Irina

by Philip Warren

  Tomasz swung an open hand hard across the side of Franciszek’s head. The big man did not move fast enough.

  Returning his gaze to the cabinet, Tomasz said, “The space behind the secret door is too small for a large man. It was for the mother and daughter. One way or another, we’ll get them. Nobody gets away from me and takes what is mine. I’ll find out who it is if it’s the last thing I do.”

  A clatter of boots running up the stairs broke their talk. It was one of the duke’s house guards.

  “Hurry, Sire Tomasz, the duke wants you back at the castle immediately. You must supervise the packing. The duke insists on leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Why so fast?”

  “Plague. It’s already spreading in the city!”

  …

  Jerzy Andrezski saw the Kwasniewskis shamble down the Fareway as one large family and thought them good people. He had wished them well as they parted from the caravan, and he went on to haggle over goods he might take on a return trip. He’d agreed to meet the caravan master on the castle wharf to take charge of his goods and property, so he had at least an hour to himself.

  As he sauntered from shop to stall to shed, surveying the wares of the leatherers, trinket makers, and ironmongers, he sought the bread and pastry stalls for a bit of sweet sustenance. Then he would be off to the city, hoping to meet some of the traders there with a view to a profitable arrangement, something that had thus far eluded him.

  At one of the pastry stalls, where a good-sized crowd had gathered, he spied the littlest girl belonging to the Kwasniewskis, and assumed the mother or father were nearby. Smiling, he remembered she and the other children had been enthralled by his stories of derring-do amongst the Cossacks.

  Further down the hill, he stopped at a less crowded place and leaned against a tent pole until the girl working there spoke to him. Finally, she said, “Sir, are you alright?”

  Surprised by the question, he said, “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “You look so pale, sir, and your eyes are shining.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve had a long journey, and now I need something to eat and drink.”

  She waited on him, and he sat nearby under a shade tree to enjoy the modest repast. Aloud, but to no one, he said, “Phew! I didn’t think it was so warm today.”

  A bit unsteadily, he rose and took himself to the bottom of the Fareway, where he saw the Kwasniewskis napping against the retaining wall. He decided not to disturb them, feeling as he did, and thought only to find lodgings in Poznan for the night.

  Across the bridge and onto the island they called Ostrow Tumski, he dragged himself further into the ancient city of narrow streets, strong smells, and wary people. The longer he remained on his feet, the more he felt sickness overtake him. He decided to see the caravan master on the morrow. His mind seemed a bit fuzzy as he studied his surroundings, but he had long ago learned that if sick in a strange city, the best thing to do was find a big church with a convent. The nuns were always good for a bit of care, and he strained to make one foot go in front of the other.

  …

  Maria, Marta, and Josef made it to the bridge just as a church bell clanged the quarter hour. Feverish, Maria could see her little ones were not well. “Bad food,” Maria muttered, refusing to let any other thought command her thinking.

  Within a few minutes, Ignacz stumbled into view. Maria could see people stepping aside as he wobbled like a midday drunkard. Little Stephan complained of being cold while Ignacz shed streams of sweat onto his tunic.

  “It must have been moldy bread we ate up the hill,” Maria continued to insist, her look revealing altogether different emotions. “Or they used rancid lard.”

  “No Zuzzie,” Ignacz said, then repeated it. “No Zuzzie!” He put his head in his hands as he leaned against the cold stone wall. Sweating profusely, all he could do was give her a glance of compassion.

  Maria cried. “In one day, we have lost two daughters! Our oldest and youngest, gone!” Maria knew in her soul she was too weak to climb back up the Fareway. At first, she tried to tell herself not to worry, that someone would take care of her Zuzanna. Then she forced herself to her feet.

  “Wait here!” she stated with all her strength. “I will look once more. You rest with the children.”

  Ignacz’s eyes rolled in his head. Too exhausted to argue, he slumped down next to the stone parapet, spying as he did so clusters of flowers caressing the river’s edge. They were drowning in black ash. He wanted only to close his eyes.

  “Ignacz!” Maria commanded. “You must stay awake—you must watch the little ones.”

  Hours passed, it seemed, or maybe mere seconds. Maria returned, eyes reddened, despite her otherwise frigid reserve. She bent low to Ignacz, grasped his shoulders, and said resignedly, “Let’s get across the bridge. We can talk to the gatekeeper at the castle about Irina and Zuzanna. Maybe someone can point for us where the Joselewiczes live.”

  Together, the five of them walked, swayed, stumbled their way over the Warta. When at last they made it to the gate, the guard there spied them with both distrust and fear.

  “Here, now! Don’t come closer.” Others nearby heard the guard and surveyed the Kwasniewskis warily. “You’re sick! Don’t you know there’s plague about?”

  “Plague!” exclaimed Maria, bewildered. But as she looked at Ignacz and the children, she suddenly knew what she had earlier shut from her mind. “Of course not! It’s the rotten bread those pigs in Srodka sold us. All of us ate some. We’ll never again buy another thing there!”

  …

  “Tell me about your journey,” Sister Elisabeth inquired of her two young guests as the sun shone brightly over the high church roof and into the adjoining convent’s courtyard. New shade granted by the sun’s afternoon shadows felt cool and refreshing. The nun was more than a little curious about the girls in front of her. They were well-dressed young women of apparent means, but things did not seem right to her practiced eye.

  “We have been walking through the city, but lost for a time, I’m afraid.” Irina said the words but seemed uncertain about them.

  “Oh? Where are you coming from?”

  “Near Gniezno.” Irina hesitated, apparently unwilling to say more. She lowered her eyes, her face flushed.

  The nun saw signs she had often seen before. “What’s the matter, my child? Why don’t you tell me?”

  Irina took a deep breath. She took two more bites of bread and cheese, apparently considering her words. Velka sat stone-like behind her mistress. She seemed scared, but of what, the old nun could not fathom.

  After taking a sip of wine, Irina began to speak. “My husband, Berek, and I, along with our attendant,” she began, “left Gniezno a week ago, sent west by his family with an armed escort so that we’d be safe from the plague.” She glanced at Velka.

  “Why just you three? Why not the rest of the family?” Sister Elisabeth inquired gently.

  “I am with child, and the family insisted we leave quickly. They said they would follow. There was talk of plague everywhere. Coming from the east,” she added.

  Mother Superior listened quietly, reserving judgment.

  “I’m in my third month, I think, Sister Elisabeth.” Irina dared not look at Velka.

  “I see. And where is your husband and the rest of your party?” At once, Mother Superior realized she was asking too much. She said, “I’m sorry for so many questions, but you have aroused my curiosity.”

  “My Berek is dead,” Irina stated matter-of-factly. “We were travelling in a small group when we were attacked by highwaymen. Berek defended us as best he could, as did the two soldiers with us, but he was killed along with one of the men.” She held her eyes closed for a moment.

  “And what happened to the other guard? You didn’t want to turn back?” Sister Elisabeth waited for the tears that did no
t come.

  “Our escort knew the family’s plan and refused to disobey orders, but he was afraid. He brought us to the castle in Poznan, but left us before dawn. What happened here in the city must have frightened him. Then our horses disappeared. Perhaps he felt his duty was done.”

  “You didn’t think to stay at the castle, then? Duke Zygmunt would have sheltered you.”

  At this, Irina hesitated. “We did stay there, Sister” she lied again, “but without an introduction to the duke. The castellan was gone, and there seemed to be a good deal of commotion with everyone hurrying to load carts and pack horses. Then the storm came and the turmoil became even greater. One of the duke’s housemen put us in a room and saw to our needs.”

  “And this morning?”

  “The household did not seem to have time to deal with strangers.”

  “You weren’t taken to the duke?”

  “No, Sister. I decided our best course was to leave, and we did so just after dawn, when we discovered our guard had run off.”

  The nun nodded and smiled, having been offered an incredible tale. Two well-dressed women with a guard—if one existed—could not have been ignored. “If I may ask, Irina, you seemed to be thanking God. For what are you grateful?” She knew it was an odd but understandable question.

  “At least the soldier brought us this far. We have our lives and coin, and so far, the Great Mortality has not touched us! And Mother Superior,” she said, bowing her head forward in respect, “we were led to this haven, to you.”

  Sister Elisabeth smiled with pleasure. She was sure that most of what she heard was only a distant cousin to the truth, but she could not discern where truth and falsehood failed to meet. The young mistress seemed very unsure of herself. “Please excuse me. The church is unusually busy this afternoon. Our pastor is not,” she said, pausing to collect the best words, “here to direct us. I shall return shortly.” Rising to leave, she turned and said, “Please rest. When I come back, we shall talk about what we should do with you.”

  …

  As the afternoon wore on, the perfect Poznan sky had gone to heavy, ash-gray clouds hanging low over the Warta River valley. Jerzy Andrezski had already shed his cloak, as it seemed too much for him to carry. He was short of breath, and by the time he found a shady place at the fountain in the great square fronting the Heart of Jesus, he could hardly stand.

  He watched the church’s giant bronze doors, surprised to see the number of men, women, and children entering there in the middle of the day. The nuns greeted them all, he was pleased to see, and it took him several moments to realize why so many were seeking the church’s sanctuary. Was it a place of miracles?

  From his years of experience and travel, Jerzy knew what was happening to them—and to him. People called it the Black Death because for many, skin would turn a black or a deep blue. A few days later, large swellings would appear, often on the neck, and there would be fever, chills, and uncontrolled vomiting. Jerzy had seen children abandon parents and parents abandon children in the hope of avoiding their fate. Otherwise, the stricken lay in suffering for a week before God’s mercy came to them.

  For some reason, he had learned in the east, some would die within a day, practically overnight. It was another kind of plague—what they called the Great Mortality—because those who died quickly never developed the ugly, visible marks on their bodies, but death was death. For either visitor, the doctors had no known potion or poultice. Lucky ones were not touched by the plague, and no one knew why, but of those who were, nearly all died. Will one of these grim take me?

  Resigned to his end, he stood and decided that if he was to die, doing so in the very bosom of God’s house made sense to him. The hereafter must be better than this, he thought, though belief in an Almighty was something about which he was far from certain. At the top step, he waited for still others to gain entrance. “I am a merchant from the caravan,” he said in a bare whisper to the nuns who greeted him. They did not seem to mind grasping his arm and helping him along. His voice was weak, his skin wet with fever. “Will you take me in?”

  Sisters Elisabeth and Eugenia welcomed the large man of middle age, garbed in wealth but carrying death. “Yes, this is a place for those in need of rest,” the older nun said caringly.

  He forced his misty eyes full open and spoke his mind, with words that seemed not his own. “I will not die,” he droned, “because you will save me.”

  “Just what is the name of this man I must save?” asked Mother Superior with bemused concern, but tenderness underneath. She seemed surprised he had found their door.

  “It is Jerzy Andrezski who will serve you, Mother.”

  Sister Elisabeth smiled as if she would not know him long, as if he would soon serve their one Master in another world. As with all the others admitted, she became busy making the merchant comfortable.

  …

  As the day rushed to its end with smoke and clouds crowding the sunset, Ignacz knew his family needed rest. They were bone weary and very sick, but their search for a place to lay their heads proved futile. Everywhere, people wanted nothing to do with them. No one knew anything about anyone named Irina, and no one would speak about the Jews. Most puzzling, people denied any knowledge of the Joselewiczes. Irina was gone, and Zuzanna seemed hopelessly lost.

  At last, they found a cow barn a few lanes back from a main thoroughfare, itself near the great market square. Without troubling to find the owner, they entered and Maria collapsed into the hay, too tired to cry out.

  “Matka,” Ignacz said, uttering one word in such a way as to speak whole paragraphs to a woman he’d loved his entire life. As he knelt beside her, it took all of his strength just to speak the two sounds of that one endearment.

  “Ignacz, we are dying. The caravan. The caravan brought us the plague. And we didn’t find Irina. Poor Irina! Zuzanna! The children, where are they?”

  Ignacz thought first about their sons at the farm. The plague would not find them there, he hoped. He saw through bleary eyes Marta and Josef, with blue eyes and the beautiful yellow hair of sunshine and innocence, and little Stephan, with big, soft, brown eyes like those of a small deer. They were snuggled against their mother. “They’re here with us, Maria. Who can know about Zuzzie?”

  Maria forced back her tears, having no time for sadness, after all. With strength leaving her, she sighed. “Perhaps she will be the lucky one.”

  …

  Several minutes had elapsed before Sister Elisabeth returned to Irina, appearing weary and worried. She sat heavily, and after a deep breath, brought her attention to the young women with a soft smile. “And so, Lady Irina Kwasniewska, what shall we do for you?”

  Irina brightened when she heard herself addressed with respect. After some moments, she found her words. “Truthfully, Mother Superior, I am not sure what to do now, but we should trouble you no longer, and should be on our way.” She paused. “I am not without means, however,” she said hastily, but in a manner that might have mimicked one of the Joselewicz clan, “and I am willing to offer support to your convent in gratitude for whatever assistance you may provide.”

  Sister Elisabeth seemed to be appraising her. Finally, she spoke. “If you have been travelling for several days or a week, it is possible you have not touched the plague—unlike so many others,” she said, tilting her head toward the front of the church.” She paused, obviously pondering something.

  The door to the meeting room opened, and an older, determined nun walked directly to her superior, bent low, and whispered a few words. Irina could not make them out, but sensed the intensity of the message. The older nun bowed slightly and left.

  “It seems,” their benefactress proceeded quietly, “that God has made your decision for you.” Before Irina could ask, she continued. “Sister Rose informs me that Duke Zygmunt and his people are about to leave the city, if they haven’t left already. Apparent
ly, those were the duke’s preparations you saw and heard at the castle. As it happens, Bishop Tirasewicz is himself readying some members of his palace and desires that some of the sisters join him. Perhaps tomorrow morning. Because you are in a position to recompense the bishop, you and your servant may be welcome on this journey. I will find out. Thus, you will be provided safe travel.”

  “Oh, Sister, I am most grateful, but will you not be going?” Irina’s voice broke.

  “No, my young lady, I am not. I, along with most of the sisters, will remain to care for those who need it. There will be much to do. Two sisters, I think, shall accompany you and Velka. You should prepare yourselves immediately.”

  “But the bishop is going?”

  The Mother Superior cast her gaze to the stone floor, and when she looked back at Irina, her face was like stone. “I’m sure the bishop has left many good men to hear last confessions. Go now.”

  “Thank you, Mother!” Tears cornered in the young woman’s eyes. How much more emotion can I bear? They had learned enough to know that of those who remained, few would survive. Irina reached into her precious pouch and pulled out a gold coin. “You will need this.”

  The Mother Superior’s eyes, too, were moist. She embraced each young woman, saying, “Bless you. Go now to the very back of our convent—you will need your night’s rest, and you,” she said, looking directly at Irina, “have still another life to care for.”

  …

  In his position as civil leader and master of the city and its environs, Duke Zygmunt made it his business to know everything of importance before anyone else in his retinue. Before his baker, before his bishop.

  In one day, two messages had arrived that changed everything. An invitation to Paris and a warning about plague gave him two reasons not to dawdle. Whether rumors about the Jews were true mattered little to him, although he found the accusations somehow satisfying. Whatever Tomasz had done was done. What could he do about it? One thing he could do, he concluded with a smile, was to ensure every last trinket Tomasz and others had taken would be considered a tax on their misbehavior. If the Jews were dead or gone, well, so be it. The castle coffers could always bear filling.