The Janissary

Chapter 12:  The Janissaries' Feast.

As he accompanied his three guests, the constable rattled on excitedly.  The news was good:  General Konchak had won another victory, he and his men had seized a garrison, they had returned to the sloboda bringing caches of weapons, ammunition, and gentlemen officer prisoners.

Now it was time to relax and celebrate, said the constable.  General Konchak was pleased to feast with his most trusted janissary cohorts.  "It is a great honor for you aristos to be invited," he informed Reiss pompously.

When the three guests entered the banquet hall, it was apparent that the celebratory feast had already started, and that their invitation was an afterthought.

The banquet table was laden with plates heaping with food.  There were numerous bottles of wine and beer.  Serving girls came and went continuously, bringing hot food and refilling glasses and mugs.

Konchak was seated at the head of the table; to his right sat Commander Marco.  Both janissary leaders had apparently already imbibed a substantial amount of wine.  Konchak was in a buoyant mood.  When he saw Reiss walk in, his eyes lit up, and he motioned to his guests to approach.  Quickly, more chairs were brought.

Konchak solicitously seated Reiss directly to his left.  To Reiss' left sat Jem; to Jem's left, Kenda.  The little serf girl's eyes shone brightly.

"Good tidings, Pan Tselatse!" Konchak greeted the young nobleman, as soon as the latter was seated and had food and drink placed in front of him.  Konchak then proceeded to relate the news from the capital.  After another parliamentary victory for the Middle Estate, the King had given up in despair and attempted to escape, with his family, in the middle of the night.  They had only made it as far as the Stodes Lakes.  Their recapture had sparked riots in Rym and eliminated whatever sympathy still remained for the monarchy among the middle classes.  Now all talk was of a republic.

Marco, who had been guzzling wine with grim determination the whole time Konchak was speaking to the aristo, abruptly lifted his head and called out drunkenly, “Brothers in the Corps!  Let's have a song or two."  He snapped his fingers.

As if by magic, musical instruments appeared:  a balalaika, an accordion, a harmonica, a whistle.  Several of the janissaries began to play and sing.  Reiss listened.  With his keen musical ear he was impressed by the high quality of the musicians.

The janissaries sang a few traditional Vlorat folk songs, some of which sounded vaguely familiar to Reiss.

Then a drunken voice shouted out:  "Play the Prince and the Falcon!"

"No, not that one," Konchak objected.

"Prince and Falcon!" janissary voices rang out, outvoting him.

The accordionist struck up a mournful tune.  Marco opened his mouth and began to sing, his voice a rich, surprisingly polished, baritone:

Swift flew the falcon,
High soared the falcon,
Down swooped the falcon,
The hare he seized in talons sharp,
Carried the hare to his young prince.

Other voices chimed in for the chorus:

Will you carve me a quiver with gold-tipped arrows plenty?
I will cut you a switch, and give you lashes twenty.
Will you sew me high boots, lined with fine sable?
I will tie a strong rope on a hook in the stable.
Will you give me your blessing and call me your son?
The crows will have your bright eyes before this day is done.

Marco then sang the second verse solo:

See the fine hare I have brought you.
With her fur you shall sew a tall cap.
My young prince shall be King,
His eyes will be stern as an eagle's,
A terror to all the gentry-folk.

After which the others joined in again with the chorus....

Reiss barely understood the sense of the words.  But he could see the sentimental effect the lyrics had on the drunken janissaries.  Some were weeping openly, gripped by self-pity.  Even Konchak was moved to chime in during the chorus, his voice a reedy vibrato, unusual but not unpleasing.

The song continued for several verses.  After the third or fourth verse, Reiss began to understand the meaning of the poem.  The janissaries were singing of their own imminent torture and death.  He felt a chill go through him.  But he gulped down more wine, and the moment passed.  It was only a song, after all….