God was with them in that the snow had stopped falling and the moon was as round and bright as a gold ducat. Still, Anna and Zofia had to shield their faces from pelting particles of snow and ice that flew up from the horses’ hooves.
Intermittently, Jan Michał called back that he thought he could see marks of the sleigh and horses that had preceded them.
As they came into Sochaczew hours later, however, the wind and fresh, light pellets of snow layered the roads, leaving them pure white and smooth as a counterpane on a freshly-made bed. No marks at all. They came to the Market Square, and Anna directed Jan Michał to slowly approach the little complex of offices belonging to the starosta. But as they drew near, they could see that all was dark within and without. No signs of a sleigh and horses. No signs of life.
Anna’s heart dropped. What if she had been wrong? She had guessed they would not stay at an inn because of the prisoner they carried. But what if they had? Or, what if they had continued on, making for Prussia now, traveling straight through? The thought paralyzed her. How could they ever be found?
“Well?” Zofia pressed. “Did you expect someone here? What are we to do now?”
Jan Michał turned about. His expression underscored Zofia’s words.
“Take the North Road, Michał.” Anna commanded. “It’s not more than fifteen minutes. Look for a little drive off to the right. It’s planted on either side with tall evergreens.”
The sleigh moved on and the three fell silent.
“There!” Anna whispered sharply. “There are the trees and the drive, Michał.” The sleigh came to a halt. She stared down the long drive toward the modest manor house of the starosta. She had passed this way many times, but had been to the house itself only once—when she had come with her mother, who demanded from Doliński justice for the killing of her husband. Whether it was any fault of his, she had never found out, but subsequently he had somehow allowed the murderer to escape.
At this distance, the house looked tiny, the windows dark. And there were no signs of a sleigh. “We need to go closer,” Anna said, “on foot.”
Neither companion questioned her. Jan Michał handed them both down from the sleigh.
“Let’s go,” Anna whispered. “Go slowly and don’t talk. Voices will carry on a night like this.”
“Wait a minute, then,” Zofia said, placing her hand on Anna’s arm. “I think your son and I need to know what this is about, Anna. Why would someone here want to take Tadeusz?”
Anna sighed. She knew her cousin was right. They needed to know the circumstances—just what risk there was, and why. In few words she told them now, the silver light from the moon defining their faces as she relayed to them the Brotherhood’s plans for Tadeusz—possible plans, she underscored. And with few details, she characterized Doliński as a man who would enjoy doing harm to her family.
“Tadeusz—king?” Zofia said, her voice drawing out the second word. She was stunned.
“I would not wager money on it,” Anna replied. “I never have.”
Jan Michał’s eyes had gone wide, but he said nothing. Anna could only imagine how Tadeusz’ treatment at the academy now made some sort of sense to him. How could they have helped treating him differently, knowing there was a chance he would be king of a restored Commonwealth one day? And Jan Michał was a sensitive enough child that he would pick up on the slightest nuance of difference in the ways they were treated.
“I’ll lead,” Jan Michał was saying. “Mother, you and Aunt Zofia follow in my boot steps.”
Child? Anna thought, as they started their single line procession. Jan Michał had become a man.
They had gone some fifty spaces when Zofia whispered for them to stop.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“A light! There, to the left of the portico.”
Zofia was right. A pale yellow flickered in the windows. Anna’s heart caught. She felt she was nearer Tadeusz. But nearer danger, too. “Push on, Michał.”
The three moved another two hundred paces without stopping, without speaking, the crunch of snow beneath their boots resonating in the stillness. Jan Michał led them to a cluster of shrubs near the lighted window. “I’ll take a look,” Anna said.
“No, Mother I’m taller. I’ll get a better view.”
He was not taller by much, but Anna deferred. She and Zofia held to each other, watching as he sidled up to the white siding of the house, then slowly maneuvering his way to the window. The crocheted curtains framed the upper and sides of the window, allowing one to peer inside at its midpoint. Jan Michał remained locked in position for what seemed a long while.
At last, Jan Michał rejoined Anna and Zofia, his face dark with anger. “He’s in there, all right. On a couch—tied up and gagged like I was.”
“And the other two?” Zofia asked before Anna could.
“Just one is in the room.”
“Is it Doliński—the one you called the boss?”
Jan Michał shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Of course, he wouldn’t know, Anna realized. He had only heard Doliński’s voice. He hadn’t seen him. “I’m going to look,” Anna said. “Jan Michał, hold your anger in check, do you hear? Now, go around back and see what you can find. Check the stable. Find out where the other one is, if you can. Then come back. For God’s sake, don’t do anything with that saber.—Be careful!”
Jan Michał disappeared. “And me?” Zofia whispered.
“Just wait.”
“Wait?” she hissed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring my knitting with me. Anna, do you have a plan?”
“No, not yet. I wish I had, but we’ll put one together once we know where they both are.”
“Assuming there are only two.”
The thought that there might be more sent a chill through Anna. “Wait for me.” Anna moved in behind the shrubs and delicately made her way to the window. Jan Michał’s little bit of extra height had given him an edge, for Anna had to stand on her toes while gripping the window ledge. She prayed she would maintain her balance.
Suddenly she caught sight of Doliński’s face not two paces beyond the window pane! She froze in place. He had gone near the doorway of the room and turned, as if to survey the human bundle on the couch. Anna closed her eyes, her heart in a vise, fearing he would turn just slightly and see her there in the window. All of their lives would be worthless. He would let no one escape.
Upon opening her eyes again, Anna saw that he had left the room. Tadeusz was unguarded, for the time-being. The moment hung fire. She half expected the front door to open, allowing Dolinksi to fly at her.
A full minute passed. Anna let herself down and quickly went to where she had left her cousin. But Zofia was gone. Anna didn’t dare call out. She stood there in the numbing cold, wondering what to do next.
Then, out of the dark, she did see someone moving toward her.
“Anna!” Zofia whispered.
“I told you to stay put!—Where did you go?”
“To the front door. They’re trusting criminals—it’s unlocked.”
“Praise God, that’s good news.”
Zofia put the tips of her fingers on Anna’s mouth for just a moment. Then she silently pointed to the window of a second floor room. A light had been made there, and they could see someone’s shadow playing against the window.
“Doliński, I think,” Anna said breathlessly. “He just left Tadeusz alone.”
“Let’s go in then.”
“No, let me go in. You go to the window and come in only if I wave you in. We can’t risk all of us at once. And you need to be here when Jan Michał comes back around.”
Zofia acquiesced and Anna slipped onto the portico, pushing open the front door and moving slowly into the hall. She stood there for the longest time. The house was silent as an abbey except for the sound of the fire crackling in the room in which Tadeusz lay. Anna turned now, moving for the open door to that room. She stopped on its threshold. It was a little libr
ary, dirty and ill-kept. She moved stealthily toward the couch. About ten steps away from Tadeusz, the floor boards creaked and boy opened his eyes. Anna said a little prayer of thanksgiving to herself. He had his senses about him, and she hoped that once he was untied, he would be able to walk out on his own.
She fell on her knees by the couch. Her son’s blue eyes had gone wide with relief. “We’ll get you out of here, Tadek. Just be very quiet once I get this cravat untied.”
Untying the knots in the bad light, however, was no easy thing, and Anna’s nervousness worked against her. When she realized it was taking too long, she gave up, and her hands moved to the ropes that had been fastened at his wrists.
She was having more success with these when Tadeusz jerked his head up, his eyes wide in fear—no, in warning! Anna heard a step behind her.
As she turned some inner sense directed her to move, and she did so—just as Doliński brought down a hearth poker. It clipped her shoulder instead of her head.
Anna rolled to the side and scrambled several paces away.
“We have a visitor, it seems, Tadeusz,” Doliński rasped. “Isn’t that nice?” He still held to the poker. “Good to see you in Sochaczew, Lady Stelnicka.”
“I’ve come for my son,” Anna said.
“Have you? That’s unfortunate for you.”
Doliński started for her, his arm with the poker lifting high into the air.
“The misfortune is yours!” The voice belonged to Zofia, who emerged from the shadows near the door.
“Ah, and you brought a friend, I see,” Doliński said, turning about. However overweight, he cut an imposing figure and was not going to be easily cowed. But then he fell suddenly silent, for he saw what Anna saw. Zofia had her pistol trained on him.
“You’re going to let the boy go,” Zofia said. “Anna, untie your son.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Doliński said. “The boy has a great future. I’ve taken him into custody for the Brotherhood.”
“You’re lying!” Zofia cried. “Stay where you are, bastard! I would enjoy killing you.”
Doliński took a step toward Zofia. “Have you killed many?” he asked. He took another step.
Zofia raised the pistol.
Doliński wasn’t to be deterred. He doubted Zofia’s will. Anna did not.
Zofia fired the gun.
No explosion followed. Just a timid click of the hammer. Horror flashed like lightning across Zofia’s face, and she released the second hammer.
Nothing.
The pistol had not been properly primed. Doliński laughed and started to rush Zofia, the poker held high in the air, ready to strike.
Now came the explosion.
Doliński stopped in midstep. A beat or two passed before the poker fell to the floor. He had only a few seconds to turn and face Anna, his face screwed into an expression of disbelief and pain.
Anna stood, ready to fire again, but Doliński folded over now and fell to the floor.
A long moment passed as Anna and Zofia stared at him, lifeless on the floor, then at each other. Finally, Zofia said, “Thank God your pistol worked, Anna! And, look, the man was bloodless, just a neat hole in his shirt.”
Anna held a finger to her lips, shushing her cousin. The sound of the shot was bound to bring his friend.
At that moment a door at the rear of the room burst open as if by a bomb. Anna swiftly turned, raising the gun, ready to release the second chamber. The order to fire had already gone from her brain to her finger when she sighted the tall figure coming through the door.
A second impulse told her to hold fire a moment longer.
“Anna, don’t!” Zofia screamed. “Don’t! It’s Michał!”
Anna was in such a state of fear and panic and shock at taking one life that she moved with no will or mind of her own. It was Zofia’s scream that very probably saved Jan Michał’s life, Anna would conclude later. The scream paralyzed the finger she had on the trigger. Jan Michał came fully into the room now, his saber drawn, his eyes falling on Doliński.
“Did you see the other one?” Zofia implored Jan Michał. “Surely he heard the shot.”
“He heard it,” Jan Michał said in a strange and cryptic tone. His face was a white mask. “He’ll not trouble us.”
“You killed him?” Tadeusz asked, his face bright with amazement. He had finished the job of loosening his bonds and taken the gag from his mouth, which now formed a perfect O.
Anna looked down then at the saber Michał held, its shiny blade dulled with crimson.
25
Mid-March 1807
The long, grueling march to Gdańsk through a cold and muddy terrain was coming to an end. As Jan came upon the outskirts of the city, an important fortified port city on the Vistula with access to the Baltic, his lancer squadron was forced to find routes along hills and fields because the roads converging on the city were so saturated with the oncoming French and Polish infantry. His squadron was part of the two divisions led by General Dąbrowski, who had recovered from his wounds and rejoined the legion. Through intelligence briefings—and through the naked eye—Jan took inventory of those marching with them. Supporting the French Chasseurs à Cheval, Polish cavalry included the lancers under Dziewanowski, Prince Radziwill’s Northern Legion, and General Sokolnicki’s cavalry—as well as Polish and French infantry numberless as the spring grasses that had yet to appear.
It was an awesome sight. Jan wondered how any Prussian sentinel in the Gdańsk tower could look out at the advancing forces and not tremble. Keeping out of cannon range, the forces made camp in the abutting suburbs. At night a huge fire broke out. The Prussians had set fire to those buildings closest to the city so as to limit shelter for the advancing masses. Fire burned all night, bright enough for Jan to write a letter to Anna.
The perimeter of Gdańsk was immense, but much of it was neutralized by the River Vistula and flood plains. The city was primarily protected by two forts, the Góra Gradowa and Góra Biskupia, both on the south of the city. These fortifications became the focus of the siege. Once they were taken, the city would not stand.
In the morning, Jan’s squadron ran skirmishing operations in the suburbs, all the time advancing closer. Small arms fire resounded as the enemy stood ground outside the forts. By noon the Prussians had retreated into their fortifications and begun heavy artillery fire. Eight of Jan’s men were wounded, two killed. Jan helped in the retrieval of the body of one of the two, young Sylwester Fiszer, who had been disemboweled by a cannon ball. Jan blinked back at the horror of the sight. Ironically, the blond boy’s face seemed to be merely in repose. Much of the time Jan pushed through the movements of battle like a well-oiled machine, but such moments caught him up, reminding him of the true impact of war and killing. Sylwester was nineteen.
A retreat beyond the cannon fire was called and camp made. The next day work on the trenches for siegeworks began. French engineers set an army of sappers set to digging the trenches work at night, like worker ants. Under cover of darkness, the enemy sent out patrols from the forts to locate the sappers, light flares, and pick them off with carbines. Jan and his men worked to good effect in countering them, allowing the siegeworks to continue.
A few days later, at some distance from Jan’s squadron, enemy cavalry made a daylight sortie from Góra Gradowa with a force large enough to evict the French from the trenches. Some two hundred lance-carrying Cossacks appeared then, like a blur of clouds, and began to take down the fleeing French and Polish infantry. A single French light horse regiment came on the scene, only to soon fall out of line in retreat. Jan supposed it was the first time they had encountered legendary Cossacks.
Jan had seen them before, fought them before. They were as good as—and sometimes better than—the Polish lancers. Most had been trained in weaponry from their childhood, especially in the lance. They shunned formations, preferring instead hit-and-run operations, running down a confused and routed enemy, as they were doing now.
And their mode of operation concluded just as Jan figured. By the time his squadron descended upon them, the Cossacks turned about and took refuge in the fort, carrying a good number of captives with them. Nonetheless, progress on the siegeworks went on, and the installation of heavy French cannon began. Nighttime resistance from the enemy continued, to little effect. They were on the defensive and fewer in number.
Optimism took root in the French camp. Among the officers and enlisted men there pulsed the notion that victory was merely days away.
As March fell away, those inside the two forts who watched the French siegeworks proceed grew more desperate.
One morning before dawn, Jan’s squadron was patrolling the area of the siegeworks when they were beset by Prussian skirmishers who had somehow found their way to their rear of their position. His squadron stood firm, however, allowing the French sappers to make a hasty retreat. The sky was still dark, but the snow on the ground made for decent visibility. Carbines of both sides, even fired from moving horses, occasionally found their marks.
At this point full enemy infantry regiments were deployed from Góra Gradowa.
“Stay in skirmish order!” Jan shouted to his lancers. “Hold the line!” The escape of the French sappers took precedence. Then, as dawn began to break, Cossacks streamed out of the fort like wasps from a hive, their impressive lances stingers to avoid. “Form up!” Jan called. “Form up!” He directed the bulk of his squadron to fall back while he and a few others still stood their ground, covering the retreat.
But there wasn’t enough time. The Cossacks, breaking into characteristic threes, bore down on them, disrupting their formation. Jan dispatched two with some ease. The action, however, caused him to be was separated from his men. A party of three Cossacks descended on him now—lances upturned—but sabers raised. They circled around him with dizzying speed.
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