Omake for Happy!Jurij - officer training.

 

Omake set in alternate history universe of the Korybut chronicles

 

Jurij Korybut Wiśniowiecki Bohun hitched one buttock onto the high stool of the teaching lectern at the new Korybut Knights’ School.

“You’ve been told that making a decision, any decision is better than procrastinating; that an officer has to be able to make a rapid decision, and that a good officer makes the best decision more often than not and usually makes a good decision. You don’t need me to tell you that. What I am going to tell you is that every officer will, sooner or later, encounter an underling who drives him to gibbering incoherence, and brings him close to the unforgiveable sin of wringing the fellow’s neck.  I see a few superior smiles; my temper is legendary, I know. What you don’t know is that I learned to control it by the time I was  five-and-twenty, and most of my supposed temper is a well-orchestrated act. However, let me tell you about... let us call him Towarzysz Rojewski, who, as his name implies, is as irritating as a swarm of hornets. You will all, one day, meet your own Rojewski, who may be a towarzysz, or an enlisted man, or, God and his mother help you, a specialist. Rojewski is a man who cannot be trusted to stay sober. Someone wants him for his expertise; or his wife comes to ask if he’s on punishment duty as he hasn’t been near her all day. You check the punishment rosters; no. You pass the word for him; he is not found. You send a signal to see if another unit has arrested him, or if he is injured. No.

Typically you find him between twenty-four and seventy-two hours later, still bladdered, and half the time he has been in unsanctioned possession of a horse or a vehicle, or worse, a barge, which he has... borrowed. Usually he has done something like swap the horse for a donkey – with or without a bride – or wrapped the cart around some obstacle, or run the barge aground by trying to tack up Bridge Street in it. Son?”

“Aren’t you exaggerating, your highness?” asked a serious looking youth.

“Son, I wish I was,” said Jurko. “The ‘and bride’ happened to me when I was your age, and my drunkard returned home after three days hard carousing, married, and riding a donkey backwards, having swapped it for his horse. Fortunately, the bride sorted him out and I haven’t had any trouble since.  But I have had two pocztowy trying to sail a barge up Bridge Street, because they had a bet on with their equally drunken friend that they could do so faster than he could drive the hay wain of which he was equally illegally in possession. Rojewski is an ingenious fellow in his own way, because he manages to invent casuistries as to why he is doing what he is doing which would take a committee of fifty drunken madmen to come up with. I have known one Rojewski who thought it was a good idea to jam a barrel into a gun barrel – a loaded gun barrel – and, holding on to the barrel, have the gun fired so that the cannon ball would project his barrel and its rider into flight. I hope all of you have noticed the logical inconsistency in his endeavours? Yes, you at the end?”

“Wouldn’t the ball go right through the ends of the barrel?”

“Exactly. He was lucky not to lose his hands. That was one of the half the time when a vehicle is not involved; but constituting the quarter of the time when some other engine or piece of equipment is being put to inebriated misuse. When this involves fireworks there is some risk of fire. I think the one which baffled me the most was the man who thought that riding the sails of a windmill was a good idea. Too drunk to fear the height, giggling wildly, and singing a song your mothers would have me impaled for even mentioning in front of you.”

“Sir, how did you handle it?”

“I paid off the miller for the loss of wind and had him move the sails out of the wind so they would stop rotating, and as much by luck as judgement, managed to get them stopped when he was at the bottom. He called me ‘Darling’ and tried to kiss me,” said Jurko. “I know I have a perfect Cossack body, and irresistible allure, but I have my standards. He informed me solemnly that all five of me were rotating.”

“What about the other quarter of the time?” asked another youth.

“Usually discovered sleeping it off somewhere inappropriate, like the middle of a busy street,” sighed Jurko. “And once, dressed in a silk gown, dancing and exposing himself in the Rynek.”

“Don’t you have... well, rules, about drunkenness?” said one, disapprovingly.

“Son, you can ban things until you’re black in the face and your own Rojewski will find a way round your prohibitions,” said Jurko. “My task here today is to present you with the realities of life in the military, and the insanities of the determinedly drunken soldier.  And to explain that sometimes the only thing you can do is to sentence him to be chained up at his post like a dancing bear until the job is done. Not something to order lightly, but if you have an inveterate drunk, his illicit spree and not being at his post – say manning a cannon – can be the life or the death of his comrades. And then, you have to judge how much alcohol to allow him as he is sobering up so that he’s able to function without going into delirium tremens. He’s no good to the military, really, if he does it as a regular matter, but plenty of soldiers will do something like that once; and if the one who is a repeat offender is the only man who can work a particular piece of engineering kit, all you can do is to get him quietly dried out completely and hope he realises that he doesn’t want to go through that again by setting himself off again. It’s an illness, and some men react worse to alcohol than others. Take my friend, Onufry Zagłoba, who was drinking himself to death before he got married; but it took a good gallon of mead to make him half-cut. Other people are asleep after a pint of mead. But it is a problem to watch for, lads, and one to take seriously. Drunkenness can kill. And it usually kills a drunkard’s friends, not him. One more thing. The drunken officer is a serious menace and if he can’t be cured should be cashiered. I hope none of you will ever find yourselves taking a glass of wine to help you make decisions, or to steady your nerves before battle. That’s what happened to ‘Bearpaws’ Potocki, and you know your history well enough to know that he died a traitor because he was so afraid of having his failures shown up that he tried to cause a Cossack rebellion. If any of you ever feel an urge to take a glass to steady your nerves, look into the mirror and tell yourself, ‘I am better than Potocki.’ Because it doesn’t calm the nerves, it dulls the intellect. And one glass soon is not enough... then two... and then you are going into battle, drunk as an Englishman, and getting your men killed. Right; I made  you laugh with the stories of Rojewski, but I hope you take away a real lesson with you.”

Książ castle

 because it's pretty, I pulled these images off the net which are copyright to Wikipedia, thanks Wiki

and the gardens and inside

So now  you can picture Jaromka wandering around thinking 'Decadent!' to himself. My first thought was 'who cleans all those windows?'

bonus post, poem

 

Jurij was a mariner, a wanderer, a wayfarer

He travelled far o’er land and sea, his destiny a venturer

He battled foes upon his way, to free poor souls from slavery

And never paused in righteous cause to ply his sword with bravery.

 

Jurij built a fleet of ships for reaving in, to buccaneer

With sun and sextant by the day, at night the stars to help him steer;

To fall upon  his foes with fire, and featly force them to obey

When he called on them to surrender, for his fleet had won the day.

 

He built a web of waterways, to sail the land as readily

As ever on the open seas, and brought his soldiers steadily

By speed and stealth in conquering his foes struck down by sabre bright,

To save his realm from piracy, and brigandage, and traitor’s blight.

 

Jurij was a Cossack and a mariner notorious

He fell upon the Ottomans and wrought his vict’ry glorious

He steered his fire-stricken ship defiantly at foeman’s fleet

And gave his life for all he loved, directing the inferno’s heat.

 

Jurij was a warrior, a father and a husband true

A son he was, his father’s pride, a family man, and loyal too

Beloved by all who knew him, his memory will never die

A merry man who lived his life in full, with mischief in his eye.

Korybut: an as yet unnamed tale.

 this started of as a 3-5k word omake and ended up as a novel. I was going to start it tomorrow now I wrapped it, but I thought, hey, it's Sunday... 

In which Janina and Onufry discover a treacherous plot which turns out to have a little bit of French in it, and in which foreign policy involves looting  a treaty bride and a little bit of assassination.

Chapter 1 spring 1658

 

Janina Zagłoba sat herself down on her husband’s knee.        

“Onufry, my dear lord, I overheard Prince Jurij talking to you about a man he mistrusts,” she said.

“I don’t suppose he’d mind if you dropped the ‘Prince’, my dear,” said Zagłoba. “We’ve been married ten years, and you call Helena by name.”

“He makes me a little nervous; he’s so very... well, very,” said Janina.

Zagłoba laughed.

“An intense young man, certainly, who puts his whole self into all that he does,” he agreed. “As to the man he distrusts, yes, a Dawid Zabiełło, who is ambitious and seems sly. He looks around with a calculating look.”

“Well, doesn’t he frequent an inn called ‘Jerusalem’?” asked Janina. “I heard that mentioned.”

“He does; but if anyone went in there for us as customers, I doubt he’d talk freely in front of any stranger, even if it was someone he didn’t know by sight.”

“But I expect he talks in front of bar wenches,” said Janina.

“Of course; they don’t know Latin, which is the province of the noble class.”

“Onufry, I know Latin. You taught me yourself so nobody should look down on me when you married me. And I have not forgotten how to be a bar wench, as I was in my father’s tavern before,” said Janina. “I am sure I could get a job there, especially if one of the other servers received a sudden legacy. Pr... Jurij could arrange that, surely? And I would present a sob story of needing somewhere to go, being a young widow, who is with child. I look younger than most peasant women my age, or I’d take Basia to add verisimilitude to the story. She’s quick, and clever. Janek can’t act to save his life, bless him.”

Basia was Zagłoba’s love-child, and Janina’s step-daughter, and at ten years old more interested in swordplay than embroidery, something which did not trouble Janina. She would be capable of playing a part! Janek was Janina’s oldest son, not quite a year younger than his half-sister. Naturally, Nufcio, at six, and Halcia at three were too young.

Zagłoba surveyed his wife, critically. She was almost thirty, but she was right, she looked like a young matron of the class in which she lived, a szlachcianka. A peasant woman of thirty was careworn already. Janina could pass as a young widow of two- or three-and-twenty quite easily. Janina took care of herself, joined in the sabre-drill with her husband, and had rapidly regained her figure after every birth.

Finding objectivity difficult, Zagłoba kissed his beloved wife. This led to a distraction, and it was a long time later that he lay with his arms around her, spooning against her back, considering her suggestion.

“It’s bold,” he said. “Your suggestion. I think Basia is too cheeky to carry off being a peasant girl, though. She would lose her temper and tell off a szlachcic for spilling wine, or being drunk, and then she’s likely to be beheaded. It isn’t legal, but it happens. Especially amongst those like young Zabiełło whose consideration for his golden rights exceeds his less than golden abilities. But nobody can ask you to take such a risk....” his arms tightened.

“I’m volunteering, Onufry. Because if we can find out enough to usurp his plans before they get going, we could save lives, if he truly is looking to start some kind of coup. It’s my duty to the Rzeczpospolita to use such skills as I have, and to use what I learned before you came into my life, and made me the happiest woman alive.”

Onufry Zagłoba still wondered why this wonderful, beautiful woman loved him, and had done so when he had been eating and drinking himself to death out of loneliness. He was almost thirty years older than she was, although now he was as fit and had as taut muscles as any Cossack, and looked, if truth were told, younger than he had done when first he married Janina. He nuzzled her neck, and she giggled as his moustache, a thing of magnificence, tickled her.

“Janina, you are more noble than many a szlachcianka to suggest it,” he said. “I adore you.”

“Would my lord like to prove how much he adores me, again?” asked Janina, turning towards him.

He kissed her hungrily.

“Oh, my lovely wife,” he said. “I still marvel that you married me, and that you love me, and desire me. Not that I’m complaining.”

“You talk too much,” said Janina, kissing him.

 

oOoOo

 

“Mama, can I help you spy?” asked Basia, standing on one leg, and poking at her boot top with the raised toe.

“Honeycake, if a szlachcic calls me ‘wench’ and handles me familiarly, will you be able to refrain from calling him all the rude names Jaromka Wiśniowiecki teaches you, and slapping his face?” said Janina.

Basia nibbled her plait.

“He’d deserve it,” she said.

“For sure, and what do you think he’d do to a peasant girl who acted like that?”

Basia scowled.

“I get it,” she said. “My temper is too hot. I’m going to go and beat Jaromka at chess and then fight him, so I don’t cry.”

“Good girl,” said Janina.

“Why do you have to do it, Mama?” asked Janek. “Won’t it be dangerous?”

“Someone has to do it, son,” said Janina. “And I know how. You know that Mama was a serving girl before meeting Papa; I’ve never hidden it, and Grandpapa now has his little retirement cottage.”

Janek sighed.

“I suppose you have to do your duty,” he said. “I wish you didn’t have to.”

“I wish there were not ambitious and wicked men to make me have to take this duty,” said Janina. “But there are, and so I do what I can, and what I must.”

 

Zagłoba looked Janina over.        

Barefoot, and in a kirtle kilted up to mid calf, her neckline low and displaying her shapely bosom,  which was pushed up by the bodice she wore, her hair bundled into a shawl, she looked every inch a bar wench.

“I may have to strip you to the skin to check all is correct,” he said.

Janina’s breath came fast.

“If you delay me too much I may lose my nerve,” she said. “And the innkeeper must not smell sex on me, so no, no quickie across your lap either.”

“It’s going to be very hard,” said Zagłoba, plaintively.

“Then come in when Zabiełło is elsewhere and flirt with me,” said Janina. “I can report while you are mussing me....”

He growled.

“So I can,” he said. “Go, wench, before I throw you over my shoulder and have my wicked way with you.”

 

He took himself to the palace as Janina made her way to the inn, and soon managed to speak to Jurij Korybut Wiśniowiecki Bohun, the king’s oldest son.

“We have a spy on Zabiełło,” said Zagłoba, without beating about the bush.

“We do?” said Jurko.

“We do; Janina has gone for a job in the inn he frequents, I bribed one of the other servers by having him inherit a lease to an inn, on my lands, and a decent legacy. Janina is posing as a young widow, looking for a job as a bar wench.” He paused, eyes shut, stroking his moustache in contemplation of her low-cut gown and the lacing pushing up her pert bosom. “And what a disguise,” he added.

“Well, I salute your sense of duty,” said Jurko, laughing. “I’m not sure I’d give up Helena in such an imposture; I hate losing any of Jurij’s shagging time, and my perfect and irresistible Cossack body needs frequent exercise.”

“I am unspeakably brave,” sighed Zagłoba.

Neither mentioned how brave Janina was. If her imposture was discovered, she would suffer greatly. And neither wished to think too much about that.

There would be discreet guards about the inn, but they must needs be distant and discreet, and unsuspected. Essentially, she was on her own.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Someone mentioned you had a vacancy for a serving girl,” said Janina to the innkeeper in the Jerusalem Inn.

He was middle aged; about the age Zagłoba had been when she had first known him. As her husband had been then, he was running to fat, and had the reddish nose of a man who sampled his own wine. Here the resemblance stopped.  Where Onufry Zagłoba’s eyes had crinkled in myriad wrinkles of laughter and good nature, the lines forming on the innkeeper’s face were those of bad temper. Janina could imagine him being a violent drunk, where her Onufry had merely sung more and more off key, telling more and more lurid jokes, until he passed out. She had shaved Onufry’s privy hair when he broke a promise and got drunk when she had asked him not to; and he had worked hard to change for her. This man would likely beat any woman who did that.

He grunted, leering at her breasts.

“I was looking for a serving man, but I suppose you’ll do,” he said. “Three grosze a week, your keep, and somewhere to sleep.”

“That’s robbery,” said Janina.

“Take it or leave it; it’s what’s on offer,” said the innkeeper. “I’m Kuba Dąbek, and you can either have a blanket on the hearth, or you can share my bed.”

“I’ll take the blanket on the hearth, thank you,” said Janina, with dignity. “My poor Jan! I miss him too much to think of moving on.” She sniffed hard, and managed to summon a couple of tears by thinking that she might well have been a widow by now, had her Onufry continued eating and drinking too much. Strictly, his name was Jan Onufry, which is why she chose ‘Jan’ as a name for her dead fictitious husband.

“Well, when you get tired of sleeping in the cinders, my room is over the bar,” said Dąbek, leering again. “A waste for a young woman like you to be celibate.”

“If I look for companionship again, it won’t be to become someone’s free skivvy,” said Janina, with spirit.

“Hoity-toity, ain’t you? You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“And I could do a lot better. I want a job, and even the pittance you are paying is better than nothing.”

“You don’t have to take it.”

Janina sighed.

“Yes, I do,” she said. “And you know it or you would not have made the offer. A young widow, pregnant with a posthumous child, is in no position to turn down anything, and I saw you look for how pregnant I am, to see how long you could exploit me.”

“You’re free with fancy words like ‘exploit.’

“My Jan’s inn was on the highway, and the toffs like to use fancy words to drive home how we don’t know all the words in our own language, never mind their Latin,” said Janina. “You pick some up. But when I was visiting my sister, who’s in service, some bastard managed to burn the inn down, and my Jan in it.”

“Fire’s always a risk,” muttered Dąbek, crossing himself. “Another reason for you to sleep by the fire, to keep an eye on any drunkards messing about.”

“Not without another grosz per week to do so,” said Janina. “Otherwise, I’ll save myself, and not bother about you.”

“You virago! Very well,” he said, grudgingly.

 

Janina sighed in relief. She had her feet, so to speak, under the table. She had spoken blithely about spying on Zabiełło, but one should not divide  the bearskin until the bear is dead, and this was the first step. Now she must reacquaint herself with serving in the bar, and doubtless helping to cook meals as well, which she was out of practice doing, though she cooked when they were on campaign. Things had been fairly peaceful since the defeat of the Moskale and the Ottomans a couple of years back, but they still went on trainings with Prince Jurij’s ‘shovelmasters’ who were adding to the road and canal network across the Rzeczpospolita. Her sabre drill and Cossack dancing, however, made her strong and supple, and she could ply a shovel with any other shovelmaster, knew how to fell a tree, and drive a pile. She had been interested from when she had first seen the Korybut Bridge being built. Jurko firmly called it the Mermaid Bridge, but though the fishermen used his whimsical name, most inhabitants of Warszawa preferred to honour the banner of their king and prince. King Remi, the people’s king, was popular.

Ironically, Jurij owned this inn, on Ulica Korybuta, Korybut street, known unofficially as ‘Koniecpolski’s End’ as trying to sabotage Jurij’s building of it had ultimately led to the downfall of the eponymous Koniecpolski, and death at Jurij’s hands just over the river. Janina shuddered at the gamble King Jeremi had taken, his first act as king to strip to his bare chest in front of the rebels, demanding to know who dared take the first shot at their newly elected, lawful king.  All the Wiśniowiecy were insane! But she loved them all dearly.

She went into the kitchen.

“What meals do you offer?” she asked.

“Soup and pierogi, pork cutlets, śledź, and cold meats and cheese with bread,” said Dąbek. “Nothing fancy.”

“Herring forszmak would make a nice change and is easy, as you have herring for śledź,” said Janina. “Mincing the herring with sour cream and cooking it with cheese and onion on top would be a quick, easy meal. And we might consider the meat version, too, with the new potatoes the king has introduced.”

“If you want to mess about and do it, I’ve no objection,” he shrugged.

A pretty girl who could cook was more of a draw than that miserable fellow who had run out on him for some legacy.

 

The rules for rulers

 

The list for Evil Dictators Rzeczpospolita Kings [or Queens]

As compiled by Jeremi and Jurko for their descendents should any become king.

 

1/ however irritating the Sejm are, keep smiling. Especially if you know where the bodies are buried. If you don’t know where the bodies are buried, why are you trying to be king? [Or queen, thank you, Raina]. You don’t need to blackmail them. You only need to be able to be in the position to nobly not blackmail them.

 

2/ Make sure you work out to keep your irresistible Cossack body. A fit king can accomplish more for not suffering the ills of the unfit, and can be dynamic, compassionate, and kindly hearty when the Sejm have indigestion, the crapulous misery of a hangover, diarrhoea, constipation or piles.

 

3/ Water your own wine; spike theirs with wódka

 

4/ Make sure to have one of your ineffably cute and adorable children on hand if arguments look tough. An adorable child who asks in their adorably sweet childish treble why they don’t agree with Papa [or Mama] is a non-sequitur.

 

5/ When in doubt, quote Julius Caesar.

 

6/ Or Cicero

 

7/ Being a showman works better than cold, hard logic. Distract their minds with glitter and shove through the laws while they are still not thinking.  Blinding with bling and brilliance works better than baffling with bullshit and both work better than elucidating with example.

 

8/ Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war.

 

9/ corollary to [8]; keep a large army and use them for engineering projects. Engineering projects make the Commonwealth easier to defend, and makes the troops earn their pay. And keeps them fit and too tired to rebel.

 

10/ Dealing with diplomats; learn how to say a very great deal whilst agreeing to absolutely nothing. Until you have a deal you want and then slip it in under the prolixity and get it signed before they realise what they are signing. Adorable children are wonderful for the destruction of treaties you don’t want to sign. Or adorable puppies if you are unmarried.

 

11/ Have a scribe keep exact notes of what you say, and what prominent members of the Sejm say, and be able to quote them or yourself at need.

 

12/ Be flamboyant. This builds on [7] but on a personal level. An outward display of absolute confidence and courage carries you further than being conservative.

 

13/ We are Sarmatians! Never forget this. Any of our descendents who dress in girls’ clothes Western dress are changelings. Unless for practical reasons unknown to the writers.

 

14/ Never, ever, look guilty, save over doing a surreptitious kindness. If caught doing something like shagging on the throne, look down your nose and ask what the devil the person who caught you is up to. Take the moral high ground and hold it.

 

15/ If outnumbered in battle or politics, pretend to hold all the cards and demand the capitulation of the enemy. They will assume in many cases that you know something they do not.

 

16/Never lie. Which doesn’t mean you have to reveal all the truth.

 

17/ Know every one of your bodyguard, by name, by family, and by likes and dislikes, weaknesses and strengths. Recognise if any of them are acting strangely.

 

18/ Remember Machiavelli; the best armour a prince could have is the love of his people. Listen to the people, and sound caring, even if you don’t take their suggestions. If there is conflict between the masses and the Sejm, there are fewer members of the Sejm to bring round/neutralise. Be a man of the people. Dress for them, but be prepared to give your coat to a freezing beggar. Eat and drink in moderation, and let this be known. You are their servant, their representative in the Sejm.

 

19/ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

 

20/ Forgive your enemies as soon as they are neutralised.

 

21/ Neutralised does not have to be dead. Enemies whose agenda is usurped to be your man is twice as good as just killing him. Make sure he’s genuine.

 

22/ Information is everything. Knowledge is power. Share knowledge with those you trust, and listen to their ideas.

 

23/ Always remember an ill-turn done to you; always reward a good turn done to you.

 

24/ Retain control of your temper at all times. Learn how to simulate losing it, but never let it go. Take out any frustrations in hopak or sabre drill. And most of the time, project calm good humour.

 

25/ Assess your abilities reasonably. Do not overreach yourself. Nor should you underestimate yourself.

 

26/ always listen to messengers, regardless of what they interrupt; they wouldn’t interrupt you if it wasn’t important. And never get angry with a messenger; it’s not his fault.

 

27/ If let down by a company of soldiers who show incompetence or cowardice, send them for re-training/unpleasant duties somewhere unpleasant enough to be a punishment, but reward them if they bear it with equanimity and accept with good grace. Have the initial task completed by a more reliable unit.

 

28/ If you think a fortress is impregnable, challenge a group of youngsters between 16 and 24 to find a way to break in with prizes for the most innovative. Give any who succeed prizes and the best prize to the one you could never have imagined.

 

29/ Close up all the weaknesses revealed and assume you got 90% of them.

 

30/ Run wargames without warning to check the alertness of your troops.