Guard

: "And where is the Queen?" Archbishop Jarosław's strong voice echoed through the chamber, rousing one of the ladies-in-waiting from a blissful sleep. She discreetly rubbed her eyes and stammered a reply.

"In the alcove, Reverend Sir! She hasn't been out since morning. She's ill!" The woman lowered her head, trying to hide the faint smile that appeared on her lips at the last words. This, however, didn't escape the old bishop's notice. He scowled instantly and growled angrily.

"Ask the Queen if she wants to see me! Go!" he urged the woman on, noticing her hesitation.

As the intricately carved door closed behind her, Jarosław rubbed his wrinkled forehead heavily. He was deeply troubled by the Queen's behavior; ever since the birth of little Kaźko, she had begun to resent everyone and everything at the Słupsk court. Hardly a day passed without Adelaide "feeling ill." The king disliked this, and the archbishop, who knew Casimir inside and out, grew increasingly fearful that the unruly monarch might do something irreversible. As only he could. Especially since the old archbishop sensed the rapidly approaching danger.

Bogoria sniffed sharply with his large nose. The Luxembourgs were only waiting for discord at the Wawel court. After all, he himself had intercepted Charles's letters, in which he recommended that his supporters create as many opportunities for King Casimir's love affairs as possible.

The archbishop's gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of the door. He glanced behind him and saw a portly man with a thick black beard.

"Voivode Spytko! Are you here, sir?" Jarosław Bogoria rose from the bench where he had sat and walked toward the dignitary.

"I wanted to speak with you, Reverend Father!" Spytko of Melsztyn looked the archbishop in the eye. "I heard you've gone to the queen. I can spare you a moment.

" "You're joking, Voivode!" Jarosław said indignantly. "What's so urgent that you bothered to search for my unworthy person?"

"The envoy from Landgrave Henryk has just arrived!" Spytko replied seriously.

"He may have finally brought the overdue portion of the dowry!" the archbishop almost exclaimed. "Finally!

" "Unfortunately," the voivode muttered, "we'll certainly never get a penny from that miser. We can't count on that, Reverend. Quite the contrary! The envoy actually came to ask the landgrave for our king's support in his dispute with Archbishop Ludwik. Of course, it's about cash!"

"He's got it wrong!" the archbishop shook with anger. "He's got it very wrong. Let's go to some secluded place, Voivode. We really must consult about what we should do.

"

The queen truly couldn't be considered a paragon of beauty. Her dry face, with its thin lips constantly twisted in a grimace, didn't add to her charm either. However, upon seeing the king enter, she attempted a smile, but the attempt proved futile. Casimir looked at his wife with dislike. He had truly had enough of her and had often considered sending her back to Hesse. He could even find a good excuse. That miserly Henry clearly had no desire to fulfill his marriage contract, and Casimir didn't press him, knowing it might prove a powerful argument in future attempts to annul the marriage. To that end, he had already sent John of Busko, provost of the Gniezno Cathedral, to His Holiness Clement VI to gauge the Pope's reaction to the planned divorce. For now, however, he preferred to at least maintain appearances and, as he did every Thursday, arrived at the queen's chambers to fulfill his royal duty.

"You don't have to love your wife," old Władysław repeated grumpily, "but remember your duties to the dynasty."

And Kazimierz tried to fulfill his father's will as diligently as possible, though lately it had become increasingly difficult.

"I hear you were ill today, madam?" the king asked hopefully. Adelaide smiled with a forced smile. "I presume it was nothing serious!" Kazimierz added quickly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

"No, sire!" the queen replied in a shrill voice, rising heavily from the bed. "My head hurt a bit, but I'm cured at the thought that today I might finally give you the heir of my dreams.

" "May you say these words at the right time, eminent lady!" Kazimierz boomed loudly, trying to hide the expression on his face from his wife. "It's high time for this! I've already become a grandfather, and I haven't lived to see a son.

" "Today it will come true, sire!" "Adelaide chattered with sudden animation. "My Henga assures me that today is the best time for me to give you a son. And she knows her stuff! She watched me closely today.

" "So what are we waiting for, madam?" urged Kazimierz, eager to get this unpleasant task behind him.

The bed creaked painfully.

...

Spytko of Melsztyn bowed low before the monarch and waited for permission to rise.

"So you claim, Voivode, that servants of our beloved nephew Ludwik are lurking in Wawel?" finally gasped Kazimierz, who had just returned from a strenuous hunt. Although only his fourth cross weighed heavily on his neck, he could no longer spend the entire day in the saddle like in his youth. He was a little angry with the Voivode for having to postpone his visit to the castle grounds, because of his speculations, where the young daughter of a city councilor, whom he had long desired, was waiting for him. What was her name? Hedwig? Or maybe something else?

"What surprises you, Voivode? My worthy nephew only cares about his own!" he laughed ominously.

"Surely, my gracious lord, you haven't yet given him the Kingdom?!" Spytko exclaimed in horror.

"No one knows the decrees of Heaven, Voivode!" The king raised his eyes. "Remember how two years ago I fell so gravely ill that the reverend Archbishop Jarosław pronounced me dead. Who would then become the new king if not one of Piast blood?

" "He's only half Piast," the lord of Melsztyn snarled in an undertone. "He feels more like an Anjou and the ruler of Hungary. What kind of king will he be? He'll only look beyond the Carpathians, and forget about Pomerania altogether.

" "So what do you advise me, Voivode?" the king frowned, nervously tugging at his black beard. "Should I break off the alliance with Louis?" Who will be left for me then? The Wittelsbachs? After all—he grew increasingly excited—since my father's time, our entire policy in the Anjou has been based on this. What advice do you have on that?

"A son!" Spytko replied in a firm voice, looking directly into the monarch's eyes. "You must have an heir, sir!"

"But with whom? Surely not with the queen?" Kazimierz laughed hollowly.

"She's young!" Spytko slapped his powerful thighs. "She can bear you many sons. You just have to give her a chance, gracious lord."

"I've been giving her a chance for over ten years now, and what's the result?" Kazimierz gritted his powerful teeth. "An apple tree that doesn't bear fruit gets rid of! Isn't that right, Voivode?"

"You don't give the queen a chance, gracious king!" Spytko gasped. "You have to visit her more often."

"You, Voivode, won't choose the time for me!" "Kazimierz suddenly became furious. "I have sons!

" "I don't deny that, gracious lord!" Spytko agreed agreeably. "But who will recognize a townswoman's son as a future monarch?"

"I must find a new wife, Your Grace the Voivode!" the King snorted, tugging at his beard again. "One who will bear me children.

" "And what about Adelaide?" the Krakow Voivode asked quietly.

The King jumped up and walked briskly to a small window overlooking the gray waves of the river that had washed Wawel Hill for centuries.

"There, near Piasek, the Vistula is supposedly deep!" Kazimierz muttered ominously.

...

"Are you sick again, madam?" Reverend Jarosław's tone was laced with sadness. "What are you complaining about now?" the Archbishop couldn't avoid a hint of irony.

Adelaide, outraged, rose to her feet, her pale cheeks flushed with red.

"It's easy for you, eminent bishop, to mock a weak woman," the queen said with obvious difficulty, trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

Jarosław looked at Adelaide carefully. She really didn't look well. Her pale face wasn't feigned, and the poorly concealed bowl, which he noticed with his keen eyes, certainly hid the queen's rather meager breakfast. Old Henga had indeed been right when she'd come this morning complaining about her mistress's poor health.

"Has it been long since she's been throwing everything out?" the archbishop asked suddenly, causing the queen's cheeks to flush.

"It's almost Sunday!" she whispered shamefully. "Whatever I eat, it all comes back. Those mushrooms I ate, for Saint Vincent's sake, must have harmed me. Or whoever cast the spell! More than one wishes me ill. Or perhaps someone wanted to poison me?

" "Was there a doctor?" Bogoria asked calmly. The only response was a weak

nod. "And what did he say?

" "That it would go away! On its own!" Adelaide shook her dry head. "Because I have an appetite.

" "Doesn't he suspect venom?" Skotnicki made an unconscious move towards the woman, as if to examine the condition of her forehead. At the last moment, however, he refrained from this indecent gesture. To conceal his embarrassment, he immediately added, "You must drink plenty of milk, madam. It's the best medicine for vomit. I often use it myself. Tell Henda to go to the Small Market Square, because the women there have the best milk. And if not, I'll send it to you myself.

" "No need, Reverend Bishop!" Adelaide laughed shrilly. "I often drank milk at my father's court. I haven't forgotten about it now either. But nothing!

" "And you're hungry!" the archbishop continued to worry. "The gracious king will be worried. He's been asking about you this morning, madam.

" "You're very kind, Reverend!" The queen looked at Jarosław with a strange expression.

"Perhaps, eminent lady, you are..." the dignitary paused, looking with some fear at Adelaide's withered face.

...

Casimir urged his horse to run faster. He wanted to be as far away from Wawel as possible, where only sorrow awaited him. A rush of air brushed his face, restoring his clarity of mind. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the baying of dogs that had cornered an aurochs or a wild boar in the thicket. He, too, felt trapped. He wrestled with his thoughts.

Reverend John of Busko had just returned to Krakow, bringing a reply from His Holiness Clement. Casimir considered it once more. Truth be told, he had expected a refusal, but perhaps in a more veiled form. Meanwhile, the Pope's answer was clear. There was no question of divorce. Adelaide was his legally wedded wife, and there was no point in dreaming of the Church blessing their new union during her lifetime. During her lifetime – the thought flashed through the king's mind. Casimir tilted his head to the gusts of cold air that ruffled his luxuriant beard.

And him? Will his conscience allow him to sleep peacefully after such an act? Will Fate punish him? Or is there another solution?

The king abruptly spurred his horse, causing it to rear, nearly throwing the monarch from the saddle.

"Pakosławic!" the king shouted loudly. The courtier appeared almost immediately, leaping from his bay steed.

"Yes, gracious king!

" "Do you know this area well?" Jan Pakosławic shook his head in agreement. "We'd like to rest somewhere.

" "And not far away, there's a forest manor owned by Niemierz of Gołcza," the courtier pointed north. "We can rest there for a while. Unless, gracious lord, you order us to Wiślica.

" "Lead on!" the king ordered.

The manor was indeed not far away. The small wooden structure sat on the edge of a large clearing, separated from the dark forest by a babbling stream. A few carefully tended patches spoke well of the lady of this forest manor, who was toiling with several maids to weed the luxuriant weeds that were encroaching on the clearing.

The king first saw wind-blown berries, then black eyes, the sight of which made his blood throb. The woman seemed to recognize him, for her knees instinctively bent to the ground.

"Husband of the house?" Jan Pakosławic shouted from behind. The lady of the house shook her head, not daring to even speak in the monarch's presence. She simply stared wide-eyed at the unexpected guests.

"Who is that?" Kazimierz asked quietly, glancing at the courtier.

"Cudka, daughter of Count Pełka. You recently gave your consent, gracious lord, for her marriage to Niemierza.

" "Tell her to come!" – ordered the king, who had just mentally decided the future fate of his disliked wife. He would send Adelaide either to her father or to some secluded place where people would forget her.

...

Among the castle servants, there were frequent stories of a black figure appearing at night, whose appearance was said to herald an imminent death. Some claimed it was the ghost of the king's unfortunate uncle, Leszek the Black, searching for his murderers, unable to find peace in the afterlife. Others said the ghost's appearance surprisingly coincided with the tragic death of the king's confessor, Father Baryczka, who paid with his life for inappropriate reprimands addressed to the distinguished penitent.

Regardless of the identity of the dark apparition, no one had the slightest desire to meet it. That was probably why the man, wrapped in a dark woolen cloak, walked, making no attempt to hide from the eyes of onlookers. His face was lost in the thick fabric that formed a kind of turban on his head.

He slowed only when he reached the queen's chambers. Old Henga was sleeping soundly, a faint smile appearing beneath the thick curtain of fabric. After all, he had prepared his visit well. The servant shouldn't have woken up even if the trumpets of Jericho suddenly blared nearby. Not after the medicine he'd administered to her tonight.

The man finally threw off his heavy veil, revealing the wrinkled face of Archbishop Jarosław Bogoria Skotnicki.

He surveyed the vestibule leading to the royal chambers with a careful glance. He hadn't expected to find anyone here, but it was safer to check everything. Many would likely have been incredibly surprised by the presence of the Gniezno ruler at this hour, so close to Adelaide's chambers. However, Jarosław had a mission of extraordinary importance to fulfill here.

In his hand, an object gleamed, glowing with a cold light, which he nervously clenched in his fist. Now the future depended on his efficiency. In the most literal sense.

The door creaked softly. Jarosław froze for a moment, but no one appeared in the corridor, lit by the flickering glow of the torches.

Adelaide slept, panting slightly. Even in her sleep, her face contorted into a grimace that further marred her ugly features. Jarosław scratched his shaggy head. How could he possibly inflict further harm on this unfortunate woman? But he had to do it!

An object resembling a narrow Venetian dagger reappeared in the archbishop's hands. With a quick movement, he lifted the patterned cape that covered the queen's body, revealing her flat stomach. Then he lowered the object and, with deft movements, brought to the surface what he was seeking.

There was one more thing left to do.

...

The crypt to which the old archbishop was heading was the most secret place on all of Wawel Hill. Only one person, besides himself, knew of her existence. The person to whom he himself had offered this very place to conclude his affairs. Since he expected that after today, this person would disappear from his life forever, he decided to reveal his sanctuary to her.

With a sigh, Jarosław opened a door made of a strange metal, opalescent with an inner light, which, from a distance, looked like a fragment of a stone wall to the untrained eye. If Kazimierz only knew what the interior of his castle held... Jarosław smiled beneath his gray mustache, which instantly turned black. This was the thing that always amazed him most when he entered the Chamber. In an instant, he felt almost forty years younger.

He shed the coarse gray robe he wore outdoors to demonstrate his eagerness for mortification, and quickly donned his favorite dressing gown. He settled comfortably in a plush armchair and took a sip of freshly brewed coffee, which somehow awaited him in his favorite mug. Such a concoction was yet to be expected in this era.

However, he couldn't savor the taste of the black liquid for too long. A sharp, shrill signal sounded, announcing the approach of an unknown person to the Chamber.

Jarosław glanced at the monitor.

Voivode Spytko of Melsztyn walked along, looking around cautiously. He knew exactly what he was looking for and found the door to the Chamber without much difficulty.

"Coffee?" asked the archbishop.

"Are you allowed, sir?" Spytko couldn't immediately break free from his role.

"We, the Guardians, are entitled to some privileges!" replied Jarosław dryly, taking another sip of the aromatic liquid. "After all, for you Travelers, your stay here is but a moment, while we spend almost our entire lives in the past.

" "You choose this fate yourselves," Spytko snorted angrily. "What purpose does this meeting serve?

" "Your time is up, Apollonius!" Jarosław, with youthful verve, leaped from his chair and leaped to his interlocutor, subduing his hand, from which he extracted a small object.

"Accelerator!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "You thought you could finish me with this. I'm sending a report on your achievements in this era today.

" "You won't!" Spytko groaned, trying to free his hand from his opponent's grip. "That would be the end of me!"

"Perhaps fortunately for the world. How do they train you there?" the man who passed for the Archbishop of Gniezno fumed. "Well, give me some rational reasons why I shouldn't report you?" If you can explain to me why you wanted to persuade the king to kill his wife, then..." He paused and looked into Spytko's face.

"So you know everything!" The voivode spread his hands in resignation.

"Does that surprise you?" Jarosław laughed. "It's one of the most basic duties of every Guardian. Besides, you prepared like a bull in a china shop. You didn't even bother to cover your tracks. So what was that all about?

" "About Cudka!" Spytko gasped loudly, sinking into the depths of the soft armchair, which immediately adjusted to his shape. "Queen Adelaide's death would have paved the way for Casimir's next marriage, and knowing the king's character, I could swear his choice would have fallen on Cudka. And as you know, Casimir had children with her. Three sons! Legitimate, thanks to Adelaide's death!"

"And you think Louis would calmly watch as the throne of Kraków slipped away from him!" Jarosław broke into a brisk march along the Chamber, finally reaching a special window overlooking Kraków. "Have you considered," he nodded toward the panorama of the city walls, "what will become of this world?"

"I ran a simulation, based on which I analyzed the variant of history in which the royal Piast dynasty did not die out in the 14th century," Spytko nodded. "The consequences of this, contrary to appearances, will not be significant for the world. There will even be a Polish-Lithuanian union.

" "How?" Jarosław's gaze widened in surprise.

"The Teutonic Knights and Hungarians will remain our enemies!" the voivode explained calmly. "And the threat will even increase, because the Luxembourgs will return to their old tactics of encircling the Kingdom. Therefore, Lithuania will remain our only ally." And since Witold and Jagiełło will only have daughters, the baptism will also take place, as will the Union. Spytek's face suddenly lit up with emotion. "Just think. A kingdom with a hereditary monarchy, which at the right moment transforms into an absolute monarchy. There are no partitions! There are also no world wars, because Central Europe is in balance, and Russia and Germany are divided by mighty Poland. The European Union is being created under our leadership. As the link between East and West, we dictate the terms to Europe.

" "In short, a bright future!" Jarosław sarcastically slid a hologram from under a pile of papers. "I understand I should even help you in this noble task of keeping the Piast dynasty alive. If only everything were as simple as..." he paused and thrust the document under his nose. "Here is the family tree of Cudka and Casimir's descendants. Look at the crown itself! Whose name is on it?" the Guardian laughed again. "Shall I address you as Your Royal Highness now?"

Spytko's face suddenly reddened, and he rushed toward the exit.

"You won't get far!" Jarosław muttered to himself.

At least this matter was over. He was certain that Spytko would soon find himself in one of the penal colonies, in the distant past, where only dinosaurs could serve him in his further mischief.

And, by the way, it was an interesting prospect. Casimir's descendants on the Polish throne.

And it wasn't about that unfortunate Spytek, who had no chance of winning the crown anyway, because that version of history assumed he would die in childhood. But it was about that danger, which he had also nipped in the bud today, in a completely literal sense. He had never been a supporter of abortion, in any form. But here, it's hard to talk about abortion yet. This was merely a newly formed zygote, destined to become the son of Adelaide and Casimir. A man at whose feet all of Europe would fall, and whose grim fame would eclipse even Napoleon.

Despite this, Jarosław felt a pang of distaste in his heart. He hoped he would never again have to interfere so directly in his own country's history. But then again, that was precisely the essence of a Guardian's job.

He probably would ask for a leave of absence.