Irina

by Philip Warren

  …

  Sir Bela Kinizsi set his mind on attack. If King Louis was correct, the invitation to Paris should have already bestirred all the nobles living along the river wealthy enough for a long journey. With any luck, Krosno might be an empty shell.

  He strode through his camp considering ways he might overcome what defenders of Krosno Castle remained. Crossing the bridge was out of the question, he knew. Built as it was, the bridge was a brilliant defensive bulwark. He would have to approach from the land side, but even that would be a tricky maneuver.

  When he saw Captain Tomori and his men approach with prisoners, he scratched his black beard, and with a chuckle, said to his aide, “Aha! As I thought. One never knows what creatures one will find in the forest.” The men were pushed to the ground at Sir Bela’s feet.

  The captives were wearing the garb of soldiers to some Polish churchman, and as such, they were likely subjects of King Louis. Another of his men was summoned as translator. Through Captain Tomori, who spoke and understood a bit of Polish, Kinizsi said, “You may rise and speak if you’ve anything useful to say.”

  Tomasz cowered, obviously considering what words to use, but he seemed to be struck speechless.

  “Who are you and why are you here?” Sir Bela demanded, there being no patience to his words.

  “We are merely soldiers who became separated from our master, Sire,” Tomasz said, his eyes darting left and right.

  “Look at me, fool! Who is your master and where is he now?”

  “Our master is Duke Zygmunt Sokorski of Poznan, Sire, and we believe he is at Krosno Castle. We were on our way there.”

  “Your tunics have church markings on them. Do you not serve some bishop?”

  “W-why, yes,” Tomasz stumbled. “But Bishop Tirasewicz is under the protection of Duke Zygmunt.”

  “I see,” said Sir Bela, who didn’t “see” it at all. “How many men does he have there and why is he away from his duchy?”

  “Sire, we do not know why he goes there—they never tell us anything,” he said laughing haplessly.

  Sir Bela did not smile.

  “He has about thirty men, more or less, Sire.”

  “So, you have no idea why your master would be visiting the Duchy of Glogau?”

  “No, Sire. When we last saw Duke Zygmunt at St. Stephen’s monastery, there were rumors amongst the men about a westward journey of some sort, nothing more. I’m sure Krosno Castle is just a resting place for him. That’s all we know, Sire.”

  Sir Bela knew the reason for the duke’s presence, but already, he’d learned valuable information. Indeed, this must be a party on its way to Paris. He looked down his narrow nose at his captives. “We are Hungarians—and, of course, subjects to the same king as your duke.” He smiled contentedly. “We would like to meet Duke Zygmunt Sokorski. Perhaps you’ll introduce us.”

  …

  “Madrosh,” Irina addressed the priest, when they spoke again. “I cannot help being curious. Do you have any idea what Duke Zygmunt and Margrave Wenceslas may be discussing?”

  Madrosh smiled lightly as he spoke, choosing his words. “My dear Lady, in fact, I do know, as I have been present during their two sessions together, but I would be breaking my pledge of obedience to the duke if I were to…”

  She interrupted him with a smile of her own. “Oh, I was hoping you’d respond that way—if you keep your promises to your master, you will keep them for me.”

  “So it will be. We have but a moment before the feast with our earthly princes. Was there another question, My Lady?”

  “Yes, Madrosh, you’ll have to do better in demonstrating God’s existence, but assuming I take it to be so, my next question is simply this: Is man good or evil?”

  “Simply?” Madrosh chortled. “From you, there seem to be no simple questions! At least you’ve given me time to think how to frame an answer. Come. Let us dine on good German venison.”

  …

  When Lech Stephanek, his son, and the abbot’s monk returned two days later, they walked slowly, a cortege accompanying the barely recognizable human remains shifting to and fro in the back of their cart. They arrived at St. Stephen’s in time to see Father Kaminski bidding a pleasant farewell to Bishop Antony Tirasewicz and his retinue.

  The bishop had made it clear, one of the monks earlier informed the abbot, that monastery life was of no further interest to him, and that he had decided to risk returning to Poznan, nearly a month having passed since the plague joined their midst in the city.

  “My dear Abbot,” the bishop sniffed, “you have my thanks for the hospitality”—a drop of acid on the word—“you and your monks have so graciously provided.” For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to say next. Then he added, “We will remember you in our prayers.”

  “Your Grace,” Karol Kaminski responded, “it has been our honor. May your journey to Poznan be safe and swift.” The humble abbot’s smile was one of relief.

  The bishop cursorily blessed the bodies—without recognizing the remains as men in service to him—and, without further word, jerked the reins of his horse to point the animal toward Poznan. Those returning with him joined in silent procession behind their master.

  …

  In the comfort of Krosno Castle on a windy first day of June, the nobles settled themselves around a table laden with warm breads and fresh cheeses. These they sampled and washed their palates with a strong brew. Huge platters of roast venison and pig followed, their aromas giving those gathered pause to smile in anticipation. Surrounded by their counselors and aides de camp, they began their discussions on a note of pleasantry.

  “Your Highness,” Duke Zygmunt intoned, bowing slightly, “we are so grateful for the hospitality shown by you and the Margrave of Glogau.” Though both Zygmunt and Wenceslas were theoretically of equal rank, the notion of primus inter primi was well understood. While Zygmunt was a powerful noble in Greater Poland, the Margrave of Brandenburg was also a crowned King, and son of Charles, Holy Roman Emperor. It had been a slight bow, but one for which Zygmunt hoped there would be a return on his investment.

  King Wenceslas smiled in reply, clearly enjoying their encounter. “And how, dear Zygmunt,” he finally responded, “may we assist our Polish ally?”

  “Ah, Your Highness, I am somewhat embarrassed. I thought it was you who asked for this meeting.”

  “Indeed. I had heard you’d be making the long journey in response to my cousin’s invitation.” This was a statement of fact, but one full of implication. Underneath was the implication that since Zygmunt would be crossing Germanic territories, either some sort of tribute was expected, or, at the least, an offer of some other mutually beneficial arrangement.

  “Of course, Your Highness. Naturally, I believed your kingdom would graciously welcome and protect favored wayfarers responding to an invitation from the Emperor’s own son.” Zygmunt knew full well the meaning of the King’s parry, as he knew his play was to avoid surrendering a fee for safe passage.

  King Wenceslas smiled again in recognition of the delicate situation before him.

  To Zygmunt, his host’s grin was much like the studied stare of the wolfhound in proximity to a platter of red meat. Zygmunt returned the smile and gave him a nod as a willing and ready combatant. And so the sparring began.

  …

  Tomasz—not so terrible at this point—fretted. He could no more be part of an introduction to Duke Zygmunt, than a mouse introducing a wolf to a boar. His earlier daydreams about returning to the duke’s good graces were one thing. The reality confronting him was another. The duke would give him no time for explanations—a broadsword would be his only and swift greeting. It seemed hopeless.

  At that moment, Big Franciszek appeared, blocking out the sun. As he stared up at his companion, he thought to himself it was easy to see how he earned his name. Franciszek was at least a
foot taller than most men around him. His flaxen hair allowed friends to easily hail him from a distance, while giving enemies more time to flee. As Tomasz waited for Franciszek to form his words, an idea began to form in his own mind—an idea that would lift him out of the barrel.

  It would mean he would have to abandon pursuit of personal revenge on the duke and his troublesome charge, Irina Kwasniewska. At least, for now. Franciszek, however, could help to make the introduction happen without danger to himself, Tomasz realized.

  “What are your plans, Sire?”

  “A very good question, Franciszek. I’m not sure, exactly, but I think you will play a very important part in them.”

  Chapter VII

  1378

  Following a night’s rest, Madrosh found Irina in the gardens studying the basil, marjoram, and scented mint that filled the air. “And are you well today, Lady Irina?”

  “Yes, my dear Madrosh.” She patted her belly. “The old ones tell me this baby is not ready to kick, but it won’t be long before I will surely feel its presence.”

  “You continue to be content with your circumstance. That pleases me. And what do the old ones say about the child’s soul, eh? There are many who think the child had life when you conceived, and it was then that God gave it a soul. There are others who think the child will not be truly alive until it grows into a form familiar to us. At that time, they believe, its soul springs forth from God. An interesting question, nie?”

  “I do not know what to think. I’m not sure what the soul is all about. And there you are again. We were supposed to be talking about good and evil, Madrosh!” she said in mock consternation.

  “Ah, good and evil,” intoned the priest. “At the Joselewicz house, perhaps you heard names like Plato and Aristotle, or Augustine and Aquinas?”

  “No, Madrosh, I did not. Who are they?”

  “When you ask about good and evil, the answers are many. Great thinkers have pondered these questions for thousands of years. The ancient Greeks, including Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, were, of course, not Christian in their beliefs. Christ did not exist on earth when these men were living. Augustine was an African who became Bishop of Hippo over eight hundred years ago, and Thomas Aquinas was an Italian priest who died just about one hundred years ago. Different though these men were, they thought and talked much about the idea of a soul, and in consequence, about good and evil. Another large topic! How large is your appetite?” He chuckled.

  “Did these foreigners look like us?”

  “The Greeks? Yes, they look very much like us, but Augustine was African. He was a black man.”

  “A black man? I’ve never seen a black man, or heard of one, for that matter.”

  “Do you remember the old ones in Poznan and around the farms ever talking about the Mongols? Their skins were much darker than ours, and their features, different as well. Augustine, they say, was even darker, nearly black as soot.”

  Irina took this in while they climbed to the parapets, where the stonework was just wide enough for the two to walk side by side. The night had been cool, but the morning sun warmed them both. It took away Irina’s shiver, allowing her to concentrate on the kettle of knowledge Madrosh was about to pour out for her.

  “We have some time today. Tell me a bit about these men, and about our souls.”

  “Of course, we do not know who might have been the first to talk about it. When Plato wrote about Socrates and his thinking, they talked about the soul as if it were a part of you, but an invisible part.

  “Most interestingly, when the ancients talked about civilizing one’s soul, it implied that man is on a continuum of development. That is to say, ideas of good and evil may be different now than they were a thousand years ago, and even more so, a thousand years from now.”

  Their animated conversation about the philosophers went on for over an hour. Irina nodded throughout, attempting to take it all in.

  “I’m sorry, My Lady. I’m telling you what I understand about this topic because I think you are interested and can comprehend it. Not many of our time, men of the cloth or the sword, have either quality. Please pardon me. You have asked me about things I love to talk about.”

  Irina smiled. “I would not have guessed.” Catching a warming ray of sun, she found a place to sit where the stone had already taken in the heat. She invited Madrosh to share the space from which they could see over the town and across the river, well into the distance. Yip, who never left her side, lay down at her feet, the warm stone a welcome treat for the old dog. Irina studied him for a moment, wondering if Yip had a soul and whether he would find his purpose, like Plato’s acorn. “Since you don’t mind my questions, my wise Madrosh, please continue.”

  “As you wish, Lady Irina. It was Aristotle who felt that all behavior is guided by its own end—a particular good.”

  “Just what good is Tomasz the Terrible seeking, Father Madrosh?!”

  “One must wonder. Yet we have to believe good will come of Tomasz’s evil.” Madrosh paused to let that thought find rest in Irina’s keen mind.

  “So, if I could sum up these three thinkers,” Irina ventured, “it sounds like they were attempting to find a reason for our existence, perhaps seeking a purpose for us. And they thought it was our duty to seek the good in whatever we did or became.”

  Madrosh sat silent, smiling in appreciation of her mental acuity. “But in this regard, they could take all their brilliance no further, my dear. It was not until Christ came on earth, that it all began to make some sense.”

  “The laws of the Jews did not make sense?”

  “I said nothing of the kind. Remember, the Jews escaped their bondage in Egypt hundreds of years before the Greeks began to think about a soul. The books of the Old Testament tell us about the history of God as the Jews knew Him over the centuries. And that is what it is, essentially, a history of God’s experience with the Jews. Later, the New Testament of the Bible explains why He sent his Son, to take the next step in the development of man’s soul and his relationship to God.”

  “I am not sure I understand.”

  “The books of the Old Testament speak of God’s laws and the desire to hew closely to the letter of those laws. Christ came to show that it wasn’t a distant, fearful God who ruled the universe, but one who loved us as much as his own Son. Because God’s Son came to live amongst us and set a human example for all, his victory over death made it clear there was more than just this life on earth. Each time we say the Mass, we celebrate and remember Christ’s promise of eternal life, if we but believe in him.”

  “But what about those others you mentioned, Augustine and Aquinas?”

  “Ah. My stomach tells me we must eat before we think more. Shall we meet in this very spot after our mid-day meal? The sun will continue to warm this place along the wall.”

  Irina stopped him from leaving. “If Christ had not existed, do you think we would understand who and what we are?”

  Madrosh stood, pondering. “I am sure not, My Lady,” he said with finality. “In my humble view, it was Christ’s existence which taught us about loving our neighbor as ourselves. Until that point, even though the religion of the Jews held us to the right path in preparation for His coming, the world was just a collection of warring tribes that lived and died into nothingness, no closer to an ultimate peace than they were thousands of years before.”

  Irina thought a moment. “And now we are somehow different?”

  …

  In the afternoon, Captain Tomori returned to the Hungarian encampment after several hours with Franciszek, and made his report to Sir Bela.

  “Sire,” he said, unable to restrain a chuckle. “These two are no soldiers. They were raised in Poznan and have had a soft life. The smarter one is the duke’s castellan and does the dirty work for which his knights will not soil their hands. He is called Tomasz the Terrible and carrie
s out the spoken and unspoken wishes of his master, while this one, Franciszek, just does what Tomasz tells him.” Tomori chuckled again. “Terrible, indeed! About a month ago, these two burned all the Jews they could find, and for some reason, they are not in their master’s favor at the moment. That explains why they are separated from the main group.”

  “Interesting. There seems to be a piece or two missing, however. The duke would not just leave them. There’s something else. Tell me what else you learned.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Tomori began, and recounted his observations about the route of travel and what his prisoner had told him. “These two,” Timori chuckled yet again, “actually got lost—that’s how I knew they’d never soldiered in the field before.” He laughed. “That Franciszek proved a source of much information!”

  “If our intelligence is correct, between the duke’s men and those already billeted at the castle, there couldn’t be more than fifty or sixty fighting men. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, Sire. We outnumber them and to be sure, we have the advantage of surprise.”

  “If we need it, Tomori. Zygmunt is a Pole, don’t forget, a subject of the same king you and I serve. If he is loyal to Louis, he should be our ally.”

  “Yet many Poles are not the loyal subjects they ought to be.”

  Sir Bela thought further in silence. Finally, he said, “Tomori, we will have to find out just what goes on inside those walls and whether Zygmunt is for us or against us. We must have Krosno Castle and everyone in it.” He paused and added, emphatically, “One way or the other.”

  …

  The plague vanished as quickly as it came. Thousands had perished, Jerzy Andrezski learned, as he noted the many houses left empty in every lane and byway. The squire who ruled in the duke’s absence ordered everything touched by the plague to be burned: bodies, clothes, and cartage.

  Naturally, the order did not apply to items in the church’s possession. This revelation caused him to scurry to every church in Poznan. In each, he made a fifty-fifty arrangement for all the goods he could sell. He assured one and all the goods had been blessed by the church, and therefore were quite safe. It was not the entire truth, but if it was safe enough for him to touch, he reasoned, it must be safe enough, indeed.