The graceful rhythm of lutes tempted young nobles into the dance floor, but Ignacy Mazowieckie just took little interest. He sat with the others on an evidently over-sized throne in the bright, sumptuous hall. A thick bearskin from Volga and several layers of velvet of Sicily were cushioned to relieve his discomfort. Even so, he felt sounds of the tourney outside travel up through the earth and into his body, as his ears were caressed by such glorious echoes. How he longed to go out and join those knights!

Ignacy would wait another winter before he would be able to begin training as a knight's squire,while the accolade is unimaginable faraway. Until that much-honored event, he would have to accept being shunted off with these idle men and women, while his dukes and guests can embrace the joy of dueling and plot things that were doubtless mysterious and important. He sighed and wriggled on the bearskin, it was not fair.

There had been peace between Kingdom of Poland and Holy Roman Empire for almost half a century, but never were they particularly sociable. Each country kept to himself, with his own traditions, styles and manners of dress, stories, and priests. In fact Poles called Germans "Niemcy" because they could hardly understand the Deutsch language. They almost seemed as different to one another as the Saracens who wore robes and scarfs. Only once or twice a decade, the Emperor would send envoys to Polska as he was doing now, to extend peace treaty or to declare war.

The festival has officially started last night at moon-rise, though knights and ladies of Mazowsze had been gathering at Warsaw for several days now, a beautiful city by the Vistula, whose inhabitants were particularly fond of drinking and dancing. While ritual challenges and combat were inevitable during such festival, true anger or violence had never been allowed here.

When tempers flared, as they sometimes did when so many were gathered together, the shaman encouraged the lads involved to work it out peaceably, or else they were to find a "better" place for curses and scuffling.

The land in this corner of the world was lush and fertile and calming. Ignacy sometimes wondered if the countries could obey those rules and be nice to each other one day. He often wondered such things, keeping them to himself of course, for he heard no one else voicing such odd ideas.

Poland sighed again quietly, his thoughts racing, his heart thumping in answering rhythm to the footsteps coming inside. To his surprise, none of the Polish knights (There were dozens of them) managed to beat those several guests in white cloaks. "Grandmaster" Hermann von Salza won the tourney, despite his strange title and plain dress. Ignacy found him a respectable warrior indeed, but still disliked his haughty expressions.

And then the banquet began. Dozens of beast had been slain earlier this season, before the winter set in, and dried and smoked in preparation for the envoys' coming. Bonfires had been kindled, their warm light reflected by fine red wine from Burgundy, and the bards began singing, didn't stop until late at night.

Ignacy, like all the other children—lying on his king-sized bed, he sniffed dismissively at that term—had been permitted to stay up only until he had eaten his fill and the Duke and the Grandmaster had departed. The priests of both countries left with them, up one of the many towers and into a dim cell, there they shall bargain over the details before the final agreement over a covenant.

Interesting towers and secret chambers might be, Ignacy always knew he didn't want to sneak into them and quarrel with other countries. Poor grown-ups, he thought, why couldn't they become friends and make it fair?

During the day, there were hunts and game playing and retelling of the heroics of the ancestors. Each country had its own stories, and so in addition to the familiar tales Ignacy had heard before as a Pole, there were new and exciting adventures by Germans to listen to.

Entertaining as these were, and as much as young Poland enjoyed them, he burned to know what kind of deal would be made between his Duke and that Grandmaster. It seemed important to Mazowsze, to his people, and that meant important to himself.

He could stand it no longer. Quietly, Ignacy sat up, his ears straining for any sounds to indicate that anyone else was awake. He heard nothing, and after a long minute, he got to his feet and began to move slowly towards the tower.

It was a long, slow progression in the darkened palace, drunken soldiers of both nationalities were sprawled everywhere in the courtyard, and one wrong move could awaken them. His heart racing with excitement at his daring, Poland stepped carefully between the only faintly glimpsed shapes, placing each large foot with the elegancy of a white-tailed eagle.

It seemed to take an eternity before Poland finally reached the tower's side-door. He stood, trying to calm his breathing, reached out—and touched a fair white, smooth-skinned forearm, forearm of a girl as it seemed. He jerked his hand back with a surprised hiss.

"What are you doing?" Ignacy whispered.

"What are you doing?" That's definitely a girl's voice. So Poland abruptly grinned at how foolish they sounded.

"Same thing you do," the boy replied, his voice still soft. All about them, the guards slept on. "We can either keep talking about it or do it."

Poland could tell by the size of the faint shape in front of him that the girl was a tall one, probably three inches higher than him, and she speak Polish with an evident German accent.

So this girl is a Niemka. It was a daring thought—not only to do something so forbidden as to sneak and overhear without permission, but to do so in the company of an girl not of his own people. The girl hesitated too, the same thoughts no doubt running through her head. "Very well," she said at last, "Let's do it."

Ignacy reached out again in the darkness, his fingers brushing the knocker and held it nervously. The two children pulled the door open as softly as they could and stepped into the tower without been noticed.

Poland turned to look at his companion closer: a German girl with silver hair and sanguine eyes as if in myths, he couldn't help wondering if this was real or just his dream. The girl, however, just shook her head slightly, apparently unsatisfied with what she saw.

"Whatever, she did learn some Polish before visiting Poland, that's polite enough for a Niemcki." Ignacy thought to himself, but still felt somehow gloomy.

They did not risk more words. Poland pointed to window giving away candle light upstairs, and silently the two headed for it. He felt as exposed as if he were in bright sunlight, so powerful was die moon's glow reflected off the gray stone bricks. And surely the sound of the wooden floor squeaking beneath their feet was as loud as the bellow of an enraged Aurochs. But at last they climbed all the way up and sank down below the windowsill. Ignacy's breath misted as he finally exhaled, the girl turned to him and grinned.

"I am Julchen Beilschmidt, Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, youngest and most awesome sister of Holy Roman Empire." She whispered proudly.

Poland was impressed. While the Teutonic Order was not a strong entity, it was well known and honored for these knights' fighting against the Heathen in Holy Land

"I am Ignacy Lukasiewicz, son of Lech, Kingdom of Poland." He replied. Now it was Julchen' turn to react to the fact that she was sitting with a kingdom, and the very kingdom she came to serve. She nodded approvingly.

For a moment they simply sat, reveling in the glory of their daring. Poland began to feel the cold and wetness seep through his thick hide cape, and got to his feet. Again, he pointed at the window, and Julchen nodded. They carefully peered through the window, and straining to listen. Surely now they would hear the mysteries for which they both hungered. Over the crackling sound of the huge bonfire and the deep, voices of the superiors floated to them.

"Our soldiers have been kept busy this winter by Prussians ", Konrad Piast, Duke of Masovia said, "Soon as one of my villages gets defended, another falls to marauders."

"I am ready for spring, my lord" another male said, standing and tossing another log on the fire. "Once snow melts and the roads usable, we shall ride out together and kill them all."

"And don't forget about our price, Your Highness." It's the Grandmaster's voice this time, "The lands recaptured by us shall belong to the Order henceforth, as the Emperor and His Holiness have promised."

"I have no other choices, do I?" The Duke answered, smiling grimly.

Ignacy yawned in response to such boring conversation, he turned his head to stare at Julchen, who wore a similar expression of stunned dismay, "What a fool I am to believe the legendary Teutonic Order will bring me some real chivalry, rather than these old political tircks."

"And I marched all the way from Kingdom of Heaven to this remote, barren North, expecting to be given a task more than just killing the Pagans."

In the bright light of the moon, Ignacy had no trouble seeing Julchen's face clearly. The other youth's brows drew together in a frown, but smiled mysteriously.

"You and I can come up with something more interesting than this, Poland." She said in a low, arrogant, unyielding yet tempting voice that Ignacy gets addicted to in the next 890 years.

Poland just grinned and nodded. He was certain of it.

The celebration lasted for two more days. During the daytime and at night, when the two would sneak out together, they challenged each other to different contests of skill. Racing, swimming in Vistula, strength, playing chess— everything they could think of. And each defeated the other almost as if they had planned on taking turns.

When, on the last day, Julchen urgently called for a fifth challenge to break the stalemate, something inside Poland made him speak.

"Let us not perform common, ordinary challenges." Ignacy said, wondering where the words came from even as he uttered them, "Let us do something truly different in the history of our people."

Julchen's bright sanguine eyes gleamed as she leaned forward. "What do you suggest, Igni?"

"Let us be friends, you and I."

The girl looked surprised and nervous, "But—we are two different entities!" She said, in a voice that indicated that Ignacy just proposed a friendship between the great black wolf and the mild doe.

Poland waved a dismissive hand. "We are not enemies," he said, "Look around you. The Poles

and the Germans are happily drinking together, and soon they will be marching together to reclaim my land, why can't you and me become friends?"

"But. . . My brother says two countries should only come together seldom and only for the benefit, rather than friendship in it." Julchen continued, her brow knotted with concern.

Disappointment colored Ignacy's words with bitterness. "Very well, I thought you braver than other countries, Julchen Beilschmidt the one and only She-knight, but you are no better than ordinary girls—timid and shy and unwilling to see beyond what has always been done to what is possible."

The words had come from his heart, but had a Pole calculated them and honed them for weeks, he could not have chosen better. Julchen's pale face flushed and her eyes snapped.

"I am no coward!" She snarled. "I back down from no challenge, you upstart Slawen!"

She sprang on Poland then, knocking the shorter boy off his feet, and the two scuffled each other until the priests needed to be brought in for healing and lecturing on the inappropriateness of fighting as they were now allies.

"Impetuous boy," scolded the archbishop of Gniezno, an old man named Wincenty of Niałka, "You are not too old to be beaten as a disobedient child, young Ignacy!"

The Grandmaster who tended Julchen muttered similar displeased sounds. But even as blood streamed freely from his nose, and as he watched the priest heal a wicked gash on Julchen's pale torso, Ignacy grinned.

Julchen caught his gaze and grinned back.

The challenge had begun, the final challenge, so much more important than racing and fighting, and neither was willing to admit defeat . . . to say that a friendship between two young countries was wrong.

Poland had a feeling that this particular challenge would end only when one of them was dead . . . and perhaps not even then.

History and language hints:

In 1226, the Polish Duke of Masovia invited the Teutonic Order to help him conquer the Old Prussians north of Masovia, after the Order was expelled by Hungary.

Mozowsze and Mazowieckie simply means "Masovia" and "Of Masovia"

In Polish, Germany is called Niemcy which roughly means "not to speak" because at that time Germany was the only non-slavic nation bordering Poland so Poles can speak(or at least understand) all their neighbors' language except German.

So Niemcki means German people in general, Niemka means German female.

And Slawen means Slavs in German.

Poland then believed( like any other country) that Hungary was a boy, that's why he thought Julchen is "the one and only She-knight".