The small, bearded Jew rushed to the table with another jug of the finest mead. It wasn't often that he had such… distinguished guests. Respectable in terms of politeness. Repulsive in terms of sincerity. That afternoon, he had been visited by two rioters, infamous men who had been prowling the surrounding roads for several weeks. He had already heard news of attacks on merchants and—horror!—on more distinguished gentlemen, who were eager to jingle their purses. Now he only waited and prayed they would leave as quickly as possible. He preferred an empty, yet safe, inn to two robbers who would gladly burn it down, with him inside.
He set the jug on the bench, smiled uncertainly, and bowed slightly, so as not to offend.
"Will the distinguished gentlemen have anything else to wish for?
" "No!" "Get your skinny ass, Jew! When we need you to carry drinks, we'll call you, you bastard!" the bigger and dirtier one shouted back.
He only glanced at them once more. Both were dirty, both tall, and had a nasty look in their eyes. The first, the one who had dismissed him, seemed to have been drunk from the very beginning. A cruel scar crossed his face, probably from some brawl. His dark, long mustache was stained with grease and food scraps. At his belt was a saber, probably sharp, like a razor, which, God forbid, had already cut off more than one skull!
The second, somewhat calmer, hadn't once spoken to him since arriving at the inn. He opened his mouth whenever the humble Jakub wandered off to his other duties. He'll get drunk, and he'll have to sing too, he thought. Even though the second brawler was rather quiet, it was he who cast an icy glare at him that could make even the bravest of men tremble. His black scabbard spoke volumes. Get in my way, my lord's dog, and I'll deal with you!
"We've already drained the second jug. Will we have to wait long for this kpa?" the one with the scar asked his companion.
"The boors said he was resting here. We'll definitely recognize his bleary mug. He wears a kica in his breeches, and instead of his trusty saber, he carries a thin stick. He's only rich, but he lacks common sense. It's certain he won't have a bodyguard with him, not even a servant. And even they wouldn't be a hindrance to us. Come on, my friend! Instead of fretting your nerves, slap it down your throat! What! We won't regret it!
" "Yes, you're right, my brother! We've had enough of that before!" "Down to the bottom!" he shouted, then put the jug to his lips and began pouring the honey into himself.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, banged the jug twice on the table, and shouted,
"Jew! Another jug, or even two! Quickly!"
The innkeeper, Jakub, replied timidly, then rushed to his guests with fresh portions of mead. Along the way, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He didn't even wait for further orders, rushing back behind the tavern to watch the situation unfold. He was afraid. Oh, who cares? He wasn't a nobleman, not a knight, not a lord. Just a poor innkeeper. He had every right to be afraid!
"What will you do with the valuables, Your Grace, once we have them?" asked the one with the scar.
"I'll buy back the ancestral lands near Poznań, that's what I'll do. I'll renovate the manor, and then throw a feast the likes of which our Republic has never seen! Then everyone will talk about how Mr. Jan Grabiewski drank the local nobility to death. Ha! I'll drank Cossacks, Tatars, and other unfaithful dogs, who would later thank me for facilitating their wars. That's how I'll serve both myself and the Republic."
"Damn me! I have no intention of settling down! May the manors, wives, and the same warm bed be swallowed up in hell for many years! I'll spend all the wealth I plunder on girls, because I won't be spending ducats in the taverns anyway! One, two, I'll feel the ass, roll up my skirt, and then I'll be frolicking in the hay with the smoothest tits. Then the whole Crown and Lithuania will be talking about Władysław Grajewicz, who could even…
" "Don't blaspheme!
" "Forgive me. May I die, but the best ones are in Pomerania. Near Gdańsk, in one town, there are tons of inns, and there's no shortage of hosts who will take you under their roof. And they never skimp on barrels from the cellar, oh no!
" "You say? So we'll quickly go to Gdańsk tomorrow at dawn, see what the hospitality is like there." Meanwhile, health, my lord brother, health to us and to that clown in tights who's going to rob him!
The companions drained both jugs, then called for more, so as not to wait idly for the unfortunate man who was to be at the inn that day. For a long time, however, they drank in the inn, just the two of them, urging the Jew to pour the water. Soon they began singing lewd songs about how they felt like fucking their fat mother. There were also many insults against the French, English, Spanish, and others. Perhaps this befits true patriots, Jakub thought. He wasn't sure, however, whether to be afraid or to rest in peace, as the guests were already, at least, cheerful.
As Messrs. Grabiewski and Grajewicz emptied the jugs, a new guest arrived. A portly traveler in dirty, worn breeches and tall leather boots, wearing a cloak over it, even though summer was fast approaching. The man glanced around as if carefully examining his surroundings, bowed slightly to the guests who were gazing at him with bleary eyes, then left his cloak at one of the tables and called for a mug of cold beer.
"Damn it, his little dog, what's that? We're not trying to keep you away from us! Dear Janek, aren't we going to invite a newly arrived, distinguished guest to our table?" Saliva spurted from the drunken nobleman's mouth.
"Why not? A new companion, a good companion..." he replied, carefully eyeing the newcomer. "Dear guest, please sit down with us. You'll taste some of the finer mead; you're not supposed to drink it alone!"
The man merely nodded, then calmly walked over to the brawlers. Only now did Mr. Grabiewski notice the saber at his side, deftly clipped to keep it from wagging. The man was slim; the coat must have made him look bigger. An unchristian mustache and goatee, the slasher thought. Such people are just for the taking. And now that disgusting smile won't leave his face... Damn it! Perhaps we could have a drink with him; it seems we'll have to wait a while longer.
"Your dignity? Is there any?
" "Krzysztof Polanicki, an envoy from Prince Radziwiłł, so to speak. However, I'm going to see my uncle with an extremely important letter. And since my horse is tired, and I'm tired myself, I decided to stop. And you, gentlemen, are spending a pleasant afternoon soaking your throats? At first glance, you don't look like locals. Are you just passing through, or, despite your illusions, do you live somewhere nearby?" The man's irritating smile never left his face.
"We? Er... we're sitting here..." Both the newcomer's and Mr. Grabiewski's eyes turned to Grajewicz. "We, this is Mr. Jan and I—Władysław, like his grandfather—are sitting here and drinking mead because… because we're waiting for our companion, who's supposed to arrive here tonight, and… and we're sitting here and waiting… and drinking mead so the time doesn't go to waste.
" My companion always has trouble finding the right words, the ones that would fit the situation. We have to forgive him, but in the meantime, I propose a toast. Jew, move, or we'll give you a hard time! A jug for our companion! And two jugs for us!
Please, he's a real scoundrel, thought the innkeeper Jakub. Another moment and he'll start dancing, or start throwing out big tips. The innkeeper's job is cruel. They say the money's quite substantial; it's enough to keep the door open for everyone. And what about this? You have to serve two bandits." They'll drink half my belongings, and they probably won't even want to pay. It's a cruel trade, oh, cruel.
The Jew placed three jugs full of sweet alcohol on a tray and shuffled glumly to the table. He wasn't even in the mood for unnecessary smiles or politeness. He did his job and returned to his usual spot, from where he watched everyone.
The three companions happily sipped mead, laughed, and told more lewd stories.
"You won't believe it, gentlemen, but in Lithuania, right on the border, there's a town. I don't even remember which one. But they have such a huge brothel there, and the courtesans do more for pleasure than for money. I once went there with a friend, a young and inexperienced pup, bare-chested, so to speak, to learn what it means to be with a woman. There, a lady took him to a quiet chamber, and you know why. But he came out after fifteen minutes, his shirt barely half-buttoned, and asked me what to do! I told him back and forth, and with a hesitant smile, he retreated to his room. May the Blessed Virgin…
" "Don't blaspheme!
" "Forgive me, forgive me. That's how the young man got so frisky! Before long, I heard howling, some squealing, then roaring and barking, as if in some farmstead." My blood boiled, because I thought they were mocking me, or maybe the dogs were really just pretending! So I waited a moment longer, and the other one came out, all contented, and said that a dog's life wasn't as bad as Grandpa used to say.
"Oh, my goodness! Things weren't like that anymore! When we were going to Lublin with a company to pick up another loser, a woman took us in for a small fee in a barn where we could sleep. And she had a daughter... damn me! I haven't seen such a young and smooth tit in ages. I think it would be a sin to share her and fuck her like a whore. So, at night, when everyone was fast asleep from the vodka and dreaming of Mom's breasts, she sneaked up on me, and we started pouring the wine, but as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the others. This girl, however, couldn't stand it, and unearthly groans echoed throughout the barn. At this, my companions jumped up as if a war were raging above them, looked around, and became indignant. For several days, they refused to regale me with conversation, considering me a loathsome boor who wouldn't share his own! Because, as we all know, what's mine is yours. Such is this miserable life..." Mr. Władysław rubbed his eyes and sighed, a little saddened. "Give me some water, because I've run out, and I didn't have the will to scream.
" "Don't worry too much, sir. Any of us would probably do the same, since she's such a beautiful girl," Mr. Krzysztof consoled, looking knowingly at Mr. Grabiewski.
"Yes, yes! Certainly!"
The three companions continued drinking. The Jew Jacob occasionally brought fresh mead, smiling uncertainly. Now he was certain. He had extorted more than his fair share from someone, and from that moment on, a curse had fallen upon them! No guests, only three drunkards who needed only a slight provocation to start a huge brawl. They had been guests like this before, and there was always someone they didn't like, even by the sound of their mouths. Usually, he ended up in the mud, eyes rolled back, face turned skyward, as if searching for the gates to paradise. He couldn't really complain. The inn was the talk of the town for weeks afterward, and there was no shortage of guests. "This is where they slaughtered that famous rioter who, two years ago, gathered his entire army and went after the Turks." But what could this mean compared to the fear the unfortunate innkeeper felt? The famous inn was nothing to him, compared to his imminent death at the hands of dirty swine.
Suddenly he realized that the three guests had already emptied the last, meager supply of honey from their barrels. And he hadn't hidden anything in the cellar, as other innkeepers did to avoid losing it all. He really had run out of honey! He was already breaking out in a cold sweat, and he was trembling with fear, for what could this end but with a head cut off, or at best, with all his belongings burned?
"Jew! Quickly, bring me the honey, for we've run out!
" "Noble gentlemen..." his voice trembled. "It is with great regret and sadness that I must say that all the barrels have been emptied, and not a single one has survived... however, can I tell the distinguished ladies...
" "Ladies?!" exclaimed Mr. Władysław angrily. "Do you take us for virtuous women, Jew? Wait a minute!
" "But I didn't mean it!" the terrified Jew shouted back, practically falling to his knees. "I can give you gentlemen some wine, beer, and some stronger vodka too! But for the Blessed Virgin Mary...
" "Don't blaspheme!
" "Forgive me! Don't cut me up! I humbly beg you!
" "I think this wretched poor fellow has already frightened himself enough. Let him live, gentlemen." Mr. Krzysztof stopped them. "Who would bring us drinks later? Do you want to pour your own?"
"Yes, that's right... Lady Fortune is on your side today, Jew. Hurry for the vodka, we won't spare ourselves!"
Jakub disappeared a moment later into the cellar, where he was looking around for the vodka he'd once hidden here! He hurriedly checked the barrels, searched for bottles on the dusty shelves, and tore off old cobwebs to get to the darkest corners.
Meanwhile, Mr. Krzysztof was feeling tired. He wasn't used to the cruelty of drinking in too much light, especially with two drunks. He had been feeling a bit unsettled for some time now, and frankly, he'd had enough. He was choosing his words carefully so as not to offend his companions, as it was common knowledge how some of them were. Without waiting too long, and taking advantage of the opportunity while the Jew was still tinkering in the cellar, he said:
"My dear gentlemen. Those from Lithuania don't have the brains you do, so they can quickly drown themselves in alcohol. And I'm tired and quite drunk, I must thank you, gentlemen. I don't have the strength for further deliberation by the jug..."
Mr. Grabiewski and Grajewicz looked at him, then at each other, and then back at him. The nobleman with the scar tilted his head with a strange grimace, or perhaps with a dull look, as if he didn't know what was going on. And since he was famous for his unbridled rage, he only felt his blood rushing. His blood was hot, almost boiling, and his hand was moving towards his saber.
"You drink to death with us, you mocker!" Mr. Grajewicz exclaimed angrily. "Wait, you!"
Everyone jumped up; Mr. Krzysztof fell and was already retreating backward. Grajewicz drew his saber, which never once flashed or shone brightly. Instead, it was stained with the blood of other unfortunates and the mud that filled the roads on rainy days. The adventurer himself hadn't had time to clean it, as he said. The saber never failed him, despite all the dirt that could have weakened it. He took a long step over the overturned bench and began approaching the frightened envoy, who couldn't quite draw his sword with his shaking hands.
He swished again and again, blood spurting profusely around him, and the body fell limply to the wooden floor. It wouldn't have taken much to slay him. He couldn't even run, the executioner thought to himself, and the saber was probably just for show.
"Here you go, you fool! You've killed our only companion for vodka. All he had to do was ask him nicely, and he would surely have stayed and tasted it." Now we have a body on the floor, and we'll have to wait for someone to talk to again!" Mr. Grabiewski shook his head. "I saw thick bushes in front of the inn, we'll plant him there too. In a few days, someone will find him there, and we'll move out. In the meantime, we'll have a little more drink. I have a feeling we'll be here for a while longer before that rich man shows up."
Leaving the body in the bushes, they returned to the inn. A terrified Jew stood over the spilled blood, holding a dusty bottle in his hand. The killers passed by as if they hadn't seen anything. One of them took the drink from his hand. They sat down at the table and continued their conversation.
Meanwhile, soaked with fear, Jakub was sweating on the floor. He turned to them only briefly to see them surprised by the unusually strong taste of expensive vodka from the West. Here, in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, such strong vodkas were a true rarity. Maybe they'll get drunk and fall asleep, the Jew thought. It would be good...
He was right. The troublemakers had consumed most of the liquor and were incredibly drunk. They weren't causing trouble. They were sad.
"I don't know, my dear friend, how it is that no one has come to drink with us. Shame, I say..." he hiccupped. "Shame upon shame..."
"In a little while, we'll have to invite a Jew to the table, if no one else shows up..." He shook his head. "It's a disgrace to drink with a Jew. The Jew is greedy, he's just waiting to steal our purses!
" "Shall we kill him?
" "No... waste of time." He took a swig from the bottle. "Speaking of time, how long have we been waiting? Hours? Days, perhaps?
" "I have no idea, friend... But I must tell you honestly, I've never had such good company as you. Friend, with you, we'll go to hell...
" "Sir, brother, we'll give these scoundrels another go... and then we'll drink!
" "That's right! To the Jew's health!"
The door opened. It was already dark outside, so the only light came from the lamps and candles in the tavern. A tall man, covered in a light cloak, revealing cream-colored breeches, stepped inside. At his side was a sword with an elaborate basket. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a colorful feather. From a distance, it was obvious he was wealthy, as was his rich attire. And since he was wealthy…
Mr. Grajewicz and Grabiewski glanced at each other. One nodded.
***
Bright sunlight streaming through the open door woke him. He was lying on a table, his companion beneath him. Somewhere at another bench, four men sat happily sipping cold beer. Mr. Grabiewski glanced around, searching for the Jew. There he was, standing behind the counter, polishing glasses, a large smile on his face. He struggled to his feet and leaned against the table. Trying to maintain an appearance of freshness and sobriety, he staggered over to the tavern, trying to be as serious as possible.
"Jew, what happened yesterday? Where was that filthy dog that arrived here last night? It was just that his memory wasn't strong enough…
" He arrived, sir, and before he could sit down at the table, you invited him to yours to finish that bottle of vodka together. You broke several crystal glasses in the process. Then you began sampling the more expensive wine, praising how good it was. The three of you finished drinking a few hours later, when your companion slammed his head on the table. The other nobleman left early in the morning, paying for everything you had drunk earlier. He also told us to greet you and offer thanks for the excellent feast. The Jew seemed happy.
"Damn me..." Mr. Grabiewski muttered, leaving the counter.
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