Mad Mikolaj in the vegetable garden

 Thanks to Irene31 for the idea for this lead in to the next story.

why didn't this publish yesterday? I apologise for having not checked after pressing the button.

Chapter 4 the Vegetable Garden. 1750 haidamak rebellion

 

War was what Mikołaj had trained for all his life; another Cossack uprising over the usual oppression by magnates.  He went off to war, with a sigh, leaving his wife, daughter, and newborn son, and hoped it would soon be over.

His captain fell in battle before they had been in Red Ruthenia long, and Mikołaj found himself promoted.

He had little stomach for fighting the rebels.

“Some people don’t deserve to have Cossacks,” said Mikołaj. “Mind, it’s lovely weather for it.”

Walenty gave him a pained look.

“I could think of better things to do than go to war in such lovely weather,” he said.

“You miss your Oleńka as much as I miss my Gosia; I know,” said Mikołaj. “I’m sure the two of them are happy together with Milena, Seweryn, and Wojciech.”

“Yes, Oleńka jumped at the chance to visit Raven’s Knoll and be near her father, as well as with Gosia,” said Walenty.

“Milena will boss both our boys,” said Mikołaj, cheerfully. “I say, there seems to be something happening ahead.”

“I’ll scout,” said Jędrek, sliding off his horse. He disappeared into the long steppe grass, already starting to smell of baking bread as it waved golden under the blue vault of heaven.

Mikołaj sighed.

“Why do these damned magnates have to stir up the Cossacks in what is God’s own country?” he complained.

“Because God saw that the Ukrainian land was perfection itself, and to prevent the people there getting complacent, He let in the devil, who chuckled evilly and said ‘I will make Ruthenian magnates and Russians,” said Jurko.

“Sadly, too believable,” said Mikołaj.

Jędrek appeared out of a rustle of grass.

“It’s an impaling party,” he said. “Some Pole and they have the stake peeled for him.”

“Magnate?” said Mikołaj.

“Like as not,” said Jędrek.

Mikołaj wrestled with his conscience.

“I suppose we’d better arrive in time, and not be accidentally too late,” he said. “Right, men, close up knee to knee, adjust szyszak, sabre on the knot.”

A ripple of enthusiasm went through his company at the prospect of action.

“Run them off, lads, only kill if they fight back,” said Mikołaj. “Just over the rise, Jędrek?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.  Charge!”

The thirty men of the patrol went into action. 

The Cossacks knew what the sound like thunder was, and scattered; nobody in their right mind presented a nice compact target for a charge of winged hussars. Those who realised that they were being run off, not run down, gave rapid thanks to God, and vanished onto the boundless steppe. Those too full of hatred to let it go, made a fight of it, and died. Mikołaj was forced to use his sabre a couple of times, but it was a short fight. The principal guest for the impaling party was as yet unharmed, if somewhat smelly from having soiled himself; and Mikołaj left him until he had ascertained that his men were unhurt.

“Jędrek, take Walenty’s friend, Jan, and find any wounded Cossacks playing dead, patch them up, and leave them water and shade,” said Mikołaj. “If we take prisoners, the fellow there who’s cursing up a blue streak will insist on impaling them, and I bet he deserves it more than they do.”

Jędrek nodded, and went off to do as he was bid. Mikołaj went over to the former prisoner, and slit the bonds on his wrists.

“And about time too! What were you fannying about doing?” demanded the man.

“My duty,” said Mikołaj. “I’ve enough water here for you to take a drink, and here’s a rag to wet to wash yourself down. Are those your clothes over there?”

“Of course they’re my clothes, whose else might they have been? Have someone clean me up and bring me my clothes.”

“Oh, I thought maybe they belonged to the Cossack leader here,” said Mikołaj. “Name?”

“Boy, you can’t talk to me like that! I am Wawrzyniec Czapliński!”

“Warzywniak Slabiński[1]? A very precious little vegetable you are, too,” said Mikołaj. “I don’t have a nanny to wipe your botty, nor a gardener to remove all the soil.”

“How dare you! You are offensive!”

“Well, Precious, I’d have thought that a ‘how glad I am to see hussars’ would have been nice, if you’re too uncultured to say, ‘thank you’ to us; but as a Vegetable... or was it Warzywnik, a vegetable plot...plenty of manure for it. Came out from between the ears, no doubt.”

“You... you... YOU!” gobbled Czapliński.

“Me,” said Mikołaj. “How fortunate you are, Precious little Vegetable, to have been found by me, very few are so lucky. You must be struck speechless by my physical beauty, my charisma, my air of insouciance, and my body, which is that of a young god.”

“Have you any idea who I am, boy?”

“You’re an ex-impalee, Precious, who has no sense of gratitude that we risked running into a possible trap to heave you out, without the level of scouting normally considered proper, you’re alive, with your guts intact and,” Mikołaj let loose a parade-ground bellow in the man’s face “YOU’RE A LITTLE SHIT-FOR-BRAINS WHO HAD BETTER SHUT THE HELL UP OR I WILL GAG YOU!.”

“I want to see whoever’s in charge here!” demanded Czapliński, petulantly.

“Ultimately in charge, or in charge of the troops here?” asked Mikołaj.

“Ultimately in charge of course!” snapped Czapliński.

Mikołaj shrugged.

“That being the Almighty, you can pray wherever you want.”

“Who is in charge of these hussars? Send him to me at once! Why hasn’t he come himself? I am going to complain about your failure and his to observe protocol!”

Mikołaj turned to Jurko, who was killing himself laughing.

“Towarzysz, who is in charge here?”

“You are, Captain Krasiński,” said Jurko.

“Well, then, Vegetable Plot, you have accused me of a discourtesy in not coming to you personally when my other duties permitted; you can report me to myself,” said Mikołaj. His voice was arctic. “And if you really want to complain about me, you can do so to the Pegasus, who is my colonel. Aren’t you at all happy to be alive to complain that I wanted to be sure my men were fighting fit before releasing you, and making sure to order them to stay alert in case it was a trap? No, I don’t suppose you are. I should, according to protocol, have sent out several scouts to check wider, taken the weather into account, and taken a position for a better charge.  Costing maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, which should have been enough for them to have you on that stake, and upright, and your weight sufficient to have already pierced your guts before the charge arrived. Of course, we would have shot you, as a mercy killing, but instead I decided to take the risk to save your feeble and vegetative life by ignoring protocol. Complain to the Pegasus about my failure to observe protocol by all means; he’ll probably ask you if you’d rather be handed back or impaled by us. You disgust me, and I despise you.” He smiled, brightly. “Of course, you can always decide to challenge me to a duel so I don’t have to bother to take you back alive.”

Czapliński snarled.

He had also seen Mikołaj in action.

He rode back to camp with them, simmering.

The hussars were singing a song which involved the improbable and physically unlikely sexual misadventures of some unnamed magnate.

It restored Mikołaj almost to good humour. They were good lads.

 

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[1] Vegetable Weakling