第 7 页

Once Wladek had each shift organised, he would return to the Baron in the smaller dungeon. Initially he expected guidance from him, but the fixed gaze of his master was as implacable and comfortless in its own way as were the eyes of the constant succession of German guards. The Baron had never once spoken from the moment he had been subjected to captivity in his own castle. His beard had grown long and matted on his chest and his strong frame was beginning to dwindle into frailty. The once proud look had been replaced with one of resignation. Wladek could scarcely remember the well-loved voice of his patron, and accustomed himself to the thought that he would never hear it again. After a while, he complied with the Baron's unspoken wishes by remaining silent in his presence.

When he had lived in the safety of the castle, Wladek had never thought of the previous day with so much occupying him from hour to hour. Now he was unable to remember even the previous hour, because nothing ever changed, Hopeless minutes turned into hours, hours into days, and then months that he soon lost track of. Only the arrival of food, darkness or light indicated that another twelve hours had passed, while the intensity of that light, and its eventual giving way to storms, and then ice forming on the dungeon walls, melting only when a new sun appeared, heralded each season in a manner that Wladek could never have learned from a nature study lesson. During the long nights Wladek became even more aware of the stench of death that permeated even the farthest comers of the four dungeons, alleviated occasionally by the morning sunshine, a cool breeze, or the most blessed relief of all, the return of rain.

At the end of one day of unremitting storms, Wladek and Florentyna took advantage of the rain by washing themselves in a puddle of water which formed on the stone floor of the upper dungeon. Neither of them noticed that the Baron's eyes were following Wladek with interest as he removed his tattered shirt and rolled over like a dog in the relatively clean water, continuing to rub himself until white streaks appeared on his body. Suddenly, the Baron spoke.

'Wladek' - the word was barely audible - 'I cannot see you clearly,' he said, the voice cracking. 'Come here.'

Wladek was stupefied by the sound of his patron's voice after so long a silence and didn't even look in his direction. He was immediately sure that it heralded the incipience of the madness which already held two of the older servants in its grip.

'Come here, boy?'

Wladek obeyed fearfully, and stood before the Baron, who narrowed his enfeebled eyes in a gesture, of intense concentration as he groped towards the boy. He ran his finger over Wladek's chest and then peered at him incredulously.

'W'adek, can you explain this small deformity?'

'No, sir,' said Wladek, feeling embarrassed. 'It has been with me since birth. My foster-mother used to say it was the mark of God the Father upon me.'

'Stupid woman. It is the mark of your own father,' the Baron said softly, and lapsed into silence for some minutes.

Wladek remained standing in front of him, not moving a muscle.

When at last the Baron spoke again, his voice was brisk. 'Sit down, boy.'

Wladek obeyed immediately., As he sat down, he noticed once again the heavy band of silver, now hanging loosely round the Baroes wrist. A shaft of light through a crack in the wall made the magnificent engr-aving of the Rosnovski coat of arms glitter in the darkness of the dungeon.

'I do not know how long the Germans intend to keep us locked up here. I thought at first that this war would be over in a matter of weeks. I was wrong, and we must now consider the possibility that it will continue for a very long time. With that thought in mind, we must use our time more constructively as I know my life is nearing an end.'

'No, no,' Wladek began to protest, but the Baron continued as if he had not heard him.

'Yours, my child, has yet to begin. I will, therefore, undertake the continuation of your education!

The Baron did not speak again that day. It was as if he were considering the implications of his pronouncement. Thus Wladck gained his new tutor and as they neither possessed reading nor writing material he was made to repeat everything the Baron said. He was taught great tracts frorn the poems of Adam Mickiewicz and Jan Kochanowski and long passages frorn the Aeneid, In that austere classroom Wladek learned geography, mathematics and four languages: Russian, German, French and English. But his happiest moments were once again when he was taught history. The history of his nation through a hundred years of partidon, the disappointed hopes for a united Poland, the further anguish of the Poles at Napoleon's crushing loss to Russia in 1812. He learnt of the brave tales of earlier and happier times, when King Jan Casimir had dedicated Poland to the Blessed Virgin after repulsing the Swedes at Czestochowa, and how the mighty Prince Radziwill, great landowner and lover of hunting, had held his court in the great castle near Warsaw. Wladek's final lesson each day was on the family history of the Rosnovskis. Again and again, he was told - never tiring of the tale - how the Baron's illustrious ancestor who had served in 1794 under General Dabrowski and then in 1809 under Napoleon himself had been rewarded by the great Emperor with land and a barony.

He also learned how the Baron's grandfather had sat on the council of Warsaw and his father had played his own part in building the new Poland- Wladek found such happiness when the Baron turned his little dungeon into a classroom

The guards at the dungeon door were changed every four hours and conversation between them and the prisoners was 'strengst verboten'. In snatches and fragments Wladek learned of the progress of the war, of the actions of Hindenburg and Ludendorff, of the rise of revolution in Russia and of her subsequent withdrawal from the war by the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk.

Wladek began to believe that the only escape from the dungeons for the inmates was death. The doors opened nine times during the next two years and Wladek started to wonder if he was destined to spend the rest of his days in that filthy hell-hole, fighting a vain battle against despair, while equipping himself with a mind of useless knowledge that would never know freedom.

The Baron continued to tutor him despite his progressively failing sight and hearing. Wladek had to sit closer and closer to him each day.

Florentyna - his sister, mother and closest friend - engaged in a more physical struggle against the rankness of their prison. Occasionally the guards would provide her with a fresh bucket of sand or waw to cover the soiled floor, and the stench became a little less oppressive for the next few days. Vermin scuttled around in the darkness for any dropped scraps of bread or potato and brought with them disease and still more filth.

The sour smell of decomposed human and animal urine and excrement assaulted their nostrils and regularly brought Wladek to a state of sickness and nausea. He longed above all to be clean again, and would sit for hours gazing at the dungeon ceiling, recalling the steaming tubs of hot water and the good, rough soap with which the nianja bad, so short a distance away and so long a time ago, washed the accretion of a merr- day's fun from Leon and himself, with many a muttering and tut-tut for muddy knees or a dirty fingernail.

By the spring of 1918, only fifteen of the twenty-six cap. tives who had been incarcerated with Wladek in the dungeons were still alive. The Baron was always treated by everyone as the master, while Wladek had become his acknowledged steward. Wladek felt saddest for his beloved Florentyna, now twenty. She had long since despaired of life and was convinced that she was going to spend her remaining days in the dungeons.

Wladek never admitted in her presence to giving up hope, but although he was only twelve, he too was beginning to wonder if he dared believe in any future.

One evening, early in the autumn, Florentyna came to Wladek's side in the larger dungeon.

'The Baron is calling for you.'

Wladek rose quickly, leaving the allocation of food to a senior servant, and went to the old man. The Baron was in severe pain, and Wladek saw with terribly clarity and - as though for the first time - how illness had eroded whole areas of the Baron's flesh, leaving the green-mottled skin covering a now skeletal face. The Baron asked for water and Florentyna brought it from the half-full mug that balanced from a stick outside the stone grille. When the great man had finished drinking, he spoke slowly and with considerable difficulty.

'You have seen so much of death, Wladek, that one more will make little difference to you. I confess that I no longer fear escaping this world!'

'No, no, it can't be,' cried Wladek, clinging on to the old man for the first time in his life. 'We have so nearly triumphed. Don't give up, Baron. The guards have assured me that the war is coming to an end and then we will soon be released.'

'They have been promising us that for months, Wladek. We cannot believe them any longer, and in any case I fear I have no desire to live in the new world they are creating! He paused as he listened to the boy crying. The Baron's only thought was to collect the tears as drinking water, and then he remembered that tears were saline and he laughed to himself.

'Call for my butler and first footman, Wladek.'

Wladek obeyed immediately, not knowing why they should be required.

The two servants, woken from a deep sleep, came and stood in front of the Baron. After three years captivity sleep was the easiest commodity to come by. They still wore their embroidered uniforms, but one could no longer tell that they had once been the proud Rosnovski colours of green and gold. They stood silently waiting for their master to speak.

'Are they there, Wladek?' asked the Baron.

'Yes, sir. Can you not see them?' Wladek realised for the first time that the Baron was now completely blind.

'Bring them forward so that I might touch them.'

Wladek brought the two men to him and the Baron touched their faces.

'Sit down,' lie commanded. 'Can you both hear me, Ludwik, Alfons?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'My name is Baron Rosnovski.'

'We know, sir,' replied the butler innocently.

'Do not interrupt me,' said the Baron. 'I am about to die.'

Death had become so common that the two men made no protest.

'I am unable to make a new will as I have no paper, quill, or ink. Therefore I make my will in your presence and you can act as my two witnesses as recognised by the ancient law of Poland. Do you understand what I am saying?'

'Yes, sir,' the two men replied in unison.

'My first born son, Leon, is dead!' The Baron paused. 'And so I leave my entire estate and possessions to the boy known as Wladek Koskiewicz.'

Wladek had not heard his surname for many years and did not immediately comprehend the significance of the Baron's words.

'And as proof of my resolve,' the Baron continued, 'I give him the family band!'

The old man slowly raised his right arm, removed from his wrist the silver band and held it forward to a speechless Wladek, whom he clasped on to firmly, running his fingers over the boy's chest as if to be sure that it was he. 'My son,' he said, as he placed the silver band on the boy's wrist.

Wladek wept, and lay in the arms of the Baron all night until he could no longer hear his heart, and could feel the fingers stiffenin(y around him.

In the morning the Baron's body was removed by the guards and they allowed Wladek to bury him by the side of his son, Leon, in the family churchyard, up against the chapel. As the body was lowered into its shallow grave, dug by Wladek's bare hands, the Baron's tattered shirt fell open. Wladek stared at the dead man's chest.

He had only one nipple.

Thus Wladek Koskiewicz, aged twelve, inherited sbay thousand acres of land, one castle, two manor houses, twentyseven cottages, and a valuable collection of paintings, furniture and jewelry, while he lived in a small stone room under the earth. From that day on, the captives took him as their rightful master and his empire was four dungeons, his retinue -thirteen broken servants and his only love Florentyna.

He returned to what he felt was now an endless routine until long into the winter of 1918. On a mild, dry day there burst upon the prisoners' cars a volley of shots and the sound of a brief struggle. Wladek was sure that the Polish army had come to rescue him and that he would now be able to lay claim to his rightful inheritance. When the German guards deserted the iron door of the dungeons, the inmates remained in terrified silence huddled in the lower roorns. Wladek stood alone at the entrance, twisting the silver band around his wrist, triumphant, waiting for his liberators.

Eventually those who had defeated the Germans arrived and spoke in the coarse Slavic tongue, familiar from school days, which he had learned to fear even more than German. Wladek was dragged unceremoniously out into the passage with his retinue. The prisoners waited then were cursorily inspected and thrown back into the dungeons. The new conquerors were unaware that this twelve-year-old boy was the master of all their eyes beheld. They did not speak his tongue. Their orders were clear and not to be questioned : kill the enemy if they resist the agreement of Brest. Litovsk, which made this section of Poland theirs and send those who do not resist to camp 201 for the rest of their days. The Germans had left meekly to retreat behind their new border while Wladek and his followers waited, hopeful of a new life, ignorant of their impending fate.

After spending two more nights in the dungeons, Wladek resigned himself to believing that they were to be incarcerated for another long spell.

The new guards did not speak to him at all, a reminder to him of what life had been like three years before; he began to realise that discipline had at least become lax under the Germans but once again was tight.

On the morning of the third day, much to Wladek's surprise, they were all dragged out on to the grass in front of the castle, fifteen thin filthy bodies. Two of the servants collapsed in the unaccustomed sunlight.

Wladek himself found the intense brightness his biggest problem and kept having to shield his eyes from it. The prisoners stood in silence on the grass and waited for the soldiers' next move. The guards made them all strip and ordered them down to the river to wash. Wladek hid the silver band in his clothes and ran down to the water's edge, his legs feeling weak even before he reached the river. He jumped in, gasping for breath at the coldness of the water, although it felt glorious on his skin. The rest of the prisoners followed him, and tried vainly to remove three years of fifth.