James opened his eyes with a start.
A face was leaning over him. A boy's face. One he knew. James did not know many boys, certainly none that would be in his dorm room...
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. They say you have to get up."
Right. He wasn't in his dorm room.
James put his hands to his eyes. He could feel dried crud on them, as sometimes happened. Keeping his eyes closed, he brushed the unwanted secretion out of his lashes. Maybe, when he opened his eyes again, he'd be home. He gave it a shot
Nope. That was still the boy Felek standing there.
James sat up, the thick blanket falling from his bare chest. He was on a cot in a tent, faint light coming through the canvas. It was still early, almost pre-dawn. He blinked.
"What is it?" he asked. A good, general purpose question. He remembered going to bed, the fact a couple people had been kicked out of the tent commandeered for his use weighing on his mind. They had been well dressed, though, so the guilt about them having to join the other tentless refugees hadn't been that severe. He did know the kid had not been there when he closed his eyes.
"The camp is rising, Your Grace. Captain Putaski told me to help you get ready."
"Ready for what?" James yawned. He rotated both shoulders, the joints making a cracking sound.
"We're breaking camp within an hour, Your Grace. I'm to help you wash and dress, make sure you get your breakfast."
"You are?" James looked at the kid. He was standing a foot away from the bed, almost at attention. His brown hair was brushed, and even in the dark James could tell he had washed up. Felek bowed his head.
"Yes, Your Grace. They said they needed someone to be your servant, and I volunteered. I'll do anything you ask."
His own... what? Slave? Steward? Manservant? Boyservant, at least. James closed his eyes. He was finding it too easy to get used to all these people bowing to him, even after only one day. Now he had his very own servant. Would a harem be next?
The image of Ewa, shyly smiling in the firelight, came to his mind.
Tossing the blanket aside, he slid his legs off the cot, sitting there in his blue boxers. Felek ran five feet to the side of the tent, grabbing a small table that had not been there the night before and carrying it over. It was made of four wooden legs, two crossing each other on either side so the table could fold up for easy storage. The fabric top drooped under the weight of a white porcelain basin filled with water. Walking slowly so as not to spill a drop, Felek carefully set it before James. Soap and a towel sat on either side.
"Wash up, Your Grace, then I'll comb your hair. Once you're dressed I'm to let them know so they can bring breakfast."
"Food will be good." Grabbing the small cloth next to the soap, he got to work on his morning shower.
****
It wasn't Felek, but a girl about his age who brought in the wooden tray with breakfast. Her eyes were wide in nervous apprehension as she slowly carried her burden. She waited while Felek removed the wash basin and its assorted accessories from the small table, eyes looking everywhere except the now dressed James sitting on the cot. They had found for him local clothing, of a surprisingly good fit. He had wondered at this, before noticing his otherworldly clothes were gone. The table cleared, the girl slowly and carefully placed the tray on it. She bowed her head low.
"Your breakfast, Your Grace." It was a soft whisper, barely audible. She was blond, hair pulled back into a long braid similar to the one Ewa had worn. It must be the "in" style. The braid fell over her shoulder, hanging down before her. James nodded back.
"Thank you, My Lady." Her eyes jerked up, startled. They were nice eyes, dark blue. Looking down at his metal plate, James saw eggs, sausage, and three thick slices of bread with thick clumps of butter spread over them. He grabbed one, chomping in. It wasn't fresh baked, he knew, but it was probably the best they could offer. A glass of wine sat before him. Wine with breakfast. Well, he could pretend it was grape juice.
The two children stood watching him. He swallowed.
"Have you two eaten?"
The girl shook her head, almost violently. Whatever they had told her, she was terrified of doing something wrong in the King's eyes. Felek put a hand on her shoulder, as if to calm her.
"They said we could eat after you were done. We're getting good food, as are our families."
"Good," James said. He picked up the metal knife and fork and cut a slice of sausage. "You two can relax until I'm done. I won't be long."
****
James walked from the tent into a mist filled twilight. He could hear more than see the wagons being prepared, the people moving around, packing, readying themselves for another day on the road. Two guards stood on either side of the doorway. As James moved forward, they fell in a few steps behind him. He'd have to get used to this, he thought. Almost as soon as they were away from the tent, men ran forward into it, beginning the process of packing. Looking back a few moments later, he saw the fabric fall down, the supports already being removed.
"Given it's the first day I've been here," he said, to himself as much as to his guards, "this all seems well rehearsed."
"Dealing with Nobility is our job, Your Grace."
Neither of the guards were the one from the night before. Made sense. Stopping, he looked around the camp.
"So, what now?"
"You're to help lead the morning prayer."
He blinked.
What had he gotten himself into...
****
"Oh, Lord, bless us this day, as we start on the path you have chosen for us. Help us help our brothers and sisters, that none may stumble on the road before us. In the Name of the Father, the Mother, and the Son."
"Amen."
James opened his eyes again. He sat on a chair behind the priest, his part in the morning benediction apparently to just look good and inspire. That was good. It was also good that his own faith was weak enough that he could convert to anything that wasn't that strange. This seemed to be a version of Christianity that gave Mary a bit more importance, but then maybe all Catholics did that. He for sure hadn't paid much attention to them. Religion had, so he understood, been beaten out of both his parents in misguided attempts to beat it into them.
The priest turned to him, his face serious. The holy man was dressed in a brown robe, falling down to his feet, a thick coarse rope tied as a belt around his waist. His head was bald, shaved, including his eyebrows. The look was... interesting.
"Thank you, Your Grace, for your presence at our Mass. I know this must all be strange for you."
"Enough is familiar that things are not too bad, Father..."
"Brother Ofim, Your Grace."
"Thank you."
The people were going back to their tasks. Much of the mist had burned off, the wagons on the other side of the road now visible as the defensive ring was broken up. Horses and oxen were being hitched to wagons. On the road, a unit of horsemen rode by, moving quickly towards the head of the column. They lacked the wings of the Hussars, thus he assumed they were the normal cavalry, or scouts.
"Your Grace."
He turned. From the forest side, six winged riders came towards him. Their armor was polished, feathers on their wings alternating white and red. Very Polish. With them, a riderless horse. They came to a stop before him. Their leader was young, young enough to be the son of the Commander. Which made sense, as he supposedly was.
"Greetings, Your Grace. I am Lieutenant Piotr Kosciuszko. We will be your escort on the road."
James finally had to laugh. The young man frowned. James quickly shook his head, smiling.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. It's not you. All the long names have finally broken me, as I'm just not used to them. I'm going to be lucky if I can recall more than a half dozen by the end of the day. All of you only have to remember 'Your Grace', which has to be quite a bit easier."
The soldier smiled.
"You may call me Piotr, if it helps, Your Grace."
"It does. Although," James added, eyeing the horse, "I'm not sure how much it will help in this. I have not been on a horse in... well, awhile."
He had been on a horse once, at summer camp. The times he had been on some poor pony walking in a circle at a summer fair didn't count. Knowing he could sit on the beast was a confidence builder, though. Otherwise, he'd be scared shitless.
Piotr motioned to two nearby men.
"Would you like some assistance, Your Grace?"
He considered. On the one hand, his ego, and his place at the top of this society. On the other, his safety.
Oh, what the hell. If he broke his neck, most of his problems would be solved.
"Let me try it once alone." One of the riders dismounted, grabbing the reins of the royal horse and leading it over to James. He looked at it. Saddle, stirrups, the thingy you grabbed so you didn't fall off... Turning to face the eyes he knew were on him, he raised his voice.
"I am about to ride a horse for the first time in ten years. WHEN I fall off onto my ass, you have my royal permission to laugh."
That brought laughter from all around him. Turning back, he saw his guards and the soldiers grinning. He nodded.
"Let's do this."
One of his guards knelt down, cupping his hands together as a step. Very brave of him. James took a deep breath. He reached up, grabbed the saddle, placed his foot on the offered hands...
And found himself safely mounted on the light brown stallion.
The people cheered. He raised his arm, waving. The horse moved under him, James quickly grabbing for whatever he could to hold on. Cheers and laughter mixed. Piotr confidently moved his mount beside James, face one of respectful amusement.
"Very good, Your Grace."
"My Grace is lucky." James took a firm grip of the reins. "To say I don't know what I'm doing up here is an understatement."
"Just let your mount do what it wants, which will be to stay with us. We'll make sure you come to no harm."
"Good. I like no harm."
****
At no real signal that he could see, wagons began to move from the grass onto the dirt road. It probably, James suspected, had started at the head, the first wagons just making their way when they were ready. Each group behind them saw the one ahead move out, quickly starting their own journey before those behind caught up and forced them to wait for some opening in the endless caravan. No traffic signals, or traffic cops, here. Or, maybe there were. Soldiers were everywhere, mounted or on foot. With the sun now fully over the horizon, he could see the colorful units off beside the far tree lines. Their protectors, at least a small part of them. They, too, were moving, shadowing the civilians. Shielding them from unknown, and known, dangers.
James rode in the middle of his escort, three winged riders before him and two behind. Piotr rode at his side, his personal bodyguard. The road was wide enough for two wagons to pass, a dirt and gravel track with deep ruts left from the last time it had turned to mud. The wagons kept to the left, single file, as they made their way east towards the rising sun. This did not keep the other half free: the many who walked filled this space, trudging to keep pace with the wagons. It was the wagons which dictated their speed, not human endurance. When the draft animals needed rest, the column with unspoken command rested. To lose a draft animal was to lose a wagon's worth of supplies.
James looked around him. The people trudged on with silent determination. Already, he believed, this was the third day for many. They now knew how long it would be until each rest, how long aching muscles had to labor until the next camp. Those who were fit conserved their strength. Those who were weak, prayed.
He tried to understand. That is what a leader did, wasn't it? He observed his people, learned about them, tried to lead them well. Weren't there always stories about a King or such dressing as a commoner, going out and talking to the people in disguise? Learning much more than he could stuck in the castle? Well, there was no castle. He was surrounded by his people. James had to focus...
"So... Your Grace. Father says you're not from this world."
He looked at the young soldier beside him, mentally lowering the man's age again. If Piotr was even his age, that would be surprising.
"You don't seem to consider the idea surprising."
Piotr shrugged, an interesting sight when armor is involved.
"Well, I mean, the old stories have us coming to this land, from the mystical land of Poland. So, we know that there are other worlds. Are you from Poland? If you're the heir, I assume so."
Captain Putaski had not asked such questions. Had not really asked about it. Almost, he thought, as if questions might prove he wasn't the King, and that would be really inconvenient right now. James shook his head.
"I'm not from Poland. There is a Poland, in our world, and my ancestors came from there."
Piotr nodded.
"I've read some of the books, which I really shouldn't have. Some are from before, and mention wars with other nations, other kingdoms. Jesus, even, was said to have lived and died far from Poland, which always made me wonder why God would send his Son so far from us, but maybe he knew the Poles wouldn't kill him so he had to do things elsewhere. The priests never bother explaining that. The best they come up with is, 'That's where God found his wife Mary, so that's where Jesus was born'. Why he couldn't find some good Polish girl to marry, I don't know."
"Because," one of the other soldiers put in, "there were no virgins left of age."
The riders laughed, as did some of the men around them. The women and girls, James noticed, didn't.
****
By the first rest, James had a sore bum.
He dismounted awkwardly, one of his guards coming up quickly to keep him steady. All thoughts of caring about appearance were gone. All he wanted was a drink, even if it was warm, and to lay on non-moving grass. With practiced ease, as he left the mounted royal guard his two guards from the morning appeared from nowhere to shadow him. Felek, too, appeared, moving quickly carrying a basket and a pouch with some liquid gurgling inside. Claiming a patch of grass about ten feet from the road, James sat down. He accepted the basket, which contained cheese and a fruit he had never seen before. The drink was beer. He had been too young to drink, legally, just days before, and now he was having beer forced on him. Every college kid's dream? Maybe.
Trailing after Felek, the young girl from the morning came with a bucket of water. His guards produced wooden cups from somewhere on their person, dipping them in. James cocked his head at her.
"I didn't catch your name this morning."
"Ruta," she said, blushing. He smiled at her.
"Ruta. A nice name." She blushed further. Felek took the bucket from her, dipping a cup in to hand to her. She drank quickly as the boy turned to James.
"Her father is a soldier, somewhere up front. Her mother is helping Ewa with the babe."
"Where is Ewa?" James had been trying to find an excuse to try and find the girl. He had yet to see her that morning. Felek smiled.
"She got to ride for the first part of the trip, as did we. We have to walk now, though."
James nodded, taking a bite of cheese. It was weird. Good, but weird. He usually stuck with the basics, food wise. Cheddar was his go to cheese, at least for just eating plain. Expanding his palate was definitely going to be necessary.
"How are she and the baby doing?" James hoped he sounded casual in asking that. The boy grinned, showing any attempt and disguising his interest had failed utterly.
"Ewa's doing good. Because I'm doing this, she and the baby were up front this morning to get food. She's happy!" Looking around, as if someone might be eavesdropping, Felek dropped his voice. "She kept talking about you ALL night."
James saw his two guards attempting to suppress smiles. He couldn't blame them. James caught their eye.
"I haven't asked your names yet."
"Nowak, Your Grace."
"Adamczyk, Your Grace."
"Well, gentlemen, I trust there is some sort of tradition about royal guards keeping quiet about anything they hear while on duty. I would hate for my first real command to be to have both of you flogged, or whatever the military does here in these cases."
Their smiles vanished.
"It is forbidden for us to reveal anything said by His Grace or anyone you are with, under penalty of death."
Death was a little bit more severe than he would have liked, but he wasn't surprised. Kings would want to prevent their household from being a den of spies. He nodded.
"I am new, and will be more casual than you are used to. I will rely on those of you around me to know the boundaries and remind me of them, so neither of us... accidentally cross them."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Good." James looked over at the kids. They were scared shitless.
It wasn't easy, being King.
****
It was easier to get girls, though.
James walked, leading his horse, resting the beast, as a smiling but very nervous Ewa walked beside him. She wore a dark green dress, very plain but in good shape, with a golden ribbon wrapped around her waist as a belt. Her eyes were brown, often looking away from the presumed king shyly, but when she did focus on him James felt a definite skip in his heart. The baby, as yet unnamed, was asleep on her back.
"It's the names," he told her, "that I'm having the most trouble with. Back home, there are jokes about how long and hard to say Polish names are, and here I am surrounded by them. My family supposedly even changed their name when they came over, so they'd fit in better."
"What's hard about them?" Ewa sounded genuinely surprised. He laughed.
"Lots of extra z's and k's, sounds we don't use much. If you're used to it, it's not a problem. You'd probably find Chinese names hard to deal with the same way."
"Chinese..."
"Another people from my world. Don't worry about it."
She nodded, letting it drop. He liked that about her. Whether it was how she was, or just the fact of who he was, she didn't talk endlessly. She wasn't withdrawn, but neither was she a chatter box. Ewa was nicely in the middle.
A rider was coming down the road towards them, from the front of the column. The people moved to the left, giving him room on the outer edge of the road. James and his companions did the same. This pushed him closer to Ewa, who said nothing as his shirt covered arm touched hers. He wondered if that could be considered First Base here. The rider slowed as he approached, eyes going to the walking Piotr.
"Sir, I'm looking for His Grace?"
"I'm My Grace," James said, wondering how many protocols he was breaking. The man's eyes shot to him, reining in his mount.
"Your Grace." Dismounting, he grabbed a satchel. "I have census lists from most of the leading travelers. We will have the rest by evening."
"I'll take it for now," Piotr said, motioning to the messenger. "His Grace as yet is lacking certain functionaries."
The man was staring at James. Should he say something? What? Try and inspire him? Tell him to go away? Suddenly, as soon as his satchel had been taken from him, the messenger knelt, head bowed.
"Your Grace, I thank our Lord Jesus that you are here with us, and that I have served you in even this small way. There was rumor that an heir was found, but..."
"You should be on your way." Piotr's voice was hard. The man was on his feet and mounted in an instant. His eyes never left James.
"I will tell everyone, Your Grace. Tell everyone we again have a King!" Whirling his mount, the man galloped off back where he came from.
"And his true story will be more outlandish than rumor before it reaches the third telling." Piotr shook his head. "That one I never liked."
"So," Ewa said, "by the fifth telling nobody will believe Your Grace exists."
"Ha!" James couldn't help the bark of laughter. Her blush, which had faded in the past mile, returned full force. The guards, too, chuckled. Piotr looked back down the road behind them.
"We'd best keep moving, Your Grace. We do not want..."
A horn blew from the forest on their right.
"Damn!" Piotr swung to James, eyes hard. "Please mount up, Your Grace. Just in case." The other guards were already back on their mounts. To the south, soldiers were rushing into the forest.
"What is it?" James asked. His hand, he realized, was holding Ewa's. Piotr ignored that, eyes going back towards the forest.
"Our pickets found something they didn't like."