Updated family trees

... because I wager you were wanting them

...the diagram in case it is needed

Felicia and Robin 17: Buried in the past chapter 1

In which Felicia and Robin are awarded wards, go to look at the heiress's property and discover there is some mystery over the girls' mother
 Do I need to split these longer chapters or not?
 I thought I'd post this concurrently with Dance of Ravens; this one is with my editor at the moment.

Chapter 1 Corpus Christi, tenth day of June 1512

                Huelin Carpenter and his volunteers had produced a most spirited Corpus Christi play for us with his excellent puppets; and we had feasted the village for the celebration.  We were at our meal when we had a visitor, eating without that all the village might feast together, with an awning made of sails to keep the sun from us as we ate.

“Why, ‘tis Piers Alcocke, popping up like the devil incarnate again!” I said cheerfully.

Piers grinned.  He was used to my sometimes strange brand of humour.

“Is that snipe I see at your table?” he asked hungrily.

He was a Suffolk lad by birth and grew up on –probably poached – water fowl.

“Do you sit yourself down, lad, and make yourself at home,” said Robin expansively. “Pernel, pass Master Alcocke a good bread trencher and a good helping of snipe.”

When feasting the village ‘tis by far easier to use bread trenchers; then there is less to void from the table after.  And what our people do not eat of their platters, the dogs may.

Piers grinned and settled himself on the bench where Vivian shifted up for him.  Only Robin and I had chairs for this feast, rush seated affairs that Huelin Carpenter had made using his pole lathe; and a sight more comfortable they were than the expensive and ornate chairs that we had within.  We should be ordering such in quantity from him, and stools to the same design.  Piers cared not, being more interested in satisfying his insides than in the comfort of his backside.

“I may not be so very welcome shortly,” he said “For I carry a letter from the queen.”

Robin held out hand for it, and broke seal when Piers passed it over.  It was a bad habit to read at the table, even though we used our good Italian forks in preference to fingers; and I found occasion at times to take an iron to correspondence to lift a stray grease spot from it, for be he never so careful, mine husband was wont at times to forget himself and gesture with whatever he might have in his hand; and right now that was a fork full of fat roast hog.  I said nothing, however, for it was but a minor fault.

Besides, Robin was scowling in deep thought as he read this letter through.

“What does that rascal Tom Wolsey want you to do now?” I asked.

“’Tis not Tom, but that clever little Spanish baggage wed to the king,” said Robin. “Danforth, art quite right.  Women ought never to be educated.”

Most of our summer guests had departed, but we appeared to have kept Walter Danforth.

We had also kept Mistress Isabelle of Lavenham and her son Matthew; but that was only until the banns had been called enough times for her to wed Henry Costyn.  He had been captivated by her from the first; and her cousin Godwin delighted to see her established and with a mercer to whom he might sell small dyed goods.  Henry’s elder natural son Kistur was much pleased with his stepmother – and had taken to Matthew straight away.  And it was good that little Edward and Marcia would have a mother now.

My grandsire too had found excuse to stay on and play with his new great grandchildren and his step great grandson and adopted great granddaughter.  And now he was accepting Sebastian and Cecily as his own kindred the distinctions disappeared.

Sir Godfrey did raise a quizzical eyebrow at Robin’s comments about the queen; but Walter gave a rueful grin.

He was learning to smile; one day we might even rid him of his harsh lines of cynicism that a man so young should not have to wear.

“But Sir Robert, I was just coming round to your view that some education for women be quite beneficial,” he said, his eyes straying half unwillingly to Maud Caston.

“Don’t be cross with me, Rob, I’m just the messenger,” said Piers.  “I don’t even know what’s in that letter, save that the queen had a managing look in her eye that put me powerfully in mind of Felicia.”

I stuck my tongue out at him; Piers I had adopted as the nearest thing I have known to a brother and we bickered cheerfully.

“Boh,” said Robin in the Tuscan way “The clever jade hath me entrapped on all sides and neatly.  Felicia, I swear she’s worse than you.”

“And if any outraged Lancastrians be listening that be by nature of a compliment,” I said dryly.  “What, I prithee, doth our fair and puissant queen require of thy gentle self that doth so infuse thee with choler, good my Lord, or art so suffused on choleric wrath and naughty temper that it eateth thy tongue of fair logic and sweet reason?”

“Shrew,” said Robin, amicably, teased back to good humour by mine overblown linguistic excesses.  “It be about that damned plotter Hamo Dimmond – fellow you killed, remember?”

“I’m not likely to forget,” I said, recalling clearly how I threw my little knife into his throat before he could discharge his pistol at me. I had the devil’s own job mending the tapestry his ball discharged into. “He and his wicked tool Sir Edgar are not like to be forgot by any of us here for a long time,” I added grimly “For the latter’s actions cost these lands two younglings and much trouble.  And I’d not like to guess that Dimmond would not have been tarred with the same brush had he not tried threatening me first.”

We all glanced down the table at the Aldous family, who had lost little Dorothy to deliberate murder; and at Oliver, wounded near unto death on the same encounter, bereft of his friend Fidel who was killed when they tried to ride out to get us help.

Oliver was listening intently as he took his turn as page to wait upon the high table end of our feasting tables, for we had just arranged a line of trestles for this gay outdoor meal.

I am not certain how the boys worked out whose turn it was to serve, but I am certain that they no longer let Adam work it by drawing lots.

Our boy was a rogue and outrageous enough to let the other lads know it.

It was no very onerous duty we called our pages to perform; there seems to us little need to have someone hovering ever at the shoulder, so we expect whichever was on duty to leap up from the table an there be something to be fetched, rather than stand ever behind Robin’s chair getting hungry.  My grandsire tuts at such unorthodox usage, but it did us well enough; for one might always ask another to pass the salt, or a flagon of water.  ‘Twas only the filling of a trencher with another serving from the great platters that was difficult, as one could scarcely pass the platters down the table for their great weight.

Robin went on with his explanation of what the missive contained.

“As we had so much trouble, the queen writes that for our pains we shall have the doucer of taking Hamo Dimmond’s daughter or daughters – she is unsure if there be one or two – as wards; with that wardship our reward for loyal action.  And she is most sure – clever minx – that I myself will wish to inspect the lands and do survey and audit and be sure to clear it of any traitors.”

“Boh, he dressed well enough with brocade woven to his own family design and expensive fur trim; the profit from his estate would pay to build us a goodly few mills and drains and mayhap enlarge the school too,” I said.  “Can it really be worse than when we took over here? And look what a difference the last year has made!”

“Lord, I don’t know,” said Robin. “Here the land was in bad heart for neglect, but more for the despondency of the people and one or two villains dragging them down.  Once those who despaired knew we cared, it became easy enough; for we all work together.”

“You’ve forgotten foiling a mutiny by climbing through the jakes have you, Master Robin?” put in Connie Cattermole tartly.

She had been the one to escape through the jakes to alert us after all; and Con even more obsessive about cleanliness than I!

Robin chuckled.

“No, Con, not in the least.  But that was, really, just part of the one or two villains.  What concerns me about Dimmond’s demesnes is that all may act the mutineers to one they perceive as the enemy for having been responsible for their Lord’s death.  And thus they may feel justified in attempting to murder any of us that go.”

“Zur Robert,” Pascoe Archer rose to his feet down at the low end of the table.

“Pascoe?” Robin nodded him leave to speak.

“Zur Robert, Heraud and me, we be taken from Squire Hamo’s lands, what Sir Edgar did know.  We be ordinary folk same as folk here, not murderous, just at mercy o’ powerful folk.”

“Thank you, Pascoe.  Would you and Heraud be willing to come with me as voices to testify that I be no ogre of wickedness and set the fears of Squire Hamo’s people to rest?”

Pascoe and Heraud both nodded.

“That’s a relief,” said Robin. Of course, one casts one’s bread upon the waters, as the Bible tells us; and his mercy to the two men, swept into a rebellion they knew little and cared less about, would rebound when we got to this traitors’ nest, that they be able to still most unrest for none there knowing that Robin hated unnecessary violence.  Mine husband went on, “I confess it would be nice to have some extra monies to plough into mine own people, once the needs of the people of this Chesilfleet have been seen to….I don’t like to be mercenary….”

“I do,” I said. “I’m part Bigod and pure de Curtney.  I don’t approve of doing something that will cost time, effort and inconvenience for no more than a kiss-your-hand and a sweet thank-you.  The queen pays fairly enough, I trow.  Especially an Dimmond had mustered ready money to buy more mercenary soldiers.  You will do it then?”

Robin shrugged helplessly.

“I could scarce refuse, even an she offered no reward, could I?  She’s my queen!”

I sighed.

My grandfather roared with laughter.

“What?” I asked waspishly.

“Hah!” he said “I love to hear Robin’s loud plaints that he utters yet his essential loyalty within!”

“What, wouldst rather have as thine heir a paltry creature that utter fair and douce words with a rotten heart?” said Robin. “Thinkst me such?”

“Thou stubborn lad that misunderstandeth wilfully!” roared Sir Godfrey.

There followed an interlude while my grandsire and mine husband traded insults at the top of their lungs; and I ate on unconcernedly.

Let good roast duck get cold? I think not.

Piers glanced nervously between the two; he found my grandfather intimidating.

Walter too looked less than happy; but he shrugged and fell back to his viands when he saw the unconcern of me and the rest of the family, as we ate placidly ignoring the tirade.

One or other of us picks a quarrel with the old man from time to time purely for his entertainment.  And it allowed Robin to relieve his feelings about having been used; for he might shout with impunity at one who loved him well and enjoyed the exchange.

They ran out of insults presently, largely because Sir Godfrey paused to take a drink that Oliver silently handed him; and discovered the quality of our mead.

That took up the next few minutes of discussion, all quarrel forgotten; and my grandsire was busy determining to pay a visit to Old Walter the beekeeper ere he returned to Bungay.

“Ah well, at least all our guests have gone that I not need to be rude and get rid of them ere we might go to this Chesilfleet,” said Robin.  “Walter, lad, wilt stay on here, or come with me as a good man in a scrap?  ‘Twill do your fortunes no harm, methinks, to be advanced as mine squire and companion.  Shalt act my secretary too, an you will, while we are gone, for I’ll not ask either Vivian or Crispin to come.”

Vivian was still coming to terms with the death of his wife in childbed; and Crispin – besides being a poor sailor, and ship being the most practical way to travel so far as Dorset – had his concerns as any man might about Fanny’s pregnancy, for she was now showing quite apparently though it lacked two or three months to when the baby be due. Poor Crispin, one would quite think it was he who was pregnant, not Fan; but it were unkind to drag him away when finally the both of them were happy and settled.

It took enough trouble getting them together after all.

Walter looked surprised at Robin’s request; then nodded.

“’Fore God, I think I will!” he said.

“Me too then,” said Maud. Naturally, she wanted to keep an eye on her investment.

“And us,” said Pernel ungrammatically. “Adam, Jerid, Emma and me all be good intelligencers.  Sebastian better stay at home; he’s big enough to get into trouble and not big enough to know how to avoid it.”

“I tan get into twouble too!” said Sebastian firmly.  His English improved all the time.

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” I said. “Another time, dearling, when you are as old as when Emma first helped.”

He frowned his baby frown; but there was nothing he could complain about in the fairness of that.

I would NOT leave the babes, not my twins, nor adopted Cecily that was Pernel’s full sister.

Rosa must go with us for the babes; and I would need to take a maid, so I would take Libbe and her infant son, Robkin, whom Rosa could watch too.  She might act as maid to Maude too, for neither of us have any onerous needs. We had no need to drag Paula and her daughters to be maids to Pernel and Emma; besides, Sebastian had become fond of Paula and would stay happily with her and Tibby and Tibby’s Peterkin.

Paula had expressed herself willing to travel with us before; but I had seen the relief in her eyes when I had declined.

As a fisherman’s widow she disliked the sea and feared it; and although she had never forbidden Viola or Tamsin to travel with their little mistresses, I could see that she feared too for them.

And I would not put a mother through such fears.

When they be thirteen or fourteen and effectively adult they would be old enough to make their own choices; and such she would then have to abide with.  Meantime they stayed at her side.

Besides, they had plenty to be busy with, for they conspired with Pernel to get their mother suitably remarried; and excuse of caring for some of Pernel’s hounds meant they might drag their mother more into the company of Silas Hunter that Pernel deemed a suitable mate for Paula.

He was a good and gentle man; and had nieces and nephews of similar age to Viola and Tamsin that the girls played with; and his ferret and Thomas cat had come to a wary truce.

I could not fault Pernel’s plotting.

As an extra maid who might also help with the babes we should take Sidony, Pernel’s half-wit Fosser sister that loved to help Rosa, and had made caring for Cecily – also her sister – her special task.

We would have adopted her too, had we not thought she would feel threatened by having to learn to be a lady.  She was happy just to be cared for and not hit about the head all day.  I was not even sure she realised that Pernel was once her sister, or recognised her at all when Pernel asked that we take her to care for; for Burd Pernel de Curtney was a far cry from the feral and dirty little creature Pernel Fosser was when first we took her in.

In deciding who to take I also approached Jodoc, our chief musician.

“Jodoc, you have showed that you can mimic the speech of Dorset,” I said “Would you care to come and help us to find the measure of this land?”

He nodded.

“Ess fay, I will do all that I might for you and Sir Robert; though I be straight uncomfortable about spying,” he said.

“We be there to maintain the king’s peace and avoid hangings where we might,” I said. “You know us well enough by now.”

He nodded.

“Must I bring all my childer?” he asked wistfully. “It be right nice for Carenza to be settled.”

“And her no older than Sebastian? What do you take me for? I thought to suggest that you bring Meriadoc as your eldest son, him being a right clever rogue, and let Gawen and Talwyn bide.  I was not sure about Petroc; he is of an age with Tybalt, our ward, whom I thought to take; for Tyb was to be the symbol of rebellion, looking so like Richard of York as he does, and I thought to show the folk there that he was come to no harm.  And he and Petroc are as thick as thieves.”

Jodoc laughed.

“Ess, that they be….and you generous to let Petroc learn his letters with gentlemen’s sons.  If Petroc want to come I be happy for him to, but if he wish to stay, an you not mind I shall not want to force him.”

“That is fine, Jodoc,” I assured him.  “And should we need to send you out as musicians to hear the mood around then if Petroc comes not, Adam may be your boy for he’s good enough to carry it off providing one not ask him to play the lute; for the only air he can pick out thereupon is a French one and less than salubrious that the Dauphin taught him.”

Jodoc laughed.

“Master Adam is boldaciously versatile, My Lady,” he said.

“Aye, he is that,” I agreed cheerfully. “He and the Dauphin made a merry pair of scullions, poking around in drains.”

“That sound a better story than any troubadour might make up,” opined Jodoc.

“It is,” I said “And one day you shall hear it; perchance we will have time to tell it on shipboard as we sail to Dorset.”

As Adam hailed from Portsmouth, which was not so far from the Isle of Purbeck – that is no isle really, nor even really a peninsular - he would not take long to learn the accent an he have need.

We should have Rafe along with us too, of course.

I was not sure where Rafe originated; for he had lost almost all trace of accent save a touch that hinted of the west.

I asked him; and for a long moment he was silent.

“Do not answer an you prefer not to,” I said hastily “I apologise for my nosiness.”

He smiled at me.

“There is no need for that,” he said. “Nor for me to keep a secret. You know I speak not much of my former life because of the pain and grief; but the joy I have found in your household has helped me to overcome some of that pain.  I come from Cornwall, Mistress Felicia,” -  he was less formal when we wwere alone – “And I was glad that ‘twas YOU killed Hamo Dimmond.  His face was familiar to me; methinks it was his uncle I killed for the raping of my daughter.”

“Why did you not say so, you daft man?” I said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm. “It must have been a shock.  We could have stood by you and shown our support, for the grief must have resurged raw!”

He smiled.

“I love you well, you and Master Rob,” he said, his voice choking. “You have ever treated me as kindred.”

“We stole you as kindred,” I said. “And we love thee well too, Rafe, like a brother. Wouldst rather not come?”

Rafe shook his head.

“I know the mind of the southern people, I can be of good help,” he said. “I might even know some personally.”

“Will that be any risk or problem?”

He shrugged.

“I suppose if it be threatened to tell the authorities that I killed mine overlord I trust Sir Robert to sort it out,” he said simply.

That PROVED how settled he had begun to be with us.

“And ‘twill be relatively easy to sort, he having been the relative of a traitor,” I said.

Especially for those of us who basked for the nonce in royal favour.

What a palaver travelling had become now we were great folks!  Counting the babes we should number three and twenty of us, with Walter’s man Wilcock along.  Wilcock was a useful man in a tight corner, with his own unique talents, being an ex burglar that Walter had caught and offered employment to.

We should have taken Oliver too, for he looked most wistful; but he was still too weak, and would have been more at risk an he waxed hot about the mercenaries that half killed him and succeeded with his friend; being associated with Dimmond’s men as they had been.

At least we should be able to sail the whole way; for the stony river after which the village of Chesilfleet was named emptied into Poole bay.  The surrounding countryside was called Wytch Heath and so we might be expected to meet some superstitious problems too; but we should cross that bridge when we came to it.

The chance to sail being providential we sent Rafe to Lowestoft and if necessary on to Yarmouth to engage a ship of suitable size for our peregrinations; or at least to find if there was one running down to Portsmouth whence we might find some local shipping.

I might have guessed that a resourceful man like Rafe would manage to go one better.

He arrived back on the Saturday forenoon sailing on the ship of Master Greengrasse, a long time acquaintance of ours and cousin of Tom Greengrasse, the Beccles Reeve.

Rafe grinned cheerily.

“Master Greengrasse heard tell of a boat for sale just across the water in Scheveningen in the Low Countries, that he thought you might like for yourself, since you travel so much, Master Robert,” said he.

“Boat or ship?” I asked.

Rafe shrugged.

“There’s a difference?”

“I think so far as I can gather, a ship is large enough to need a master, but a boat operates by common consent,” I said. “It’s a question of size.”

“Ar, Valkensluft be a ship roight enough,” said Master Greengrasse, joining the conversation.  “Her be one o’ these outlandish types with spritsail wass able tu go awful close tu the windward; which is what they needs in the Low Countries think on.  They call un hoeys.”

Manoeuvrable then; not like those damned keels that usually constitute the coastal shipping, and must sit far enough out to sea not to risk being blown onto the shore, that make them all the more unstable with the added fear of not being able to swim to safety should the wretched things capsize.

“What’s she like on the high seas?” I asked.

Greengrasse scratched his head.

“Well, her has sailed to Genoa more than once with no problem, ar, and to Portugal; so her’d have tu sail through the Bay, and thass no joke dew a ship be-ant weatherly.”

The Bay of Biscay is certainly no joke.

“What crew does she need?” asked Robin.

“Six men, ar and moostly fer hire tu yew du yew be willin’ tu take un on,” said Greengrasse.  “See, master-owner tuk an’ died, and his widder want to sell up. There oony be one son, and he be keen to be a lawyer, o’ all things.” He spat contemptuously at the idea of any man with the chance to go to sea in his own vessel choosing law books over it.

I could see both points of view; but secretly I have to say I be more inclined to the choice of the freedom of the sailing master.

You might always study books at sea after all.

And Falconwing was a nice name for a ship; presumably she had plied passengers and falcons for the annual bird auction at Valkensward.  If she could manage to navigate the River Dommel, that I understand to be much the same size as the River Waveney, she would do us very well.

“What’s the asking price?” I said “And what sort of size is she?”

“Her be some fifty feet long, twelve and a half in the beam and four foot draught.  The widder want hundered an’ fifty gelders for ut,” said Greengrasse promptly.

The gelder is not so far off a crown in value; so the price was around thirty sovereigns, the price of a small merchant’s house.  That seemed fair; it would easily pay for itself with trading an the markets be picked carefully.

“We’ll have it, an it still be available,” said Robin. “Perchance, Master Greengrasse, you will permit me to pay you to inspect her for me and check she be seaworthy, and act as mine agent in her purchase?  We will take on any of the crew as will come with her.”

Master Greengrasse tugged his forelock.

“I be back around Monday, with her or without,” he said. “Dew her not be so good as she look, or dew her be sowd awready, Our’ll sail yew tu Portsmouth fer I cin allus git cargo there, ar and sell any Flemish cloth I moight pick up while I be over in Scheveningen too.”

It is a horrid town to pronounce, for if you do it correctly you risk spraying everyone around with gob.  Fortunately Master Greengrasse pronounced it in his own idiom, as Shayveningham, that it would had taken me a while to work out where this ship was had not Rafe mentioned it first.  Rafe could manage it without spraying.

We thanked Master Greengrasse sincerely, and gave him enough gold for the purchase and for his services.

Having our own vessel would be truly useful.  Had we had such, Fidel need not have died and Oliver not have lost the chance to wield sword in his now weakened right arm.

If ifs and wishes were horses and fishes, beggars at least would ride and feast.  What is done is done.

Dance of Ravens 1

I am very late this morning; last night was a scorcher, and if I was asleep much before 3 I'll be surprised, an uneasy and uncomfortable night. I'm not complaining though, my tortoise is happy and it's nice not to hurt.  Minor discomfort can be lived with. I'll have a siesta in the garden in the shade later.

in this story some loose  ends are tied up, Milena finds herself, the extent of Filip's perfidy, a reliable man and a lot more confidence. There are Falcons as well because you can't keep them out of anything.

Chapter 1

The loose-limbed figure of the rider shook himself to get rid of the damp, which could not make up its mind if it was rain, sleet, or rather wet hail.

He had reached the village of Dolany, which seemed to be undergoing some renovations still this late in the year.  No, most of the houses looked sound, it was only the church still under renovation. And the priest and all the workmen stopping to stare at him.

He reined in, and the priest came over, as the traveller doffed his sodden hat to the church and crossed himself.

“Are you lost, my son?” asked the priest, looking over the scarred visage of the rider.

A touch of a smile ghosted over the rider’s lips.

“That depends if you mean spiritually or bodily, Father,” he replied.

“I try to do my best for both eventualities,” said the priest. “Are you looking for Lord Sokołowski?”

“Yes. He was looking for warriors to teach a number of youngsters.”

“Lord Sokołowski has taken upon himself the charge of caring for an unusually large number of szlachta orphans and bastards,” said Father Mateusz. “He has these lands attainted from traitors. And it so happens that there are more children than there are parents able to take them in. Two of my lord’s sisters-in-law assist with the small children, but there is need of a school.” He cocked his head on one side, laughter wrinkling at the side of his eyes as he added, “I hope you are not afraid of martial women, my lord; the Biały-Kruk women are quite as dangerous as the men.”

“White Raven are they?  Crazy as Cossacks, I heard.”

“I think any Cossack grants them best,” said Mateusz. The traveller raised an eyebrow. The priest laughed. “Oh, you’ll like them, I am sure,” he said. “Just be aware that their women do not play with weapons, those who learn; give them respect as warriors. As one szlachcic to another, to avoid embarrassment.”

“Really?”

“Really. But if you don’t take any notice of me you will soon learn. The quickest route to Sokolarnia, The Mews is down this street, take a dogleg left and it’s at the end of the road.”

“The Mews?”

“It houses our Falcons ...”

The stranger’s brows creased slightly in puzzlement.

“You speak in a way that suggests Sokołowski is loved; it surely cannot be the man I am thinking of?  Tall, part-Cossack, scar across the face, scowl like a thundercloud, evil grin when fighting,  wicked with two swords?”

“No longer wicked with two swords; he lost one arm to the traitor Zabiełło.”

“Ah! A tragedy.”

“Yes; but he is determined that his wife will equal or surpass him.”

“That cannot be easy for her.”

Mateusz laughed.

“Our lady-brother- sister protects us as much as our lord-brother does. I wouldn’t want to duel her ...uh, if my cloth did not preclude it anyway. She’s fast.  I’ve seen her work out with my lord-brother; she’s a worthy towarzysz.”  He added, “And yes, it is the same Sokołowski. I suspect there are many things you do not know about him.”

“Come on, Milena, you can do better than that.”

“You... cruel beast, Joasia ... “

“You wanted to learn enough to protect the little ones. I’m going to make you as good as you can be. You’re about twenty years too late but it’s never too late to learn something.”

“I know ...”

The traveller’s lip curled seeing a woman  at practice on the veranda, working out against a youth who was very, very good.  She was plainly having trouble. The priest did not know what he was talking about. What was Sokołowski thinking of? The woman was trying hard, poor thing. Sokołowski could be a relentless trainer. She was dressed in black; he would have assumed mourning but then Sokołowski liked the colour, so who knew?

The traveller dismounted and led his horse closer, bowing.

“Lady Sokołowska?” he said to the taller woman.

“Oh, no, I’m Milena Dobczykowa,” said Milena. “You want my little sister, lord ...?”

“Joachim Jędrowski. I was told Lord Sokołowski was looking for veterans to teach.”

Milena and Joanna regarded him with interest. He was not as tall as Władysław, but his loose-limbed appearance made him look taller than he was. He dismounted with a careless grace of one who lives in the saddle for much of the time, standing bare-headed, having doffed to Milena. His face had received  more severe damage at some point than Władysław’s, and one eye was white and sightless where it was crossed by the heavy burn scar. The other was brown. His hair was completely white, where it grew, the thick purplish scar running onto the left side of his head. Such white hair looked odd with his very dark moustache, which drooped on the side of the scar, and rose of its own accord on the other side. He was probably on the right side of forty, but it was hard to tell.

Joanna vaulted lightly over the railing to the veranda.

“I’ll show you to the stables and take you to my lord,” she said. “My sister will be pleased to rest; she has only been learning the sword for a couple of weeks, to help protect the children.”

“Who is going to attack children in the heart of Poland?” asked Jędrowski.  

“You say that, but you weren’t here for the attempt to blow up the dwór, the shootings, and other mayhem,” said Joanna.

“Queen of Poland!”

“She is our protector and guide,” said Joanna.

“So ... you are Lady Sokołowska’s brother?  And Sokołowski’s page?” the brat was grinning. Well, he’d soon sort him out in class if he turned out to be cheeky.   The boy must not think he would have special privileges for being the lord’s brother-in-law. He must still be a schoolboy. No more than thirteen, at a guess, maybe younger. The lip was shy of any growth.

The grooms in the stables showed the lad deference; but he accepted it with an easy grace, neither courting nor deprecating it.

“My Lord Jędrowski, you will like to change I expect; I will have a bath sent for you to warm up,” said Joanna. “If I give you half an hour, will that suffice? It is Friday, so my lord is busy with petitions and problems if you wish to take longer.”

“An hour would be welcome,” said Jędrowski, yearning for a hot bath.

“It shall be so,” said Joanna. “I’ll put you in a guest room for now in case you find it too challenging.”

“I doubt that,” said Jędrowski.

“I hope you are equal to it; Władek and I find ourselves run ragged trying to do it all ourselves.”

“What, he permits you to teach?”

A raise of one blonde eyebrow signified that the whelp considered it an odd question.

“I find myself quite able,” said Joanna, serenely.

“You know what you are doing, teaching a beginner swordplay.  You call Lord Sokołowski by his first name?”

Joanna chuckled.

“I wonder if I should tell you?” she said. “You had not asked my name, after all.”

“Very well; what is your name?”

“Joanna Sokołowska. Pray, make yourself at home,” she showed him into a guest room, and whirled off while he was still gaping.

After a moment’s intense embarrassment, Joachim laughed. The priest was right; the ... the lady was fast, and was clearly holding back when teaching her sister some basics.

Presently a bath and a stream of servants with hot water came in and soon he was sinking into deep, hot water.  The first adequate bath he had had since ... well it was hard to recall. Inns sometimes offered baths but they were rarely better than lukewarm  and never quite enough water. He revelled in the heat coursing through him, and then there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he asked, wondering if he had overstayed his time in the bath.

“My name’s Mestek, my lord; Mama sent me to light your fire and to say sorry for her that she didn’t do it before.”

“Come in, Mestek,” said Joachim, assuming that this was the housekeeper’s child with so outmoded a pet name.

The door opened, and a small figure slid in like an eel, shutting the door quickly to minimise draught. He hardly looked old enough to be lighting fires by himself! He also had on the kontusz of a szlachcic, and a properly tied sash, both in black with silver threads. His eyes were hazel, almost golden, and he had a fuzz of golden brown hair. He beamed broadly, displaying two gaps in his teeth. Seven years old or so, then.

The fire was already laid, and Joachim reflected he could have lit it himself; he must be too used to hardship. The boy tinkered with it a little, and then used the tinder-box with what looked to be the ease of long practice to light it.  He plainly knew what he was doing and soon a fire was roaring, the logs crackling.

The child stood on one leg, regarding Joachim.

“Assessing me to see if you want to keep me?” said Joachim.

“Something like that, my lord,” said Mestek.

“Well, frankness is refreshing,” said Joachim. “You know why I’ve come, then?”

“Yes, my lord.  You’re our lord-brother-teacher.  And you need to know that Papa made us all a promise when he rescued us, specially the ones who had bad parents like the Morski children.  He promised nobody would hit us with fists, or lock us in cupboards or outhouses or strike us on the face or give any spanking which drew blood. So I thought I’d save Papa the trouble by checking that with you myself.”

“Cocky little beast, aren’t you?” said Joachim, shocked.

Mestek beamed at me.

“Lord Aleksander calls me The Hetman,” he said.

“I can see why. And who is Papa?”

“Oh! I thought you had met Mama; I’m Mestek Sokołowski,” said Mestek. “I’m adopted; I’m one of the Zabiełło bastards but I can forget all about that and learn to be a crazy Cossack. I have a pony and we do tricks.”

“Of course you have a pony and do tricks; Władysław Sokołowski would beggar himself to make sure his offspring had a pony,” said Joachim. He could have kicked himself when the child looked alarmed. .

“I don’t think he did,” he said, sounding uncertain.

“No, he has lands; I only wanted to say that he’d consider it more important than luxuries for himself.”

“Mama and Papa are very aus... austere people,” said Mestek. “Can I get you anything else?”

“You can hand me the towel and tell your Mama that I am now getting out,” said Joachim. “Thank you for lighting the fire.”

“You’re welcome, my lord!” said Mestek, passing the towel and running off. He was careful with the door again on his way out, Joachim noted. Well, some cheekiness could be overlooked if there was also a helpful nature to go with it; the child was definitely not sly. More, he seemed to assume an air of authority in his father’s house, for being given responsibilities. And he was not too proud to do the work of a servant and light a fire.

Because Mama forgot.  And probably had other duties, unless the child volunteered to get a look at the new teacher.

Lady Sokołowska was waiting for him outside the door when he finished dressing. He gasped. As a boy she was a handsome little boy; as a woman, she was a beauty, dressed, he noted in approval, in their national fashion, not after the manner of the west.

“I do apologise about the fire,” she said. “If I had known you were coming, I’d have had it all warm and cheery. It seems profligate to heat rooms not in use and excess work for the servants, too. But it might be a good idea to keep one room ready. I hope you did not freeze too much?”

“The hot bath was welcome, thank you; and the room was not cold. I am not used to luxury.”

He was well-spoken with an unexpectedly soft voice and a lilt of Lithuanian in it. His clothes were of good quality, but repaired and old. Rather like Władysław’s had been.

“You fell on hard times?”

“You could say that.”

He was not going to be any more forthcoming than that. Joanna brought him to the hall where Władysław spent Friday afternoons listening to the problems of his people. They came in on the end of him berating a peasant.

“You’re an idiot, Pełk, you should have spoken to me before. I don’t bite; you could have spoken to me in church, or sent your boy with message that it was an emergency.  Good grief, it isn’t every day that some fool bird goes right through the thatch; and then your girl wouldn’t be ill now.  Wilk, collect Pełk’s daughter, and bring her up to the infirmary; she will be warmer here. Idzik, lad, tell Lady Milena to prepare a bed for the child. I’ll have the thatcher out within the hour.” He signed to another man who nodded and left.

“Yes, my lord,” said the boy dispatched to the lady.

That one really was a boy ... Joachim thought.

Sokołowski turned, and his eyes were dancing with golden flecks in the green, a whimsical smile on his mouth.

“That one really is a boy, yes,” he said. “One of our orphans; Idzik will be having lessons with you. His swordplay has been neglected; he was going to train as a physician like his father.”

“What happened?”

“He discovered that physicians can take life in crueller ways than warriors,” said Władysław. “We have damaged children here, my lord-brother; most of your pupils have suffered either bereavement or ill-treatment, Mestek as much as any, but he’s a sunny-natured child and philosophical about life.  Every now and then he says something which sets me off being angry at his grandsire again, but there’s no point worrying about it. He’s open enough. Idzik has problems to work through, but he and his brother seem to be able to talk. Their sister lives with her best friend, and the only child who troubles me seriously is the one who has had no cruelty in his life, indeed the reverse. Adam is shaking down, but he’s frankly a bit of a worm. Youngest child of a doting mother, who lost her husband when the boy was young. He fought with the Bar Confederation, the uprising against the King in mistaken defence of the Golden Rights of the Sarmatian way,” he added. “The older boys are fine, and none of our responsibility, thank goodness!  Paulina and Judyta are a little bit precious too, but Olek wants them to have an education. Both are also recently bereaved. Don’t worry about trying to get your head around families; there’s a sufficiency of adopted children to make it confused. Mieszko Zabiełło was a slut, and we have a dozen or so surviving offspring of his about the place. Mestek is one of them.”

“I ... it is a far cry from what I was expecting,” said Joachim.

“There’s still time to back out,” there was a faint look of derision on that hawk-face as Władysław almost sneered the words.

“I won’t back out,” said Joachim.  Mestek might be sunny-natured, but it could surely not be easy for children to have a grim guardian like Sokołowski!