They had just the one chance of looking at each other as the young man's horse was guided into the central ward of Duke Basile's strongest and most inaccessible mountain castle in Lublin with the other five hostages in early December. Snow lay heavily on the ground. Jan, the fourth son of Hainrich, the Duke of Kowel, was the one to look away. Although he was the one who had created this predicament, Hainrich, astride a war horse and saddled in the midst of three of his protecting knights, wasn't the one looking away. The expression on his father's face told Jan everything he needed to know. His father was angry and felt he was being unfairly shamed. The life of his son and those of the other five nobles, merchants, and a bishop who were being exchanged as surety for Hainrich to ensure the rest of his ransom would be paid were in grave danger. The Duke of Kowel had been taken prisoner in a border skirmish between the forces of Kowel and Basile's duchy of Holszany, and a high ransom had been demanded for Hainrich's release.
Six hostages from the citizenry of Kowel had been demanded to be held by Basile upon payment of the last half of the ransom, which Basile had accepted that Hainrich had to return to Kowel to be able to raise. Basile had demanded that one of the hostages be one of Hainrich's sons. The natural choice was Jan, the duke's fourth son, who was being prepared to enter the church, having little other value to Hainrich as long as one of his three older sons lived. Given a hearty heir and spare, further sons lost their intrinsic value, barring tragedy.
Jan was eighteen, a beautiful, perfectly formed blond young man who had not been trained to either arms or government. His natural talent had been playing the lute and singing songs in a clear, high voice, which had little value at his father's tense, meanly financed, and morose court. His father, Hainrich, who gave him little heed in his first seventeen years had nothing to say to him today as the father and his small retinue, basking in their newly acquired freedom, rode out of Lublin Castle, and Jan, guided by the castle priest, Father Slawek, was taken into the castle keep.
The priest, not far into his twenties himself, and only recently having taken up his post in the castle from service in the city's cathedral and, before that, at the Opole Monastery at some distance away in the duchy, was, nonetheless, sharp-witted and quickly picked up on the weakness of the relationship between the Duke of Kowel—at least on Hainrich's side—and his youngest son. He could see that the Duke of Kowel's sacrifice in the hostages he provided was not as great as the Duke of Holszany would want to believe.
As they entered the castle, the youth looked up the sweeping staircase in the reception room, wondering what sort of accommodations the hostages would be given. He knew nothing of the Duke of Holszany—whether his nature was a kind or cruel one—other than that Jan's father despised the ruler of his neighboring, and richer duchy and that Holszany's duke had captured his father and held him for ransom—an onerous amount of ransom that would cripple Kowel's capability of waging war for years, if not decades. The sum was so large that only half had yet been delivered.
All Jan knew was that Holszany's duke was tall of stature and solidly built, and although he was a handsome, red-headed and bearded man of some thirty-five years, standing there like a strong oak at the top of the stairs into the keep as the hostages arrived and captive neighboring duke departed, he was a man of stern countenance. As soon as Duke Hainrich rode through the postern gate, a glowering Basile turned, and without waiting for the hostages to be taken off their horses, he disappeared into the castle. He had, though, first taken a deeply assessing look at the duke's son captive he had acquire with the other Kowel hostages.
Duke Basile had his fetishes, and in his realm there was no one to deny him his pleasures.
Jan had also taken an assessing look at the duke, as, although he had not acted on it, he already knew that his interests in life went more to attachment with older men, and especially commanding ones like Basile, than with women. It had been for this reason that he did not shrink away from a life in the church, where, though not biblically supported, men did make attachments with other men in this region of Europe in these medieval times.
Seeing where the youth's eyes had gone in the reception hall, the priest, Slawek, sighed and murmured in regretful, but, he hoped, encouraging tones that, "No, young sire, not up the stairs. Down the stairs behind them."
Jan couldn't help but shudder as he and the other hostages were herded down the stairs into the base rock of the mountain Lublin Castle rose from. They were taken only one level down, though, and the rock-enclosed chamber they were led into wasn't too much of a dungeon. It was on the side of the mountain sloping down, so there were windows, albeit encased in bars and with nowhere to go other than plunging to one's death into a raging-current river at the foot of the cliff if anyone managed to get through the bars. The floor, walls, and ceiling were stone, but there was fresh straw on the floor; beds, with rush mattresses and blankets, enough for each of the hostages; a long table, with sturdy chairs enough; and a private alcove with a pissoir and a narrow privy chute opening down the cliffside.
Not all of the hostages were there. The Bishop of Brno, from the chief city of Kowel, had been conducted up when the others were taken down. Obviously, as a prince of the church, he was being accorded better accommodations than the others. The one person Duke Basile could not distain in this transaction was the pope in Rome.
They were left in private, with guards outside the sturdy, locked door; the food was plentiful enough and probably a bit better than the standard fare in the poorer Duchy of Kowel; and water was brought in weekly to fill the stone tub in the corner of the room where the hostages could bathe themselves. When they bathed they were provided clean clothes. At the first change of clothes, though, Jan lost his noble-class distinction from the rest of the hostages. They all were dressed as meanly as the peasants of the fields. Still, the handsome young duke's son wore his clothes well and stood out from the other, older men.
The conditions were not any worse, other than the confinement, than the hostages were accorded in Kowel, and they were all of the upper classes in their home environments, so they had no reason to complain as long as their confinement was short and Hainrich sent back the rest of the ransom promptly.
The priest, Slawek, visited as soon as the hostages had been settled, pulled young Jan aside, knowing that he was the son of a duke, and asked if there was anything the youth needed that would be permitted by the guards.
"I'm sure your stay here will be short. It need not be unpleasant." Even as the priest said it, though, it was clear from the tone of his voice that he didn't fully believe that himself.
Jan was not so sure on the shortness of the stay and he already could see that his lot might be boredom. None of the other hostages spoke much to him. Not only were they deferential because he was their duke's son, but also it was their duke who had placed them in this position and they were not feeling all that kindly to the ruling house of Kowel.
"We have dice for the others, but I am not much for such games. Would paper and pen be permissible?" Jan asked. "I would wish to assure my mother that I was doing well. And perhaps a lute, if there is one. I do receive comfort from music."
The priest noticed that the youth hadn't mentioned writing his father, which was further evidence that the two were not close. "I will see what I can do," he answered.
When he returned, it was to express regret that the young man would not be permitted paper and pen or any sort of communication with his family until the rest of the ransom was paid. "But I have brought this lute. Perhaps you could play it for me."
