In which Gosia gets an ear,
pregnancy and snippiness, Mikołaj gets lands in Prussia, Friedrich the Great
gets a fugue, lots of surprises and a map, Pavel Skobelev gets a HEA, and
several Prussians get their just desserts.
1 Leggiero on a Prussian’s ear.
“It was lovely meeting my mama-in-law and my little brother-in-law,
and getting to know Papa Lew better, Mikołaj, but it is also nice being with
your towarzysze again,” said Gosia, happily. She was settling in to the
Krasińscy house in Warszawa, where they were living, as Mikołaj was permitted
to live out of barracks as a married man.
“And didn’t they rib me when I turned up and discovered I had been
promoted to Lieutenant,” said Mikołaj. “They dressed up the desk in my office
in a bridal gown and veil and threw rice at me in there.”
“Didn’t they have enough of that at our marriage-blessing at Kopiec
Kruki, the Raven’s Mound?” said Gosia. “I’m still finding rice in sundry bits
of jewellery.”
“Enough? Bite your tongue, wifeling!” said Mikołaj. “When Walenty weds
his Aleksandra, I’ll be throwing rice as enthusiastically as the rest.” He considered. “And more accurately than
Adam, who can train any gun or rocket to a nicety and who throws like a girl.”
“I’ll have you know I throw straight,” said Gosia, sternly.
“Oh, but you’re my little towarzysz, my wife,” said Mikołaj, and
kissed her.
The conversation was somewhat lost.
“I need you at the barracks this morning,” said Mikołaj, when he got
up in the dark pre-dawn.
“Certainly, my love; why is that?” asked Gosia.
“A new bunch of young towarzysze, that’s why,” said Mikołaj,
gloomily. “Rotmistrz Dąbrowski said that as I’m used to too much excitement,
I can train them, and I’m not permitted any of my friends. Anyway, they are about as much use as fur on
a fish. I told them yesterday that my wife was better at sabre drill than they
are and I want you to prove it. It won’t hurt Seweryn-or-Milena will it?”
“No, in fact I will be glad to come in with you to continue
exercising,” said Gosia. “It’s good for babies.
I don’t say it’s necessarily a good idea to fight an actual duel, but sabre
drill should be fine, and teaching puppies with wooden practise sabres.”
“Excellent!” said Mikołaj, rubbing his hands together. “Breakfast
first and we can have second breakfast in the barracks. I miss your porridge
though; the cook here makes gruel.”
“Perhaps I can educate her,” said Gosia. “But not today. You’ve sprung
this on me rather. I wish you had told me last night.”
“I got sidetracked,” said Mikołaj, leaning over to kiss and nibble the
nape of his wife’s neck.
“You get sidetracked very easily,” said Gosia.
“You weren’t complaining,” said Mikołaj.
“I didn’t know you had anything of import to impart,” said Gosia. “Stop that, or we’ll still be in bed until
this time tomorrow.”
“Mikołaj! Can I impose on you?”
“Lieutenant Jędrowski, what can I do for you? My wife, Małgorzata, Lieutenant Onufry
Jędrowski,” said Mikołaj, introducing Gosia formally. He looked down at the
dark-haired, dark-eyed child with the plieutenant.
“My son, Joachim; do you think you could let him join your class,
Mikołaj? He’s no trouble, but I’m drilling fully fledged hussars in lance
drill,” said Jędrowski.
“Oh no problem. You won’t get in the way, will you, Joachim?” said
Mikołaj. The child shook a solemn head. He
was eight or nine years old, Mikołaj thought, and well able to join in sabre
drill.
“Do ladies fight too, sometimes?” asked Joachim, looking at Gosia,
dressed in Polish female garb but with her sword buckled by her side.
“Sometimes,” said Gosia. “If you have trained well, you also might be
able to help with the new recruits.”
“Papa taught me,” said Joachim.
“You’ll be competent, then,” said Mikołaj.
Four young men lined up for sabre drill, and Joachim got in line with
them. The little boy shared a conspiratorial smile with Gosia.
“Begin,” said Mikołaj.
To Gosia it was becoming second nature. Advance, swing, move through
the positions, advancing, turning, protecting her back, finishing the advance
with sabre advanced at long guard. The child beside her was doing the same. One
of the young szlachta dropped his practice sabre, and another fumbled the move
into moulinet. And they were so slow!
“Well, I think we won’t do much better as a demonstration than to have
my young lord-brother duel my wife, while I talk through what they do right or
wrong,” said Mikołaj. “Joachim, Gosia, if you please.”
“Please don’t go easy on me, my lady,” said Joachim, gravely. “I will
learn better if you do not hold back.”
“Oh this will be funny,” said one of the young men.
Mikołaj grinned.
“Well it will be when I set one of them on you, Towarzysz Kulesza,”
said Mikołaj. “Fight!”
Gosia went on high guard, mirroring Joachim’s move. She was not so
much taller than he was, so it was not as uneven as might be expected. The child had an easy rhythm which spoke well
of his tuition.
“Note how neither of them fumbles the turn of the sabre on the
moulinet,” said Mikołaj. “They are showing off to each other at the moment,
which is a valid tactic. Gosia, hand
change.”
Gosia tossed her sabre up and caught it in her left hand, something
Mikołaj had made her practise over and over, as a potential life saver.
“I can’t do that, my lord-brother,” said Joachim, reverently, “But I
would like to learn.”
“You’ll learn if you stay here with me,” said Mikołaj.
“Thank you, my lord-brother!” said the child, not taking his eyes off
Gosia.
“Good boy, concentrating on your opponent,” said Mikołaj. “Now, see Gosia feint-step-moulinet, upswing,
nicely deflected, Joachim. Late, but late better than not at all, nice
disengage from the feint, too. Now who
saw what he did wrong in the disengage from the parry to attempt his own
moulinet? Towarzysz Białek?”
“He forced it,” said the youth addressed.
“Yes, he did, and Gosia punished that with an almost contemptuous
little circular disengage to moulinet and whacked his thigh. Oh this will be pretty, sorry Joachim, you
are dead,” he added as Gosia moved in from high guard to feint, elude Joachim’s
frantic parry, and with a pretty spin came back to lay her sabre against his
side under the floating rib.
“So who knows what that is called?” asked Mikołaj.
“Cięcie Eunusze, the Eunuch Cut, or to the
Prussians, Hellish Quarte, sir,” said Białek. “It often goes lower.”
“Well done,” said Mikołaj. “And
I’m not expecting any of you to manage that yet, so don’t worry. But my Gosia
has been having intensive lessons for the last couple of months, and she
shouldn’t come close to anyone properly and fully trained. But Joachim now
knows what it looks like and will hope to move fast to get himself out of that situation.”
“There’s a point at which it becomes inevitable,” said Joachim.
“Quite so,” said Mikołaj. “Right,
now watch these two more seasoned warriors go through sabre drill.”
Joachim and Gosia performed, nothing loath.
“Right, rest. Białek is
relatively competent, so I’ll concentrate on Kuleza, and each of you can
run commentary on the one at each end.”
It was a definite incentive for the young men at the end to improve,
to avoid instruction from a little boy and a young woman their own age.
After drill, Gosia virtually disappeared in the enthusiastic greetings
from Adam, Walenty and Jurko, happily calling her ‘Towarzysz Gosia.’ They went
to breakfast together, including Joachim cheerfully in their group, while
Mikołaj pulled a face and went to eat with the officers.
“Well, my son looks happy,” said Jędrowski.
“He should be; he’s been training one of my hopeless idiots,” said
Mikołaj.
Jędrowski choked.
“Not really?”
“Oh yes! He’s well prepared, you’ve done a good job on him, he’s
almost as good as Gosia, and certainly knows how to explain how to improve. I’m
half tempted to let him take apart my arrogant puppy.”
“Kuleza?”
“Yes, there aren’t enough negative adjectives in the language to
describe him without descending into scatology and calling him Russian,” said
Mikołaj.
They were convening for parade when half a dozen mounted men trotted
in. They dismounted and the leader strode over.
“I’m looking for a fellow called Krasiński,” he said. He was blond
with hair so short he almost looked bald, and a rather silly looking little
moustache. He was no older than Mikołaj and Mikołaj was struck with the thought
that the slightly chubby figure looked almost like a very Germanic putto.
“I’m an officer named Krasiński,” said Mikołaj, his eyes
narrowing. The stranger clicked his
heels and gave a curt little bow.
“Franz Friedrich Dornquast, rightfully Von und Zu Dornquast whose
inheritance you seek to steal through your wife,” he said.
Mikołaj almost disclaimed any interest, but the fellow reminded him of
his late father-in-law.
“So?” he said in faultless High German. “Take the matter up with my
wife; she is her father’s heir and is the rightful countess. I have no time for
petty hangers-on.”
“You will fight me, no?”
“No,” said Mikołaj. “I don’t fight children; go back to school.”
Dornquast went purple.
“How dare you!” he screamed.
“Cousin Franz,” said Gosia, coming over, “I am younger than my
husband, whose chivalric scruples do not permit him to make a fool of you. I will fight you to first blood, and if I
win, you will cease and desist your foolish claims on my title, which I hold
for my unborn son.”
“You can’t fight him, you’re with child!” said Mikołaj.
“I think under the circumstances a gentleman would permit me to wear a
breastplate, and would count a scrape on the metal as blood,” said Gosia.
“It sounds fair to me,” said Jędrowski, coming over. “Let me clear it
with the colonel.”
“Very well,” said Mikołaj. “If that is agreeable to young Dornquast?”
“I agree; I look forward to winning my lands,”
said Dornquast, sneering.
“Oh, I
hadn’t said I was giving up my claim, only demanding that you gave up yours,
even if you win, by some fluke,” said Gosia.
“Fluke? You are a ridiculous little girl. Well,
when I win, I demand you give up your claim,” said Dornquast.
“Deal,” said Gosia. “Come and help me into a
breastplate, my love, while the Pegasus works through having a cat.”
“He won’t,” said Mikołaj. “Aleksander Sączek of
the Pegaz Banner is more likely to be amused. He doesn’t like Prussians,” he
added in an undertone.
Gosia took off her kontusik and belted up her
skirt to just above her ankles. She was already wearing her hussar boots not
shoes. Mikołaj soon had her fitted with a breastplate and its jointed armour
over the belly, designed to accommodate movement when mounted on a horse, to
lean forward fully.
“It’s not as heavy as I was afraid,” she said.
“No, and it’s well distributed. Do you want
wings?”
Gosia considered, and sighed.
“I’d love wings, but I am not used to fighting
with them so I think it would be more an impediment than an advantage.”
Aleksander Sączek was one of those men who reaches forty and does
not substantially change, rather like the men of Zaklika family. Mikołaj thought he was around fifty but had
never dared ask. The colonel was an
austere, spare man with a dry sense of a humour who routinely cheated at chess
and cards to make his officers concentrate; for which reason he never played
for money. He was born and bred in the
mountains, and scrambling on nets and ropes over the gable end of the barracks
was an exercise he imposed regularly. He came out to the parade ground.
“So, Towarzysz Gosia, you’ve accepted a challenge
from this cousin of yours?” he demanded in his carrying voice.
Gosia swept off her hat and bowed low to the
ground, Polish fashion for a man.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
“Win, little girl; win.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Aleksander Sączek was well aware of the reputation
of the Raven women; and he was also well aware that Mikołaj Krasiński would not
be looking so unconcerned if he had anything to worry about. The Prussian looked like a spoilt baby and
was carrying too much weight, which might just be a result of not having had
his final growing spurt, something Mikołaj appeared to have managed on his
little jaunt into Russia. Mikołaj still had a boyish grin and guileless and
merry blue eyes but he had lost the childlike curve to his face and now looked
what he was, when not contemplating mischief, every one of his long inches a
dangerous warrior.
He would not expect his wife to be anything less
than competent, and Sączek had heard the gossip that the young bride had put
several new young gentlemen in their place.
Gosia
stalked forward with the grace of a dancer. Mikołaj purred as she passed him.
She blushed slightly but grinned, and passed him her hat. She drew her sabre
and saluted. Dornquast drew his; his salute was perfunctory and he sneered.
“So much easier than going to court,” he said.
Gosia smiled. She agreed, but her point of view
was from a different perspective.
“Stand your ground, Cousin Franz,” she said.
He took up a stance which reminded Gosia of her
father. She ran through in her head the moves her father had made when fighting
Mikołaj. Doubtless they had learned from the same approved master, and
therefore one might expect there to be similarities of style and
technique. She went en guarde at the
high guard so beloved of Poles, less favoured in the more western style. Franz
sneered more, not recognising the stance. This would be too easy! He attacked from sixte, pushing up towards
her face, which would make the pretty child flinch and try to knock his sword
away, when he would disengage and go for the easy win scratching her arm, but
permitting her to keep her face.
The problem from Franz’s point of view was that
Gosia did not flinch, but came in with moulinet to an understroke, knocking his
sword up not down.
Gosia recognised the next series of strokes, and
did what Mikołaj had done to defeat her father’s similar attack, tossing her
sword up to catch in her left hand for the easier parry.
“You forfeit! You forfeit! That’s an illegal
move!” cried Franz. “Hey, stop!” as Gosia moved in with her own attack.
“I saw no illegal move; Krasińska changed hands,”
said Sączek. “Besides, boy, you’re fighting a duel, not playing a schoolyard
game. Be pleased she’s in a skirt not breeches and can’t kick you in the cods.”
“That can’t be allowed!” Franz was shocked.
Gosia was laughing, and changed hands again.
“Are you really such a little girl, Franz?” she
said. “This is a warrior’s world and you chose a warrior’s settlement. On your
word as a gentleman of a warrior caste.
If you back out now, you forfeit. I don’t mind you changing hands or
trying to trip me; I’m used to it. Mikołaj kicked me black and blue in training
me. Only I’d rather you didn’t kiss it
better if you can manage power kicks.”
Dornquast came at her with heavy, overhand strokes
which Gosia deflected, not as effortlessly as Mikołaj would have done but with
an economy of movement which drew an approving murmur from the colonel.
And because Franz was conventional, Gosia knew
what she would do.
From high guard she made a downward slash,
disengaged from the inevitable parry before it could smash her sabre hard,
performed the moulinet for an up-stroke, reversed as she side stepped, and with
neatness and precision hacked off his ear.
He stood there with his mouth open, hand going to
his ear.
“Gentlemen, I have first blood,” said Gosia,
saluting. “And I have a keepsake to remind me of it, too,” she picked up the
ear. “And as proof that what was agreed,
so shall it be.”
“I shall put it in writing, and send to the
Prussian college of heraldry,” said Sączek. “Well, Towarzysz Gosia, are you
planning on founding the Ucho banner, the ear banner?”
“Oh, I don’t think I need to,” said Gosia. “The
White Raven is a statement on its own.”
“Well, nobody argues with that, my lady,” said Sączek.
“I have only one question,” said Mikołaj, eyeing
the ear thoughtfully. “How are you going to stick that in your commonplace
book?”
He was poked.
“I’m going to ink it and print the
book, and write the story by it, and then I’m going to mount it for the
memories room,” she said.
“Oh, that works.”
Franz was holding the side of his head which was
pouring blood, his mouth open in shock.
Gosia got out her kerchief and held it to the side of his head.
“If you hadn’t called me cheat, I’d have nicked it
or at worst put your ear back on,” she said.
“But ... but how could you be so good?” he wailed.
She patted his cheek.
“We Poles call it ‘practice’, my precious,” she
said.
Mikołaj grinned in delight at her borrowing of his
own mannerisms and expressions.
“My wife is delightful,” he said.
