Chapter 25
The young officers moved on to another inn, and sat laughing over a beer, discussing some of the weird discipline problems they had come across, having reassured Fabian that they understood that Kowal was merely a combination of drunk, and partisan enough to think his own lieutenant should have been in charge. Kurylo dredged out a story of a man who disappeared for the better part of a week.
"And he was completely honest when he returned," said Kurylo. "He came back on a mule, facing backwards, holding the tail like a bridle, and a girl whom he said he had bought, and told me he didn't remember much because he had gone on a three day bender after his father died, and now he was married, owning a mule, and with no idea where his horse was."
"Did the girl know more?" asked Fabian.
"Fortunately, yes," said Kurylo. "Her own young man had failed to show at the church, when my oaf wandered in, mule and all, and stood in the place of the groom. She took him as a gift from God, but she had no idea what had happened to the horse. I fined him for the loss of it, less the value of the mule, and confined him to quarters with a window where he could watch his wife about the daily chores. She was a fetching little thing, and why her young man ran out on her, I don't know. Mind, she had – and has – a temper, makes Princess Helena in a snit look calm. She ran him with a rod of iron. Their oldest is Ihor, who rides with us as a... well, you'd call him a pacholik, Fabian. Thick as thieves with Jan's Rzędzian. Who has no first name."
"I think he dislikes it," said Jan. "When he's been irritating, I try to guess it and make silly and embarrassing guesses. He actually told me to stuff myself with straw when I suggested his family had been so taken by his curly blond hair that they named him 'Marianna' for his pretty looks."
They laughed again.
"The poor whelp is probably Marion, a perfectly good male name, and was teased by having it turned into 'Marianna' by thoughtless brats," said Fabian.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you were right," said Jan. "Well, I can ask what saint's name he was confirmed into the church under."
"And if he hasn't been, we can arrange it while we are here, and he can pick something," said Jurko. He happened to be looking at the door as he was speaking, and saw another young officer come in, look around, stare at their table, looking puzzled at Fabian and Kurylo, consult a sheet of paper, and come over.
"Hello, may I join you?" asked the stranger. He was a moderately good looking young man with a slightly florid complexion and a conventional czupryna hair cut, and trimmed moustaches.
"It's a free world, neighbour," said Jurko. "Were you planning to use glue, or cord? I would militate against nails, metal or tree."
"I beg your pardon?" said the stranger.
"You wanted to join us," said Jurko. "Now, that set up the train of thought about joining us together and so I asked what method you might use."
"Oh! hahaha," said the stranger. "My name's Stefan. My father says you're all joined together anyway because you're ladyboys."
"Well, if you came here with the intent of annoying us with fighting words, whenever and wherever you please," said Jurko, pleasantly.
"Eh? Oh, I don't care as long as you don't want me in your beds," said Stefan. "Just repeating what m'father said. Matter of fact, don't know why he thinks it."
"Well, if you try spreading about such lies, I'll spread about your nose," said Jurko, evenly.
"You can't threaten me! Wait till my father hears about this!"
"I didn't threaten you; I promised you. Now did you want anything other than insulting my brother officers and me?" said Jurko, still evenly.
"I didn't intend to insult you!" said Stefan, sullenly.
"Well, carry on not intending it, and you won't have your features remodelled," said Jan. "And who is this father of yours whom you wave like your nursemaid's skirts to hide behind?"
"Oh very nicely put, brother," said Jurko.
Stefan went red.
"My father is Hetman Mikołaj Potocki," he said.
"Why, cherub, how bravely you bear that affliction," said Jurko.
"What do you mean? I am proud of my father."
"Such a brave face he puts on it," said Jan.
"Family feeling is a wonderful thing, even under such a level of shame," said Kurylo.
"And most commendable," managed Fabian.
Jurko patted Stefan on the cheek.
"Don't worry, cherub, we don't hold it against you, and recognise that you were only warning us of the lies and calumnies your sire likes to spread," he said. "We commiserate, we really do."
"But... but there is nothing to commiserate," said Stefan, confused.
"Cherub, it's all right, you don't have to pretend," said Jurko. "We know everything. And what's more, we have it all written to be published if any of us suffer unfortunate accidents."
"I don't understand," said Stefan, now entirely bewildered.
"Poor little cherub," said Jan. "Tell your dear Papa that if anything happens to any of us, everything we know will be published on broadsheets all over the Rzeczpospolita. One might not divide up the bearskin before the bear is caught, but we know where the paws have been."
"Run along, cherub, and report," said Jurko, his eyes glinting.
Stefan ran along.
He thought them very odd young men, and rather scary.
Jeremi laughed and laughed when Jurko and Jan reported.
"Oh, my, you have certainly stepped from being associated with Potocki's enemy to being enemies in your own right," he said.
"It would have come to the same thing sooner or later," shrugged Jurko, wincing as a shrug pulled on his wound.
"And we are loyal to you, my lord," said Jan.
"Bless you all, and Kurylo and Fabian for joining in," said Jeremi. "He will have so many flies in his nose, Beelzebub will be jealous."
"That was the idea," said Jurko. "An angry opponent makes mistakes."
"Cherub, really?" said Jeremi.
"He was such a little innocent and yet so offensive, I had an urge to be offensive back," said Jurko. "I must call Potocki 'Cherub's Papa' and name him 'Angel.'
Jeremi winced.
"Be careful," he said.
.
.
.
Potocki was furious.
He was furious with his son for blurting out what he believed about those damned ladyboys, because now they would be more careful. And he was furious with them for mocking his son, who was a buffoon, but he was still his son, and mocking the boy mocked him.
And they claimed to know everything about him.
It would be just like Jeremi to tell other people in detail everything that had gone wrong, that Jeremi had somehow saved the day while he was too drunk to function... and to have signed affidavits from those there, even those he had terrorised or bribed into silence. He had cut back on the drinking since then, but it was so hard... how terrible it was to have to make decisions, and how fearsome was battle. The fear paralysed him and at first the drink had relaxed him, made it easier.
Jeremi knew that he was a coward. He knew and he would exploit it if anything happened to this feral son of his and his lover. Or was he just a friend?
The boy was protective, possessive, of Helena Kurcewiczówna too.
If she was broken, he would be broken. And Jeremi would be shamed for failing to protect her.
She was beautiful and instead of having someone break her, he had half a mind to do it himself. Not revealing who he was, of course.
.
.
.
On the day of the grand dinner, the Cossacks were giving a riding display in the rynek. There were two youths with them, in shirts; Ihor, and Helena as Parysz. Most of the rest were shirtless, Cossack fashion, looking wild and free. The Cossacks rode from corner to corner first, from two different corners, passing between those going the other way, in a display of precision timing which brought gasps. The most skilled then repeated this whilst standing in the saddle. Helena could not manage this, but Jurko could, grinning in pleasure at his own skill. He also wore a shirt, for the dignity of a commander. Helena was disappointed. She knew his chest rippled with muscle and she would have liked to have purred.
Ihor ran to set up big candles down the length of the rynek, every forty feet. Helena mounted up and cracked her arapnik with a flourish. She rode towards the candles letting it swirl and coil; and then she flicked it out to lift the flame clear off each candle in turn. It was a display of precision to hit the wick only and not touch the candle.
She was applauded.
It was Ihor's turn next.
Two adult Cossacks, one of them his father, rode side by side, and Ihor ran, leaped into a somersault, and was caught securely to stand between them. He, too, received gasps and applause.
The Cossacks rode in a circle next, changing position as Jan on the ground blew a whistle, facing backwards, back to face forwards, swinging off the saddle to 'run,' touching off the ground with giant strides as the horses kept running, back on, and then the so-called Cossack death-drag, hanging from the saddle by one foot looped over the horn, their hair trailing on the ground.
Then they were back in the saddle, and to the side again, and Jurko was up on two fresh horses, riding with a foot in the saddle of each, one long rein from both bridles.
The crowd was enthralled.
The crowd included a young shepherd boy who had charge of a small flock of sheep which he was not watching.
The crowd included a pair of unfriendly eyes which reasoned that an accident could not be brought to his door, and took an opportunistic risk.
In the sound of hoofs and the crowd cheering, a single pistol shot might go unnoticed. Save by the unfortunate bellwether whose rump it stung. The sheep ran, bleating, away from the pain; and the flock, who had also heard the sharp noise, ran after their accustomed leader.
Into the path of the galloping horses.
The little boy gave a yell, and ran after them.
The horses reared, and only his cat-like reflexes saved Jurko, as he let the motion toss him up into a somersault, twisting as he turned, to land beside the rearing, plunging horses.
He picked up the little shepherd and threw him onto the nearest horse, out of the way of the plunging hoofs, and leapfrogged up, clear over the boy and onto the other horse, to grab the bridle of the horse with the boy clinging on for dear life, and his own horse's mane, and by sheer strength and willpower fought them to a standstill.
The bellwether was a bloody mess, cut to ribbons by the hoofs.
"Are you hurt, son?" asked Jurko.
"N...no, my lord," said the boy. "And I didn't shit myself neither."
"Well done," said Jurko. "I'd have thought no less of you if you had; it was a brave act to try to get your sheep back before they killed me, and I appreciate it. And I will pay for any of your sheep which have been killed or hurt, of course."
"Oh, I am in so much trouble!" said the boy. "My master will beat me and beat me."
"The hell he will; it was not your fault they were startled," said Jurko, who had heard the pistol shot and was only now putting together what he had heard and what had happened. "How do you fancy herding sheep for Cossacks and learning to ride to herd them? You don't mention a family."
"I'm an orphan and a serf," said the boy.
"Now you're a free man and a Cossack, which means the same thing," said Jurko. "You'll join our baggage train. What's your name?"
"Yes, my lord! And I'm Jaś, my lord!"
"Welcome, Jaś! My quartermaster will train you, and he will deal with these ruddy sheep, too," said Jurko.
Jeremi had strode over.
"My son! Are you hurt?"
"No, Papa, but we're keeping the boy; bravery like that deserves reward. Jaś was a serf and his master would beat him. Someone fired a pistol; and if that lead sheep wasn't so mangled, I wager we'd have found a bullet wound."
"Potocki!"
"And we can't prove it."
"My master is one of the Potocki, my lords, and the big prick himself... uh, I mean the lord hetman... was here," said Jaś.
"It isn't admissible in court," said Jurko. "Don't worry, father; my survival is as gall and wormwood to him."
"I will grind him into the ground," said Jeremi.
"And I will stand with you to do it," said Jurko. "And we definitely keep Jaś; that bastard is liable to have him killed to still his innocent tongue speaking out."
"Keep him secret; keep him safe," growled Jeremi. "Jaś, lad, pretend to be badly hurt so my son can lead you over to our men. We will give out that you died of a hoof to the head."
"Yes, my lord!" said Jaś, happily.
The games szlachta played were almost as good as those he played with the village children.
Helena was waiting with the other Cossacks.
"My heart was in my mouth, Jurko," she said. "But you would not be the man I love if you had not risked your life for a child."
"You're a well-trained little Cossack, not to try to interfere and panic the horses more," said Jurko. "And children are precious. Squirrel this child away; he's joining the baggage train, but officially he died."
Helena carried the small boy, her muscles now strong enough to do so. Not that he was very heavy; the child was half starved. He dangled like a dead body.
"You're a good actor," said Helena.
"I like szlachta Cossack games," said Jaś.
Helena laughed.
"Well, it may be that you have more in your future than that of shepherd," she said. "But we'll get you well-fed and strong first."
Jaś was close to adoration of his new masters.
The sheep were rounded up, and the bloody carcass was removed from the stones, and the other Cossacks put on a few more tricks to divert the crowd. Accidents happened, after all; dogs and children, and sometimes small livestock, like sheep, goats or geese, got run down by carts or by horses, especially cavalry which did not stop for anything so mundane. Jurko had been applauded for his rescue of the boy, risking himself under those iron-shot hoofs of death, most people considering it reckless to do for some serf boy.
The ominous red stain was soon covered in dust, and most people forgot the incident. Some even thought it part of the display, to show the virtuosity of the Cossack captain. This view was enhanced when it was rumoured that he had paid the value of the dead sheep and the value of a young serf.
The bellweather, being purchased, would reappear cooked and served as mutton. Waste not, want not.
And when skinned, was indeed found to have a bullet score on his rump.
Not enough evidence to move against a hetman; but to be remarked, drawn, and recorded, along with the evidence of Jaś,
One day it might add to other evidence.