider you to be so, and I beg your leave to marry my captain when I am of a better age so to do, and that you will give him dominion over Rozłogi. He will not break his oath, which he swore to protect me, for my aunt would, I feel, sell me to any man who wanted me if she could keep her home. But he never said where she might have her chamber ...
This is the situation, my prince, and I go with Captain Bohun on a raid even as this is sent, because the privations of warfare are preferable to another night being abused and beaten by my aunt.
Written this day, some time in August by the Polish calendar
Helena Kurcewiczówna-Bułyha.
Jurij Bohun, Captain of Cossacks”
Jurko added his signature to hers.
“He is good to those who put their trust in him,” he said. “I will try to do so, my cuckoo, my darling.”
“Oh, Jurko, you make me feel so safe,” sighed Helena.
“I hope I will always keep you safe,” said Jurko, emotion flooding him. “And to that end I will drill you mercilessly with the sabre, so you might protect yourself.”
“Who’s the whelp, ataman?” asked Kurylo.
“A connection of the Kurzewiczowie,” said Jurko, nonchalantly. Helena was sitting on the ground, clutching the pain of a stitch in her side where he had pressed her mercilessly in sabre drill.
“Not very well trained,” said Kurylo.
“Not trained at all,” said Jurko. “Education neglected entirely for being an unwanted whelp. I’ll lick him into shape, though.”
“Aye, well, you’d know about that,” said Kurylo. “Has he the fire to come through being unwanted? You’re exceptional.”
“Yes, he’ll get there,” said Jurko. “The will is strong in him, stronger than his physical strength which is negligible. He can read and write, and was kept as sedate as a girl.”
“Poor brat,” said Kurylo. “Are you training him to be an officer under you?”
“Yes,” said Jurko.
