Dance of Law 1

 In the absence of a positive vote one way or the other the coin flip was for Mariola 2 aka Dance of Law in which we find out how much mayhem can be caused by a pair of Ulans on secondment whilst Substarosta Bystrzanowski is on honeymoon, and how they learn to be useful. 

Chapter 1

 

The Ulans, Konrad Hulewicz and Dawid Starski, were not comfortable.

They were in the office of substarosta Kazimierz Bystrzanowski, and the auburn-haired officer was frowning. So was his little blond page, who was rumoured not to be a boy at all, but the substarosta’s wife.

“And furthermore,” said Kazimierz, in biting tones, “Having used city property, to wit, the said coroner’s gig, for purposes not suited to it, which is to say the transport of criminals, to the consternation of the coroner, you then managed to ... if I may quote your report ... ‘bend’ it around the pillory.”

Hulewicz winced.

“Bending a gig is never going to end well,” said Kazimierz.  “And from what I understand, this is because one of you saw a thief you had failed to apprehend with the others, and you leaped on the horse to ride after him, forgetting that it was still harnessed to the said gig.”

The men exchanged looks. They were almost as opposite in looks as was possible; Hulewicz was short and stocky with hair as blond as a Saxon, a rigid and straight moustache; and Starski was tall, thin and swarthy, with dark, wavy hair, and his moustache long and defiant, a definite Cossack look to him.

“I bent the gig, substarosta,” said Starski. “I didn’t want him to get away.”

“But he did get away, didn’t he?” said Kazimierz. “During the time the coroner’s gig was engaging in futile miscegenation with the pillory.”

“I don’t see why the city has to keep a pillory and whipping post in such an inconvenient place,” said Starski.

“It isn’t inconvenient if you aren’t trying to wrap gigs around it,” said Kazimierz. “You’ll be having the cost of the gig docked from your pay.  I am disappointed, I really am. You were recommended highly by your commanding officer as clever, and potential officer material, and he thought you would do well to cover as deputies to the starosta whilst I was on honeymoon.  So far, you’ve apprehended a gang of thieves, which is to your credit. You have also frisked the eminently respectable wife of a goldsmith in the belief that she was a man in disguise, bent the coroner’s gig, been reported for almost running over a group of drunken szlachta when riding too fast to respond to a summons, been reported for spraying a wedding party with mud and horse shit when riding too fast to respond to a summons, generally riding too fast, oh, and straining the fetlock of the starosta’s horse by unauthorised borrowing of it and riding it too fast. There’s a pattern or three here, boys; unauthorised borrowing, which is known in the trade as ‘stealing’; riding too fast;  and carelessness. Now I commend your enthusiasm but I do not actually think much of being pulled off my honeymoon to sort you out as if you were a pair of errant nephews the schoolmaster needs me to take my belt to!”

“We’re very sorry, substarosta,” said Hulewicz, standing on his partner’s foot. “We’re overtrained as Ulans, I suppose.”

“Yes, we do everything at the gallop,” said Starski, opening his eyes wide for effect.

“Less of the puppy-dog eyes, Starski,” said Kazimierz. “Do bear in mind that my cousin, Bazyli Tataryn is an Ulan captain, so I do know something about your training.”

“Oh, bugger,” said Starski.

“Precisely,” said Kazimierz. “Oh, bugger indeed.  I know you haven’t had the training, and I’m sorry about that, but the idea was that you would be a presence as deputy substarosty, sent out to assist and back up constables in arrests, so the lawless elements did not think they could have free rein just because I was enjoying the first weeks of marriage.  And not only have you managed to be more trouble than most of the criminals, but I appear to have a desk full of the problems you precious pair of babes in arms did not consider exciting enough to investigate.”

That had both of them flushing.

“We wouldn’t know where to start with some of them,” said Hulewicz.

“No, I don’t suppose you would,” said Kazimierz. “Lew here figured it out quite quickly but then my page keeps his brains in his head, not in the place from which he rides.”

The two Ulans flushed again.

“My lord, that’s not fair!” burst out Starski.

“Isn’t it?” said Kazimierz. “You’re both at least twenty, and my page has a way to go yet. But I am seeing notes on some of these problems, Lew, your thoughts?”

“The Krawiek blinding, the features are singular, abacination by holding a heated sword in front of the eyes, according to Bolek. Have you gentlemen met Bolek?” asked Mariola, who worked alongside her husband in the persona of Lew.

“The city torturer,” said Starski.

“He’s a fairly skilled physician as well,” said Mariola. “He made a note on the report, and his handwriting is excruciating enough to prove his ability as a physician.  Now as far as I am aware, it’s a method used historically by Ivan the Terrible, and it’s a bit esoteric. The tailor who was blinded is, of course, deprived of his livelihood, and reduced to penury. He had made a complaint which is also on the desk neglected that a group of men said that without a substarosta he should pay them to protect his shop and livelihood.  Now a couple of other people made complaints of a similar nature and there is a note in that idiot Marciński’s handwriting that the complaints were withdrawn. I’ve cross-correlated with calls for the fire brigades which went to those shops, right before the complaints were withdrawn. Now I’ve been in the office three hours looking over these reports for my lord; why the hell didn’t either of you notice that townsfolk were being terrorised on your watch? The tailor was also burned out and there’s a complaint here, with descriptions of those he suspects. Including a big Tatar.”

The two Ulans stared.

“I am not sure what you are saying, my lord-brother,” said Hulewicz.

“There are a group of people demanding money with menaces, including this big Tatar, who cause damage if not paid off, and when a man stands up for himself and threatens to identify them, his eyes are burned out by an esoteric and questionably Tatar method,” said Mariola.

“And you put all that together from a few reports?” said Starski. “I ... yes, now you go through it, I can see it. We’ve never done anything like that.”

“It’s no different to military intelligence,” said Mariola. “If you hear that a lot of grain is being sold on the Prussian border, and causing perhaps shortages because it’s going out of the country, and someone mentions that there’s increased trade between Austria’s foundries and Prussia, and you take a look at the garrison towns across the border and suddenly there are three times as many latrine huts, what do you do?”

“Prepare for invasion from Prussia,” said Starski. “I see what you mean. Your page is good, my lord.”

“Good; you’ll be working with him,” said Kazimierz. “And Hulewicz will be working with me. You are both subordinate; tough luck, Starski, my brat knows more than you.”

Starski’s face worked.

“I don’t mind working with the lad,” said Hulewicz.

“I dare say. We can swap later, but I want it this way round first,” said Kazimierz. He did not say that Starski was potentially brilliant, if erratic, and would add to his bride’s almost intuitive insights. Hulewicz was methodical, and they might check back facts together. Kazimierz had a feeling Starski would fly apart if checking figures.  Mariola would check figures without bothering to involve a volatile partner.

 

 

“Rumour has it that you’re a woman and married to the substarosta,” said Starski.

“Rumour says a lot of things. You’re under my command whether you want to think of me as a boy of fourteen or a girl of seventeen. If you can’t handle it, you need to go back to your captain and tell him you can’t hack it,” said Mariola, coolly.

“I can handle it; I’d find it easier taking orders from Lady Bystrzanowska though, than a child.”

“Fair enough.  I’m going to be a woman shortly anyway, because I’m going to be the wife of the new tailor.”

“Your husband is too well known.”

“You aren’t though; we’re going undercover. You’re Krawiek’s cousin and you and your wife are taking over the business.  I can sew well enough to cover working in the front. I don’t look enough like you to be your son or brother so wife it will have to be.”

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“It was my honeymoon too. And there’s a gang of thieves too, who are working the houses outside the city, digging through the lower courses of those houses built with stone lower courses. You two have ignored that too.”

“We did not, we set watch! Three nights running we watched one of the wealthier houses, and they went elsewhere!”

“I expect you were seen,” said Mariola. “I bet you rode out.”

“Well, yes; it was a couple of miles out of town. What were we supposed to do?”

“Leave the horses in an inn, perhaps, and use your dear little feet,” said Mariola.

“You’re truly offensive, er, Lew.”

“I have my bad points too.”

 

“Good tailor Krawiek, do you know my voice?  I’m the substarosta’s page.”

“Oh, yes, my lord, I am glad you are back on duty, even with Lord Bystrzanowski on honeymoon you’ll soon catch these crooks.”

“He’s left his honeymoon to help sort it out; we had not time to give Lord Starski and Lord Hulewicz enough training,” said Mariola, diplomatically. “But Lord Starski is keen to learn and to help out; he and I are going into disguise to pretend to be your nephew and your nephew’s wife. He’s dark like you so I think we can make it believable. You will need to gossip that we have come to take over the shop.”

“But ... I will have to sell the goods that weren’t burned, and leave the shop ... I may be able to live on the proceeds of the auction for a while ...”

“Oh, no, good Krawiek, you will be eligible for a reward from the government for helping to catch these crooks,” said Mariola.

“I d...” Starski started to speak and Mariola stood on his foot hard.

“We’ll come in by cart later today,” said Mariola, “as soon as we’ve dressed for the part.”

She nodded Starski to follow her.

“Why did you stand on my foot?”

“So you wouldn’t give away that there is no government reward, you big lump,” said Mariola.

“Won’t he feel betrayed if he goes through the risk without reward?”

“Well at least you are thinking of him. What makes you think he won’t be given a decent pension?”

“But ...”

“I’ll pay it out of my own pocket of course, you idiot. There ought to be government compensation for things like that, but there isn’t, so that means those of us who can afford to help should do so. Noblesse oblige and all that sort of thing.”

“Oh, right, I see,” said Starski.

 

Later that day an unremarkable pair drove into town in a donkey cart. Starski was sulking slightly because Mariola had not permitted him to drive, since both donkey and cart were government property.

“I suppose a donkey is suitable for a lady, a nice gentle drive,” said Starski.

“I race sleighs with three horses against towarzysze as well,” said Mariola. “But I’m a good driver and don’t argue with long-established city street furniture. I could out-drive you any day even if I’m not as interested in the Cossack horse tricks some of my sisters enjoy. I can mount or dismount a running horse and rope a man, and that’s about all I care about. But don’t even start with what’s suitable for a lady or I’ll let my sister, Joanna Sokołowska, loose on you. A lady’s hand is suitable for this poor donkey, my lad, and I’ll not have the poor thing run ragged. I’m going through the motions with you, but you won’t make the grade, you don’t have the patience and you won’t put in the effort to learn it.”

Starski, sore, swore silently that he would show her.

 

In the tailor’s shop, they waited, hoping not to have customers but just to have intimidation. When a big Tatar came in, Mariola smiled.

Starski moved forward.

“What can I help you with?” he said, with what he hoped was sufficient unctuousness.

“The old man doesn’t know how to give up, does he?” said the Tatar. “You must have enough money to keep the business going; we’ll take two talar a month to prevent any more accidents and a fine of fifty talar to cover the old man’s stupidity.”

“You must be insane, fellow,” said Starski. “Where am I to get fifty talar from?”

“You should have thought of that before you took on his business ... and his debts,” said the Tatar.

“Get out,” said Mariola, revealing a pistol. “I’m nervous around firearms, and this is liable to go off.”

“Tell your wife to stop with the heroics,” said the Tatar. “Or you’ll watch her being raped as a little persuasion to cough up.”

“I don’t see your army of winged hussars,” sneered Mariola.

“Come in, lads,” said the Tatar.

Five more men came in the back door.

“And what are your intentions?” said Mariola.

One of them sniggered.

“Two of us to hold and beat your man, the rest of us to rape you, wench.”

“Oh, fair enough,” said Mariola. “Go, Starski.”  She shot at the one reaching to grab her, and swung out her sabres, stepping between the miscreants and the door.

Starski neatly lopped the Tatar’s arm off.

The others hesitated. Blinding a man and depriving him of his livelihood was a capital crime, and they decided to leap Mariola all at once, which is what Mariola had hoped.

Her swords swung, singing merrily, and two heads fell, followed by two hands. Mariola was quick with tourniquets.

“St. Jósef, you are fast!” said Starski, putting a tourniquet on his prisoner.

“Yes, I am,” said Mariola.  “And I note no qualifier.”

“I misjudged you,” said Starski. “I will be more respectful, my...er...”

“Lord-brother will do,” said Mariola.

“How do we get them back, my lord-brother?”

“We call the constables, and have them clear up the blood as well.  I’ll stay on guard.”

“Er, yes,” said Starski, who knew enough to reckon that their prisoners ought to behave. He went to round up some constables.  He and Mariola supervised the collection of live and dead bodies, and the start of the cleaning up.  Mariola nodded to him.

“Now the unpleasant bit,” she said.

“Questioning them about any other accomplices?”

“No, worse than that,” said Mariola. “Writing a report.”

 

Old Warszawa

 Today arrived a present I bought myself, a book of the paintings commissined by Stanislaw August by Bellotto which gives a wonderful picture of Warszawa in 1776, just the right time for Wojciech, Seweryn and co. 

But I find myself puzzled by some of the pictures. 

A number of the street scenes include rude shelters. Now I would guess that the sloping roofs with uprights would be for people to leave their horses, but there's one which looks to me like a privy. possibly a shelter for a watchman? but it looks just like the sort of outside shithouse I can just remember some cottages still having in country areas in my childhood. I haven't scanned the book yet, but it's on the left just above the watermark here. the shelters are right in the front.

There are a number of rude huts outside the Church of the Carmelites too which do not look like shelters for horses.

 

And  then the most puzzling of all. The Mniszech Palace - which has an odd brick structure by the road in the foreground with a corbelled roof and circular opening. 

any ideas?

2 Mikolaj 1

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.