Chapter 12
Jan and Jurko stood back to back on the Turkish vessel, sabres weaving their intricate dance of death. Jurko was happy; he was loved by Helena, and he could unleash the anger he felt towards her family on a legitimate target.
And then he and Jan were alone, having killed all their foes.
"So, how is the loot disposed of?" asked Jan. "Not that I am bothered, but I am interested."
"A tenth to my father," said Jurko. "A tenth of what's left to me, and tenth between my officers; and I count Kurylo an officer, too, and none of my men dispute it." His upward look surveyed Jan questioningly.
"Oh, I don't dispute that either. And the rest?"
"Equal shares, and the men vote a second share to anyone they feel did especially well, or who deserves it, so each share is slightly diminished to reward someone who was worthy. They do it sometimes for someone just married," he added. "And the sale of the ship rather than sinking it, divided the same way."
"Ingenious; and fair enough," said Jan. "I see what the princess meant about a lot of water, though; one feels rather small."
"There's a story I heard," said Jurko. "A Turk, a Moskale, a Cossack and a Frenchman were arguing over the most magnificent place to worship. The Turk claimed that there was no place like Mecca; and the Moskale disagreed, citing the Basilica in the Kremlin. 'Nonsense; eet ees ze Notre Dame de Paris!' cried the Frenchman. The Cossack, who had held his silence, said quietly, 'You're all wrong, you know; for all the places you name have been framed by the hand of mortal man. The best place to worship is on the wild steppe, where man is a lone figure in the circle of the sky, a more vasty and magnificent dome than any man can build, and where the stones and the land are cast by the hand of God alone, and the choirs are cicadas and skylarks, and other creatures who worship He who made them in their natural way.' And the others bowed their heads."
Jan crossed himself.
"And in all this water, I feel the same," he said. "Now I see why you Cossacks are so devout."
"How can we be anything else?" said Jurko, simply. "I don't mind being Catholic not Orthodox for Helena and for my father, because I am sure that God smiles in gentle derision that we all fail in some ways to get it completely right. For the Bible too is framed by mortal hand, and it is surely like the game played by children who whisper a phrase in a circle to see how it changes from one ear to the next, and details are lost."
"I had no idea you were such a profound thinker," said Jan.
"Riding for hour after hour or sailing gives a man time to think," said Jurko. "So, how do you like being a Cossack?"
"I'm loving every minute," said Jan, happily. "Loot?"
"Damn right," said Jurko.
They went below, and Jurko whooped to see costly fabrics and carpets.
"The little shit I killed was as well-off as his clothes suggested," he said. "Oh, bloody Hell!" he added as he entered the second cabin and saw a child cowering in the corner.
Jurko sank to a squat.
"Hello little one," he said in rudimentary Arabic. "I won't hurt you. Was the vizier your father?"
The child shook... her, he thought... head.
"Is he dead?" she asked in Polish.
"Yes," said Jurko.
"I want to see."
Jurko rose and held out a hand. The child took it, and he led her on deck.
She went straight to the gaudy figure Jurko had killed earlier, and kicked the body hard with her bare feet. Then she stamped on his groin.
"Well, we'll make a Cossack of you yet," said Jurko. "How much badness had he done to you?"
"Touching," she said, shortly.
"Well, could be worse," said Jurko. "Never worry again, precious poppet; I am going to take you to my lady love, who will look after you."
"Jurko, can you wish a child on Helena?" asked Jan.
"Why not? She has a heart as big as Poland to care for slaves," said Jurko. "And we'll kit the child out a bit better on the way back. What's your name, little one?" he added.
"He called me 'Gülruh' but properly I'm Róża," she said.
"Very appropriate," said Jurko. On closer inspection and as she pulled off her headdress and threw it at her former master, she was fair skinned and blonde, with big blue-green eyes, not far off the colour of Jurko's own eyes. "Well, little Rose, we will pluck you and I will show you how to grow thorns by teaching you sabre."
"I can kill people like him, then," said Róża.
"Exactly," said Jurko.
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"We'll raid while we're here," said Jurko. "Róża will stay on this ship while we do, stood out to sea. Hear this, my men; behold, my daughter."
"And without a visible pregnancy; our ataman is a marvel," teased Kurylo. Jurko pulled his old friend's oseledets affectionately.
"And the princess?" asked Kurylo, seriously.
"If she does not accept a child in need, she is not the woman I think her," said Jurko. "My mother threatened to sell me to the Turks when I was her age."
"I did not know," said Kurylo.
"How could she?" gasped Jan.
Jurko's mouth twisted.
"Having the little prince's bastard was supposed to secure her a position as, if not his wife, then favoured mistress. My sire was too clever to be caught by that, and my mother was left with a child she did not want. This little one will not be unwanted."
"I was sold," said Róża. "Because I am pretty, but daughters are no good."
"You will never be less for being my daughter, but if you want, you will also be my son," said Jurko.
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,
There was, thought Jan, a viciousness to Jurko's attacks on the shore village they chose to raid. He was working off his rage over the deviant vizier on anyone who got in his way; and perhaps rage at the parents of a child, selling her into slavery. True it was not to be supposed that she would be expected in the normal way to serve anyone's sexual purposes until she was a woman, but he could understand his volatile friend's rage. Jan's rage simmered at a lower heat, but he found he was, himself still fighting with more grim determination to cause as much death as possible in the troops guarding the lord of the village.
They fought their way up to the ornate castle, with minarets and glazed tiles, but still a castle; and by sheer force and determination fought their way within, cutting down any who would oppose them.
Jurko found himself fighting a boy of some twelve summers, and rapidly disarmed the boy, and tied him up.
"I don't fight children," he said. "If we meet in battle in ten years, and I come to regret this, then so be it. I hate your culture, but I do not make an enemy of women and children."
"You must be Bohun," said the boy.
"I am; and I accept that you may, one day, seek me out to kill. But as God is my Judge, that must be as it must be."
He left the youth tied to a pillar, where he would later be freed, and returned to aid his men until there was no more resistance. The women would probably have better lives left in the harem than taken to Poland; none asked to be taken away, in any case. One of his men threw his arms around one of the women.
"Soldier, what are you doing?" asked Jurko, sharply.
"This is my wife! She was stolen away three years ago," said the man.
"You will have her back and accept any children she has borne since as your own adopted offspring?" asked Jurko.
"Yes, ataman."
"Then she may fetch them, and their clothes and come with us," said Jurko.
"They will not accept me in the village," said the woman.
"But your husband's comrades will accept you," said Jurko.
And then the Cossacks looted the man's castle with the ruthless rapacity of a band of well-trained locusts, even stripping the more decorative tiles which would sell for a high price in Poland.
"Leave the mosque!" Jurko ordered, sharply, as they would have diverted on the way back.
"They would not respect our churches, ataman," said Kurylo.
"And are we barbarians like them?" asked Jurko.
"Yes?" ventured one of his men.
"No. We are clean in the sight of God, for it is the same God, although they worship Him in strange, heretic ways," said Jurko. "It is the house of God, whether it be a church, a mosque or a synagogue. If you defile it, you will go straight to hell when you die."
They left the mosque, and if there was any regret, none dared voice it.
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Helena tried not to sigh over her lessons. It was apparently unladylike to show impatience over missing someone. According to Lady Czeczeła, she was doing well.
And she was keeping up her sabre drill as well, despite Gryzelda sighing over this activity.
Perhaps, if she was honest, because Gryzelda sighed over this activity.
Helena would never have thought, a year ago, that she would take such pains to make herself a creditable warrior. She had been terrified through the whole of her one and only battle and was not sure if she was cut out to be a warrior. But Helena was also as stubborn as any Cossack, and if her rebellion against the Kurcewiczowa princess had been to show no emotion over beatings and vituperation, then her rebellion over having to be a lady according to the dictates of Princess Gryzelda was to continue to shave the side of her head as best she might, and to do sabre drill.
And if the was better at fighting, next time she was in battle with Jurko would not be as frightening.
Helena paused.
When had 'if she was ever in battle' become 'next time' for her?
She was determined not to let him down.
Helena was surprised when Jancia had a message for her when she returned to her room.
"His highness asked if you would attend upon him before breakfast, lady," she said.
"I wonder why," said Helena, hastily washing and dressing in one of her fetching new gowns.
She made her way to Jeremi's study and curtseyed prettily enough to him.
"My wife says you continue to do sabre drill, though you are safe, here," he said.
"Yes, highness; I don't want to get out of practice or become unfit. It's good training," said Helena. "And then I won't be a liability when I marry Jurko and go Cossacking with him against the Turks."
Jeremi raised an eyebrow.
"You're a beautiful young woman, Helena. You can have your pick of men. You don't have to choose my son out of gratitude for his rescue of you, and my adoption of you into my family. I wouldn't take it amiss."
"Oh, but I want to marry Jurko," said Helena. "He's my best friend."
"Well, I won't be disappointed if you do," said Jeremi. It would, after all, cement her lands to his, and they were more extensive than she, or the old Princess, probably realised. "But I want you to be aware that you will have more options. And we will be leaving for Warszawa when he and Jan get back. You have not considered Jan as a suitor? He is a good-looking and pleasant young man."
Helena giggled.
"But he didn't recognise me as the boy with the oseledets," she said. "He still has no idea. And I wonder if he'd want a wife who is getting competent with a sabre."
"I am sure he would love any woman who moved him whatever," said Jeremi. "Show me your drill."
Helena was surprised, but took his own sabre that he offered to her, swinging it a couple of times to get used to the weight, and then tossing it up to catch it, something else she had been practising, to the initial detriment of the parquet in the long gallery.
Jeremi's brows went up.
"Well, I wasn't expecting that," he murmured.
Then she was swinging the blade in the well-known rhythm moving from guard to attack, protecting herself on every side, moving forward with the rhythm of the blade as she used the moulinet moves to carry it under the momentum of its own weight.
"It's a little lighter than the one Jurko gave me, so I'm fumbling it a little as I get used to it," she said, apologetically as she handed it back.
"Yes, this is my dress sword, not the one I'd wear into battle," said Jeremi. "You did not appear unduly hampered by its size or balance; I congratulate you. On the frontier it is wise for a woman to be able to defend herself."
Jeremi was a paternalistic despot but he was also above all else a consummate warrior, and the warrior in him approved of how well she had learned in a short while more than the patriarch in him disapproved of a woman looking competent with a weapon.
"Now don't think I'm going to permit you to put on armour and wings to ride to meet the ship when it returns," he said.
Helena, recognising this as a slightly heavy joke, giggled dutifully.
At least the prince was not being tiresome about stopping her doing sabre drill, nor about her preferring Jurko to Jan. She would do her duty to him by looking the part of a proper ward in Warszawa, but she could wish not to have to go.
But if Jurko was there, and not a plethora of servants who now knew her, perhaps they could meet more often and follow up that delicious conversation about where he was not permitted to touch her.
Helena went back to her room to remind herself of all the places he was not allowed near.