Mad Mikolaj in To Russia, with Milena, part i

 

Chapter 3 To Russia with Milena Early Spring 1749

 

I

 

“We do need to go check on the lands in Russia, you know, Gosia,” said Mikołaj. “And by the time we get there, rasputitsa should be over, and we can go via Hryhor’s, and see how little Władysław is. He’d be a little older than our Milenka, so probably Hryhor has started him on sabre drill.”

“Surely not!” Gosia bounced Milena, not quite three, on her knee, in time to the nursery rhyme she had been singing before Mikołaj came up with this idea.  “I can’t really come, love, I don’t want to leave Milenka.”

“We’ll take her; it’s not as if we are doing anything clandestine this time,” said Mikołaj. “We could, if you wanted, go into Gdańsk and take ship to St. Petersburg if you wanted to avoid going across land, though it’s the other way to calling on Hryhor. Or would it be an attraction not to see Hryhor?”

“I .... I do want to see little Władysław,” said Gosia. “Oh, Mikołaj, I must be pregnant again, I felt milk welling up just thinking of how I managed to feed him ...”

“Sweetness! Well, I won’t try to trammel you, you do better when you are active.”

“Yes, and it explains why I was feeling grumpy and out of sorts; and an adventure will do me the world of good. So long as I don’t get too angry with Hryhor. Sabre drill, did you mean it?”

“With Hryhor?  Yes, I meant it, he takes sabre drill seriously,” said Mikołaj, soberly. “You will get angry, but you must curb it, love. Just be there to cuddle Władysław, so he has some warm memories.”

“Damn that man!” said Gosia.

 

***

 

The time spent with Hryhor was short. Gosia tried not to weep that small Władysław did not seem to know how to respond to cuddles. However, he did not pull away, and she felt a small victory when he started leaning in to them.

“No point making him soft,” said Hryhor.

“Maybe if you’d been a bit less hard, he’d still have had a mother,” said Gosia.

Hryhor went white.

“What was I supposed to do?” he growled.

“Get a shepherd in who was used to turning lambs,” said Gosia. “You might hate the boy because his mother died to birth him, but it’s not his fault. And I did say I’d take him. But if you punish him for what was your fault, one day he’ll turn on you, and I’ll laugh.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” growled Hryhor.

“No, but you got it, anyway, so you are fortunate,” said Gosia.

They left shortly after that, and Władysław hid so he would not have to see them leave.

Gosia waxed irritable, but only when Milena was asleep and could not hear.

 

***

“I don’t think much of the roads,” said Gosia.

“It’s in line with the rest of the country, backwards, badly maintained, treated carelessly by the users, and generally as ramshackle as the whole rotten structure,” said Mikołaj. “What they need is a good uprising, but I doubt the serfs will ever have the will for it; and if they do, some other bugger will come forward to take the place of their ‘little father’ as tsar, even if by another name. Chodkiewicz should have subdued Moskwa utterly, and... you know, actually, I’m not sure what he could do to cure the Russians of being Russian.”

“Nothing wrong with Paweł.”

“No, but our dear little friend is an exception and he’s a Raven-in-law.”

“Raven-in-law? The law is one of casuistry.”

“Best law in the universe; Ravens invented it.”

“Isn’t this where we set off a charge of winged cows?” said Gosia, changing the subject, hastily.

“Why, so it is. And there are the girls, none the worse,” said Mikołaj. “I recognise that one with a wreath of spots. Hola, neighbour!” Mikołaj called to the cow herd, who was cringing back from fine people. Mikołaj tossed him a couple of golden złoty. “My thanks for your unwitting loan of your herd a couple of years ago; we’d had a misunderstanding over a small matter in Moskwa; all sorted now.”

The bucolic stared at the coins in shock, and then up at Mikołaj, and went into a paroxysm of laughter.

“Ar, that didn’t half scare them bloody soldiers,” he said. 

“Which was the whole idea; scare them without hurting them,” said Mikołaj. “Good day, neighbour!”

The cow herd pulled his forelock, bit the golden coins to check their validity and rapidly stowed them out of sight. His daughter could get married now.

“You’re a neighbour of all the world, it seems,” said Gosia.

“It’s a less contentious word than ‘friend,’” said Mikołaj. “Call someone ‘friend’ and you’re obliged to be friendly to him, even if he turns out to be a shit, or a boyar, but I repeat myself. Neighbours are more of an unknown quantity.”

Gosia smiled to herself. Mikołaj was no diplomat, but his choice of words was almost as nice as if he were.

They rode on, enjoying the thin spring sunshine.

 

“Why did we not stay in that town where we went to church last time?” asked Gosia.

“Because I have a sentimental desire to camp in that little hollow where we were snowed up,” said Mikołaj. “I’m sure Jędrek will entertain Milena for an hour or so as we never got to christen our little home from home by making love there.”

“You’d think it would have dropped off by now from overuse,” rumbled Jędrek. “I’ll take Milenka to pick pretty flowers.”

Much of the structure had fallen in, but with much giggling, a space might be cleared for bedrolls.  Jędrek sighed, shook his head, and let Milena wander off under his watchful eye. He rolled up his eyes at the squeal of delight when she discovered frog spawn.

A couple of hours later, a happily green and slimy child ate supper and was stripped off and washed with water warmed on the fire in the ‘regular chimney’ in the part that had housed their horses the time they passed through the other way, and then Milena was put to bed.

“Maudlin, I call it,” said Jędrek. “A sign that he has softening of the brain.”

“It’s called nostalgia,” said Mikołaj.

“You call it nostalgia, my lord, I’ll call it softening of the brain,” said Jędrek, equably.

“You can call it what you like, but you’re sleeping on the other outside side to keep the girls warm,” said Mikołaj.

“And to think we could have stayed in an inn,” sighed Jędrek.

“I’d rather be outside than in a Russian inn,” said Gosia.

“You are infected too?” sighed Jędrek.

“Jędrek, I don’t mind sharing a bed with you. I don’t like sharing a bed with bedbugs, lice, fleas, and whatever other vermin inns proliferate with.”

“How can I make a good grumbling argument, when your wife is so completely right, Miklosz?” asked Jędrek, plaintively.

“Well, that’s the thing; you can’t,” said Mikołaj, happily. “Oh, what fun it is to be just us together, bickering happily again.”

Jędrek wondered whether he might say, ‘speak for yourself,’ but decided to say nothing, a slow smile playing across his face. He made of his arm a pillow for Milena and Gosia, whilst Mikołaj spooned happily against his wife from behind. And Gosia winked at Jędrek in the fading light.

 

Two days later they were entering Moscow, and encountering the usual obstructiveness and suspicion until Mikołaj said, with a face shining with innocence, “Why don’t you ask my dear little friend and cousin-in-law, Paweł Skobelew? We’ll be staying with him and his minnow, after all.”

Referring to the head of the secret police as a dear little friend and a relative had every guard and policeman in the city ready to leap to Mikołaj’s lightest suggestion as though it was a command.

Mikołaj beamed beatifically.

This had been the general idea.

An escort was to be provided, and if this was in any way to make sure the big Pole was not lying, Mikołaj did not care.

“You can’t include me and your sheep in the deal, can you, Lach?” asked a Cossack, who was waiting without the gates with a herd of rather fine looking sheep.

“Depends if you’re selling,” said Mikołaj.  “Last letter I had from my factor said the sheep were thin and sad, and those would certainly boost my flocks.”

“Well why would I bother to come to Moskva but to sell them?” asked the Cossack.

“I don’t know, you might have highly trained attack midgets strapped to their bellies for the purpose of overthrowing the Moskale, though to be honest, I’d pay to watch that,” said Mikołaj.

The Cossack guffawed.

“No such luck,” he said. 

“What are you asking?”

“Forty grosze a head,” said the Cossack.

“How many have you, twenty?” asked Mikołaj.

“Nineteen,” said the Cossack.

“He’s telling the truth, I counted them,” said Jędrek.

“One-two-fee-four-łots,” said Milena.

“Suppose I pay you five-and-twenty złoty for the sheep, and another five for accompanying them to my lands in the north?” said Mikołaj.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” said the Cossack.

“Half now, half on delivery,” said Mikołaj.

A curt nod answered him.

“He’s with me, and so are his wives,” said Mikołaj to the captain who came to escort him. “And they all need to have their hair dressed and be gowned for the reception tonight.”

“You think you’re a comedian, Lach,” said the Cossack.

“I know I’m a comedian,” said Mikołaj. “It’s part of my manifold charms, along with my perfect  body, and sexual prowess, all of which belongs to my queen, my adored one, my honeyed intoxicant, my ruby without price, my darling wife!” he kissed his fingers to Gosia.

“Ignore my husband in this mood,” said Gosia. “He doesn’t like border guards and it makes him whimsical.”

“And anyone else gets arrested for it, so he must be onto something good.”

“Believe it or not, I really am on good terms with their top secret policeman; he’s married to my cousin,” said Mikołaj.

The Cossack shrugged.

“It takes all sorts,” he said. “If he wants to search the sheep privily, they’re yours now.”

 

 

Pavel Skobelev happened to be looking out of the window to see why there were sheep bleating in the street, and he recognised Mikołaj immediately.

Consequently he came running out of the house before the captain of the guard could knock.

“Paweł! My little fish, where is your minnow?” cried Mikołaj.

“Still not well after giving me a son, I fear,” said Pavel. “That’s never Milena, almost grown up?”

“I is Miłeena,” said Milena.

“Well, I never. Uh... the soldiers and the sheep?”

“Oh, I bought a flock of soldiers and the sheep are part of my escort,” said Mikołaj.

“I see,” said Pavel. “Have you a general to lead your woolly escort?”

“Well, an ataman, which is close enough,” said Mikołaj. “I don’t think they’re going to get coiffed and gowned in time for the reception tonight though.”

“What reception?” said Pavel.

“You mean, you’re not giving one in honour of my perfect body and my honeyed intoxicant?” said Mikołaj, sounding injured.

“No,” said Pavel. “You stole your body from a young god, and if you don’t shut up about it, I might have to hold you for larceny.”

Mikołaj opened his mouth and shut it again.

“Nice one, Paweł,” said Jędrek. “He doesn’t often get out-crazied.”

“I will treasure the moment; I doubt I’ll have many,” said Pavel. “Captain! Find somewhere the ataman can stable his sheep and... is he staying with me, Mikołaj?”

“I don’t know,” said Mikołaj. “Are you staying with us, ataman?”

“Hell, yes, I’ll dine out on it,” said the Cossack. “Name’s Yevheny Lipichenko”            

“That’s a yes,” said Mikołaj. “You’d better hire someone to care for my sheep, Captain.” He passed over money.

 

Magdalena flew out of her room to hug Gosia, and Mikołaj, and Jędrek, and then Milena, which adulation Milena accepted with equanimity as her due.

The visitors were dragged to see baby Vanya, who was a cheerful baby and surrounded by so many servants Mikołaj muttered to Gosia, ‘They breed in dark cupboards, you know.’

“Oh, hush, you,” said Gosia. “It just looks that way when they pop in out of all sorts of places.”

“I hope you don’t want a surfeit of baby-pamperers,” said Mikołaj.

“Heaven forefend!” said Gosia.

“So what are you doing here, Mikołaj?” asked Pavel.

“We were going to look at my lands and thought we’d come to see our dear little friend in his own little fish pool with minnow and smallfry,” said Mikołaj. “Not that I’d say any different if we did have nefarious purposes, but we don’t.”