The Boy Who Wanted Wings

by James Conroyd Martin

  “It’s a mystery, it is,” Idzi said. “A royal one.”

  “And Lord Halicki?”

  “He’s leaving almost immediately to join his old comrade, General Lubomirski and the Sieniawski army. He’s so set on being part of the action that he’s skipping his daughter’s wedding.”

  Aleksy stopped sharply in his tracks, his eyes on the horizon. Long moments passed as the two held to their burden. He drew a long breath, guessing that the silent Idzi behind him must have expected the next question. “And the young Nardolski?”

  “After the—wedding—he and his retainers will join up with Lubomirski also.”

  “When?” Aleksy spat.

  Idzi cleared his throat. “The—the next day.”

  After the marriage night, Aleksy thought. After the marriage night. He felt a weakness come over him as he recalled when he saw Krystyna in her attic chamber. Caught by surprise, she had unbraided her hair and it fell about her shoulders in rich, fluid red-gold waves. It was how she would wear her hair on her marriage night….

  Idzi gave a little cough. “Do you—do you wish to know which chapel? In the cathedral, I mean?”

  “God’s death!” Aleksy dropped his hold on the carcass and turned on him, shouting. “Now, why would I wish that?” He glared at the stunned dwarf, daring him to say more. Idzi’s lips locked. Aleksy pivoted, took up his end and started walking again, accelerating his pace.

  “Sorry,” Idzi mumbled. His breaths came harder, and he spoke now with some effort. “Don’t walk so fast, Aleksy.—And why not accept Halicki’s influence? You know wearing the wings is your dream.”

  “If you want me to slow, you’ll finish this little outing in silence.”

  Much later, as they neared camp, Aleksy tried to rouse himself from the crushing disappointment and malaise that had seemed to take over his life. “What about you, Idzi? What are you to do?” He attempted an even tone. He had made his friend squirm enough.

  “Me? No excitement for little Idzi. I gather I’m to return to Halicz with the Lady Zenobia.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Why, I offered to attend Lord Halicki. I’d like to see the action at Vienna. I want to take part! He wouldn’t hear of it. Damn near laughed at me, he did. So I’m left to…”

  “Left to—what?”

  “Go back to my duties. Why does she dislike me so, Alek—your mother?”

  It was true, Aleksy thought, his mother had always had an aversion to Idzi. “I don’t know, Idzi.” That, too, was true.

  “My fate, I guess, and unchangeable it is.”

  And so, Aleksy was reminded that he was not the only one to face up to disappointment, to face up to prejudice. Idzi’s sly attempt at a little lesson was as transparent as glass—and not completely ineffectual.

  “You’re leaving before the wedding?” Roman asked his stepfather.

  “Chrystus! Not you, too?” Lord Konrad Halicki snapped in annoyment, his eyes coming up as his son entered the small music room of the Nardolski town house. “I just had this conversation with your mother. I came to Kraków to facilitate the betrothal and to my surprise it turned out I was needed to prevent Krystyna from acting foolishly, so I don’t regret coming. But, as I told your mother, I should have gone directly from Halicz to meet up with my old commander and friend, Prince Lubomirski, whom you met at the wedding of his daughter. The king is the king, but he’s moving slowly, according to all reports.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Sit down, Roman.—I’ve had a long message from the prince. It seems Christian men have already engaged enemy Turks and allied Magyars. I need to be there.”

  “Krystyna understands?” Roman took the chair opposite.

  “Seems to, but she’s despondent.”

  “Over the Aleksy business? Good God, what was she thinking? The stupid little fool!”

  “She was thinking she was in love.”

  “And now?” Roman asked. “She won’t even open her door to me.”

  “She’s resigned to her fate. She has no reason to dislike Fabian.”

  “Father, what is the situation at Vienna? What do we have to look forward to?”

  “Look forward to? That’s a strange way to talk about killing.” Lord Halicki sighed. “But I think the experience will surpass anything you and Marek might have undergone had you been chosen for the elite Kwarciani guarding the borders at the Wild Fields. You do forgive me for not interceding on that count?”

  Roman shrugged and forced a little nod of his head. The wound still festered, but with the prospects of excitement and glory at Vienna, it mattered little now.

  “As of the message that came yesterday,” his step-father began, “the Sultan’s Grand Vizier, Kara Mustafa, has taken up position on the southern slopes of Vienna where evidently he can see the entire panorama of the city. Charles of Lorrraine, who leads the Habsburg forces, had the foresight to burn the suburbs around the city before he left it so as not to lend shelter to the Turks.”

  “But… why did he withdraw?”

  The count shrugged. “Other fires to put out, I suppose. Emperor Leopold himself, his family and thousands of the citizenry fled the city. Those who remain are committed to fight to the death. As is often the case in sieges, a peace offer came from those besieging. Kara Mustafa offered peace to those who might stay, accepting Islam and living as Christians under the Sultan, and peace, also, to those who were free to leave, taking their goods with them.”

  “And should they resist?” Roman asked.

  “Death—or slavery to all. The offer was declined, of course, and orders were given to wall up the gates of the city. The Turks then began their offensive with bombardment and the digging of trenches. Despite brave sorties out of the walled city by its defenders, the Turks moved ever closer. They also began digging underground passages and setting mines that opened up gaps in the palisading and parapets. The Viennese quickly shored up the openings and proceeded to countermine, but Vienna was fully surrounded by then—but for the River Danube which flows behind it. The Habsburg forces are begging for reinforcements from Saxony, Bavaria and, of course, Poland. My God, Sobieski should have departed days ago!”

  “Sounds desperate.”

  “Oh, it is that,” his father said.

  “Damn!” Roman cursed. “And here we sit. You’ll see action before we even arrive.”

  “Don’t fret. You’ll see your share, Romek. And when you do, don’t be too impulsive—and do take care of Marek.”

  “What about his retainer? Isn’t that his job?”

  “Aleksy? Yes, it’s his job in part, but he won’t be in the front line of hussars with the two of you. Roman, you’ve not harmed him… and you won’t, will you?”

  “I promised as much, but I can’t stomach him. He’s not to be trusted.”

  “Idzi tells me he’s never seen a better archer. He would come in handy, but as it is, it’s possible he’ll play a different role.” Lord Halicki stood, moved to a nearby table and took up a sealed letter. Walking back to the seated Roman, he said, “Wait a few days after you’ve left Kraków for Vienna and give this to Aleksy. It might mean you’ll no longer have to ‘stomach’ him. Can I trust you to do this? You are my eldest, Romek. Will you do as I ask? On your honor?”

  “Yes, Father.” Roman turned the sealed missive over in his hands. “You’re mistaken, Father. You’ve written this letter to King Sobieski.”

  “No mistake. Just give it to Aleksy. He’ll know what to do with it—or rather he will have to choose what to do with it.”

  “What’s this all about? What’s in it?”

  “It’s a request to be given to the king—at Aleksy’s discretion—asking that he be outfitted with a horse, wings, and a lance—and be given a place in the husaria against the Turks.”

  “What?” Roma
n thought he had misheard. “A hussar?” Roman jumped out of his chair so that he stood eye to eye with his stepfather. “Are you crazy?” he dared to say. “A Tatar peasant? The Tatar who nearly absconded with your daughter?”

  Lord Halicki ignored the disrespect. “That may be so, but she had a part in it, also.”

  “Why? For the love of Jezus Chrystus, you wouldn’t speak up to the Old Guard about Marek and me, but you’ll go to the king for a Tatar! Why, Father? Why?”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “I’ll say there is! You neglected to say that Kara Mustafa has taken as allies a horde of Tatars!”

  “What you say is true, Roman, and I’ve fought my share of them at the Wild Fields. Why, King Sobieski himself was born during a Tatar attack, and yet he is a man who believes in forgiveness and redemption. And now, Romek, there are thousands of Lipka Hussars from Lithuania who fight for the Commonwealth.”

  “Dogs, I say, but fine, that still does not tell me why you should write the king to raise up one of our tenants’ sons!”

  “Will you sit for a moment?”

  “No, I want to know!”

  “Very well, I’ll tell you, but I am going to sit.”

  Roman remained standing.

  His stepfather seated himself, his steady eyes looking up, the fingers of his hands interlocking. “I spent many years patrolling the Wild Fields and had some success.”

  “You fought Tatars.”

  “Among others. They don’t call it the Wild Fields just because of the desolate terrain. But when war with the enemy was done and peace was made with the chieftain, sometimes you liked the chieftain. Sometimes you became friends. Water was poured over the sabres signifying the end of conflict. This held off a recurrence of violence—and it also sometimes made for a genuine friendship. You’ve heard of this ceremony with the sabres?”

  “Yes.”

  “The pouring of the water meant that the two were blood-brothers, bound together always. I had such a bond with a Tatar named Abbas, a good and decent chieftain. One day I came upon his settlement after it had been decimated by marauding Cossacks. A terrible sight, it was, Roman, terrible. The huts were burning, many dead, all valuables looted. His surviving people were routed or enslaved, I don’t know. Abbas had suffered a mortal wound, but he lay sheltering his wife Fazilet, who was in childbirth. He died before he could see me bring his son into the world—but not before he pleaded that I see to the care of his wife and child. Fazilet died the next day. I could not stop her bleeding and I think she had lost her will to live.”

  “And the baby? That was Aleksy?”

  “That was Aleksy. I should have raised him. I gave Abbas my word. But I gave him over to Borys to bring up.”

  “You would have brought a filthy Tatar into the house, knowing they had murdered my birth father? You would have done that to my mother?”

  “Had she allowed it, yes.”

  “I thank God that she didn’t allow a slant-eyed devil child into the house. He might have killed us all in the middle of the night.”

  Lord Halicki held to his composure. “I regret not keeping my word. I most regret it because he would have been raised as brother to you and Marek. You would know compassion and love. Had that been the case, you would feel differently about him.”

  “And as a brother to Krystyna?” Roman howled. “I think not. A cholera on the bastard! God knows she wouldn’t still be a virgin today, if in fact she is!” He spit upon the floor.

  Lord Halicki was on his feet in an instant, his arm in motion even as he took several paces. Sheer surprise held Roman still as a corpse while the blow across his face came with the sound and force of a thunderclap.

  Roman’s head spun, the room going momentarily dark. He struggled to stay upright. He took a step and leaned against the harpsichord, blinking, again and again, trying to bring the room back into focus. Slowly, the mullioned casement across the way took on definition. His stepfather had left the room. He had never struck him before.

  Not so very far away, in the hall, came the plaintive words of his mother to her husband. “What is it? What’s he done?”

  Roman left the music room by a different door, one that led through the kitchen—but not before picking up what had fallen to the floor—the sealed letter to King Jan Sobieski.

  Twenty-one

  On 15 August, the Day of Our Lady’s Assumption, the entire camp was stirring and bustling long before dawn. Everything was to be in readiness. The trek to Vienna was to commence immediately after the ten o’clock Mass.

  “Where’s Roman and Marek?” Ludwik asked. “Out carousing all night?”

  Aleksy and Idzi shared a knowing look. Aleksy turned away, so Idzi was left to tell Ludwik that the two were at the Nardolski town house in preparation for the wedding. He did so in a quiet tone, scarcely more than a whisper.

  “All the cooking supplies are well packed,” Idzi announced then in a husky voice. He had stayed in camp overnight to help organize and pack things. After seeing Aleksy and Ludwik off, he would place himself in the service of Lady Halicka—until their return to Halicz, whereupon he would resume his duties at the Gazdecki cottage under the eyes of Aleksy’s mother. “All is ready for the road but this here iron frying pan. I’ll stay and have some ham sizzling by the time you two get back from the Mass. You’ll be famished and there will be little time.”

  “Indeed,” Ludwik said. “There wouldn’t be so much fainting in church if it weren’t for having to keep the fast.”

  Aleksy and Ludwik stood just inside the crowded Wawel Cathedral, far from the altar and the dais upon which the king and queen sat. Mass moved along at a glacier’s pace. The congregation listened to the prayers, as well as a sermon from the Bishop of Kraków, and to Aleksy the people seemed entranced by the seriousness of the moment. Their Commonwealth was at stake. Their religion was at stake. All of Europe and their very lives hung in the balance. It was a time and a day in history like no person of that congregation had witnessed. Every soul within those stone walls seemed to sense as much.

  Aleksy, however, experienced the importance of the moment as someone watching from afar. It would be only later, on the road, as details about the situation at Vienna unfolded that he would recall and take to heart the words of the sermon, the king’s strong call to arms, and the people’s tears and patriotic fervor. He would vow to do his duty and do it well.

  But for now, standing among the thousands in the morning heat, he could not keep his eyes from scanning the north and south aisles, nor his mind from the thought that could not be suppressed. In which of these chapels within the time span of two hours is Krystyna Halicka to be married?

  Feeling like a caged bird, Krystyna paced her bedchamber. Her mother had just retreated, having left the ivory silk wedding dress lying across a chair in the sitting room. The Nardolski seamstress had delivered it at last. Even the most cursory glance revealed the exquisiteness of the needlework that had attached hundreds of pearls to the bodice.

  Krystyna went to the window. There, below, were dozens of people hurrying toward the Market Square, eager to find places in Wawel Cathedral where the feast of the Assumption was to be celebrated. She looked to the mantel clock which read five minutes to the hour. She doubted that these tardy churchgoers would be admitted.

  For some moments she had the strangest sensation. She imagined herself being lifted up, ascending right through the coffered ceiling and then through the roof and high into the sky. She levitated there, looking down on the Market Square, the Cloth Hall with its stalls and shops shuttered, and the great Wawel Cathedral and masses of people overflowing it, down the steps and into the square. At the very moment when she remembered she could not tolerate heights, her stomach dropped and she fell away, as did the vision.

  Someone was lightly knocking at the door. Krystyna
hurried to the door.

  It was one of the Nardolski kitchen maids—Ruta, a thin girl with a high forehead and a sincere disposition. Krystyna took her by the elbow and brought her into the room, closing the door behind them.

  “The stable groom has just returned, Lady Krystyna,” Ruta said.

  “And?”

  “He says he delivered the verbal message.”

  “He found the right person?”

  Ruta dared a little laugh. “No others like him in Kraków—at least that I’ve seen.”

  Krystyna handed over two złoty. “Give him one of these, then, and keep one for your trouble.”

  Ruta curtsied perfectly, for Lady Nardolska demanded perfection from her servants. “Thank you, milady,” she gushed.

  “Just make sure you bring him up the moment he arrives.” Krystyna saw Ruta out and walked back into the sitting room, coming to stand at the window. The streets had emptied. She was jarred now by the clangor of the cathedral bells, tolling out the tenth hour. The Mass would be beginning. She shivered. At noon there would be another Mass in the Chapel of the Birth of the Holy Virgin Maryja. A nuptials Mass.

  She thought now of the ancient legend of Queen Wanda, one that her governess had told many times. In the attic schoolroom as children, she and her brothers even created a little play detailing how this orphaned daughter of King Krakus was being forced into a marriage with Prussian Prince Rytigier, who longed to have Poland and to possess her—not as an equal, but as a trophy. Roman played the Prussian and Marek played her true love. War was not an option for Queen Wanda; it would bring ruin to Poland, for their army was ill-matched against the Prussian forces. She prayed to the old gods for a solution. Rather than give Poland and herself over to him, she made the ultimate sacrifice, hurtling herself over the escarpment into the River Vistula. Thus, Poland was saved from Prussian rule, and a burial mound was erected in her honor.