Chapter 7
"What the hell is going on here?" Jurko demanded. He looked in horror at the whips, similar in form to the Russian great knout, one rawhide strap jointed to another with a metal ring, and plainly cured to be hard.
Piekarski turned with the intention of giving the newcomer a set-down, took in that the speaker was riding with his colonel, was dressed in beautiful gold and blue brocades, and was pointing at him with a buława.
"I... I was punishing two cheeky brats," he said. "They are Cossack scum..." he missed Michał's wince and his moustaches working, "... who are in need of chastising."
"Two quite little boys, with a heavy whip? Really?" sneered Jurko. "How many had you ordered?"
"Fifty each; the message must be driven home to these feckless thieving Cossack types," said Piekarski, smugly.
Jurko dismounted, walked over, and took off his glove to slap the man hard across the cheek. He was fighting being sick; that was enough to break the back and kill.
"You will meet me," he said. "As soon as someone has cut down Prince Michał Wiśniowiecki and Prince Jurij Chmielnicki. But I am not cutting them down because of their connections, but because no child should be flogged with something akin to a Moskal knout, nor so many strokes. Why, you haven't even tied on a leather strip to protect their kidneys! Do you want to kill them, you arse-faced, shit-for-brains excuse for a soldier who doubtless can't manage proper soldiering and so take refuge in what travesty you like to call discipline? I'm tempted to tie you up and give you all hundred strokes! Miszko, Juryk, come here and report why you are on a charge."
"It began, my lord, with him insulting us and all Cossacks, calling us long-haired layabouts because we haven't had our osoledets shaved yet," said Miszko.
"He whacked Miszko so hard he fell over," said Juryk. "Because he said Cossacks were undisciplined, and of course Miszko defended the shovel-masters."
"I might have said that Angels scarcely knew enough shovel discipline to cover their own shit," said Miszko.
"I hope that will change when you're commanding a company of Angels as part of your training," said Jurko, sternly. "And most of Mich... Pułkownik Wołodyjowski's Angels know how to dig. That was rude. And you are a prince, and you have no call to be rude to an underthing like that, no matter how rude he was to you. So did that rank a flogging?"
"Oh, no," said Miszko. "He dragged us by the ear to help with the field kitchen, and we might have poisoned him a little bit with senna, and then we peed in his boots."
"I see," said Jurko. "I think he probably deserved the treated boots for being so foul mouthed in his prejudice against Cossacks, but the senna was a little bit too much. How many strikes of my nagajka do you think you need for poisoning a technical superior a little bit?"
Miszko squared his shoulders.
"You must decide, my lord brother," he said. "But I led Juryk into it, so I should have double and he be let off. I said so to the... officer."
Jurko turned, scorn in his eyes and dripping from his voice when he spoke.
"And you don't recognise a fine future officer in that nobility of spirit towards his companion? You worthless piece of pigshit! I'm not going to soil my blade on you, you can use your blade, but I will kill you with my nagajka. And I am pissed off because your attitude set up the back of my little brother so I have to punish him."
"I was a willing confederate," said Juryk, determination warring with the fear in his eyes.
"You'll have six each," said Jurko, "for poisoning the shit-for-brains, and Miszko another six for disrespecting the angels."
"And haven't they been disrespecting Cossacks, and putting us down for being Cossacks?" said Juryk.
"Well, they won't be enjoying themselves either, when I've finished taking them on manoeuvres," said Jurko. "Arse or shoulders, Juryk?"
"Arse, please, Prince Jurij," said Juryk.
"Bend then, and stay still," said Jurko.
Miszko also chose to be whipped on the rump, which would make riding painful, but not affect digging, and both took their punishment in stoic silence without moving.
And then Jurko embraced both tearstained and snotty little boys, and pushed them gently towards Helena who was ready with comforting arms.
"I hated doing that," said Jurko. "And if you ever dare suggest I was soft on them, so help me, I will piss in your dying mouth until you drown after I have incapacitated you."
"My lord prince, how was I to know who they were? They never told me," said Piekarski. Jurko sneered.
"You didn't even bother to ask their names; you would have flogged them probably enough for them to die of it, and you didn't even ask their names. But I wager if they'd told you, you wouldn't have believed them. And I'd have acted the same for any of the kids of my shovel-masters who are old enough to be along. Now, strip to your shirt, draw your blade, and stand your ground."
"My lord colonel, this is irregular..." Piekarski appealed to Michał. The little knight's moustaches worked with passion.
"You have brought disgrace upon my regiment; try to redeem it by dying well," he said. "Prince Jurij is justly angry. And so am I that my angels have been caught out showing little respect to the Cossacks who are our allies, brothers, and equals in every way! Now strip to your shirtsleeves and stand your ground! Unless you want a dishonourable discharge, and a request sent to the king to have your status as a szlachcic stripped from you too."
"But... but that cannot..."
"Recent law brought by the Sejm," said Jurij, happily. "If szlachcice can be made, they can be unmade."
Piekarski bared his teeth.
"Take off your sabre, then," he said.
"Did you hear that, Michał?" said Jurko. "The little piss-a-boots doesn't trust me not to cheat, which presumably means that he would in like circumstance. Miszko! Come and take my sabre. If anything goes wrong, it is yours; you will not dishonour it."
"You can't lose, my lord-brother," said Miszko. "I've seen him at sabre drill, and he can't change hands, nor can he turn fast to moulinet if going widdershins."
"Thank you, most useful," said Jurko.
He stood, ready, utterly relaxed, his tall, elegant body weighted perfectly, a mocking smile on his handsome tawny features.
Piekarski charged.
Jurko, smiling, his eyes concentrating on the blade, swayed out of the way of every wild swing. Piekarski had a lot of natural talent, and was not bad. And when he settled into his rhythm, seeing Jurko do nothing, his strikes were more scientific. And he could manage a clockwise moulinet and used it well to aim a vicious blow which would have taken off one of Jurko's legs if it had landed. However, by the time the sabre was anywhere near where Jurko's leg had been when the strike had been made, Jurko's leg was on level with Piekarski's face, as the Cossack leaped straight up into the air. And as he came down, his nagajka whipped out to catch Piekarski across the cheek.
"That one is for striking my brother hard enough to leave a nasty bruise," he said.
A quick flick and the other cheek was marked.
"And this is for making me explain to our father why he was also given a broken cheekbone with that blow," he added. "This one is for your comments about Cossacks." That blow was across the mouth, and the watching angels might see that though the Cossacks used it to startle a horse, and even for massage, it could do damage, as Piekarski spat a couple of teeth out.
The hussar officer was furious by now, and pressed home his attack. Jurko danced out of the way, lightly, elegantly, once somersaulting backwards from a standing start to avoid the blade. And he was, all the time, punishing the sides and thighs of the adjutant, the whip curling around to cut into the man's backside as well. Jurko could have killed him in any one of a number of ways, but he wanted a world of hurt to descend on a man prepared to so hurt little boys, and for forcing him into a position where he must hurt his adored little brother. And it made him proud that his brother took the whipping soundlessly, a far cry from the rather spoilt mama's boy he had been when Jurko joined the family. The Cossacks watching already loved him, but now they would boast of his stoicism.
"What's wrong, cherub? I thought you liked pain?" taunted Jurko.
"Oh, that shit-for-brains is for it," said Miszko, through a haze of soreness. "He's been dubbed 'cherub' and Jurij only calls people that if they really irritate him."
The hussar came forward again, measured, if angry strides. His blade was a whirling screen of death.
The nagajka was not as fearsome a whip as the arapnik, which was fifteen stopy long, and could be made to wrap many times around a man's legs and pull him off balance. But Jurko was a master, and he could make his little whip wrap around the man's wrist, striking the nerve point to make his hand jerk open, and drop his sword.
"I... I acknowledge your win!" squealed Piekarski.
"Pick it up; we haven't finished here," said Jurko.
"I... I won't!"
"Then I'll whip you until you do," said Jurko, placing a stinging blow across the man's buttocks. He cried out, and Jurko sneered through bared teeth. "My baby brother took that without a cry. Twelve times," he said. "Pick up your sword."
Piekarski bent to pick up his sword and ran before straightening, with it held out like a spear.
Jurko somersaulted to the side, dropping into a Cossack squat, his nagajka flashing out to wrap enough round the forward-moving legs to trip Piekarski. Piekarski fell heavily, nicking the side of his face on his outstretched sword.
"Get up," said Jurko.
"I... I can't!"
"You can," said Jurko. "Because up or no, I am going to flog you to death, because you intended to do so to my brother. Get up."
Trembling with pain, Piekarski got up.
"You are a piece of shit," said Jurko, scornfully. "I can take you out without any weapon at all because to be a Cossack is to be a weapon." He tossed his nagajka towards Helena, who caught it in one hand, and coiled it. And then Jurko went to work, dropping to a squat to kick Piekarski's feet out from under him in the scything sweep of one leg, leaping to kick him in the face when the man stumbled to his feet again. Piekarski was blowing hard, his breath coming in sobs; Jurko was laughing, a mirthless sound, with all the warmth of the crackling of grinding ice in the crevasses of a glacier.
Many an angel shivered, and later told stories that the cold fury of the king's oldest son was the most frightening thing they had ever seen in their lives. It added to the folklore about the close nature of the Korybut.
And then as Jurko kicked Piekarski in the nose, there was a sickening crunching noise, and blood poured out of his nose as he fell silently to the ground, and lay, spreadeagled, his wide eyes staring fixedly at the secret only the dead know. Judging by his look of horror, he was not about to walk in at the pearly gates.
Jurko immediately knelt and crossed himself.
"Lord, You know how much to blame me for my temper and how much was justice for a man who felt those foul travesties suitable whips for punishing anyone," he said. "I pray that he may come to enlightenment through Your field training in righteousness. I beg forgiveness if my response was too great. Amen."
"It was not too great, Jurij," said Michał. "Dear God, I had no idea he possessed such things or considered them suitable for punishment; he's a new transfer, along with the remains of his company."
"Remains?" asked Jurko.
"They went after Tatars, and came off worse," said Michał. "And now I know why their morale was poor. I agreed to merge them with my own troops. But I swear to you, Jurij, if those boys can point to any angel in my original regiment who has bad-mouthed Cossacks, you can have any that have done so to learn to graft beside your shovel masters. And you can have the fancy peacock-brained fools Piekarski brought with him. They need a few lessons in humility."
"Did I want them?" said Jurko.
"You'd be good for them," said Michał. "You drove the bone of his nose into his brain; was that deliberate?"
"No, I meant to break it," said Jurko. "Perhaps the Good Lord felt that enough was enough, and guided my foot to make it quicker than I intended. I meant to break every finger and rib, and his cheek bones and nose."
"I'm glad you're on our side," said Michał.
"I'm glad you're on our side," said Jurko. "Damn, we shall have to shift to go teach Andrzej some tricks."
"We're only half an hour behind schedule," said Michał.
"We are? I lost all sense of time."
"Of course you did, my friend," said Michał. "Now, let us talk about how best to approach this, over second breakfast. And I am going to provide those boys with feather pillows to sit on to eat and to ride."
"I will pretend not to notice," said Jurko.
