The Poland Trilogy by James Conroyd Martin

Author:James Conroyd Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Conroyd Martin
Published: 2022-12-05T13:50:43+00:00

Jan brought out from his trunk his old army raiment, the day uniform and the one for dress. He had no idea whether the Polish uniform would be used or a new one would be expected. He would take as attendant Lucjan, a young man from those attached to the estate. It was the minimum expected of the landed szlachta. He supposed, however, with so many landless these days, many nobles went without even one. His little retinue would include five of the horses he had been raising: one for himself, one for Lucjan, and three to spare. These were smaller and more maneuverable Polish-Arabians Poles had taken to war for years. They were well suited to the demands of a lancer.

Jan stared at the blue and crimson uniform—the kurtka, pantaloons, and four-cornered czapka—thinking how the mention of a lancer regiment had sealed the bargain. He had always admired the skill and daring of the lancers. He knew them from stories, legend, and history. But he had seen them in action, too, when he had fought as part of the light cavalry for Kościuszko. In 1794, when Warsaw had attempted to hold out against the Russians at Praga’s ramparts, Jan’s horse was killed by a Russian cutlass to its neck, propelling Jan to the ground. He stood in time to see the Russian turn—the reddened weapon glinting in the sun—and bear down on him. Jan raised his saber, ready to give good fight against the significantly longer lance—but ready to die. It was then that a Polish lancer—on a Polish-Arabian mount—flew at the Russian, puncturing him in the middle of his chest and sending him flying to his death. Jan had decided then that if one had to fight, if one had to kill, the lancer was the ideal Polish soldier to become.

The preparation and packing did not take three days, but he gave it that just the same, wishing to remain with his little family as long as possible, hoping that Anna’s heart would change, lighten just a bit. Would she see him off with a smile?

The day came. Everything was in readiness. Lucjan and the horses awaited Jan in the barn while he forced down a little breakfast. He had sent word to Paweł to expect him by afternoon. Anna busied herself feeding Tadeusz and admonishing Michał for something or other. Her eyes continued to avoid Jan’s. Did she understand? Could she understand the ways of men? The ways of soldiers?

Jan tried to speak of events they had in common, some trivial, some not, but in each case the gravity of the imminent parting seemed only greater. Eventually he fell silent. And then came the time to leave. Jan stood, went around the table to kiss Tadeusz and then Michał. “Take care of your mother, Jan Michał,” he said.

Anna stood. “You’ve begun your moustache once again, Jan. Does a moustache make the soldier?”

He knew looking into her sweet heart-shaped face would weaken his resolve. His heart beat fast. “I hadn’t thought about it.

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