Homelands
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 3
Prelude:
Prussia as a Kingdom was cut down to just the Prussian speaking regions. Three extra regions remained under its grip as vassals: Azowia, Finland, and the City of Cottbus (whose count was wary of Brandenburgian expansion). However, true control over these territories was limited, especially since Vishly's wounding. The King, who refused to allow a regent, continue to direct the affairs of the Kingdom in the ever shrinking time he was awake and well enough to do so. There weren't many people who could have effectively taken the position of regent. Many of his children at this point were very unattached to politics, seeing four of their brothers seemingly die because of it. Ziedás was the next choice, and speculation of the results of her reign range from "nothing" to the formation of a new dynasty under her. Regardless, Vishly maintained his rule with a weakening iron fist, stopping any attempt to usurp his power. But one thorn in his side was the Black Count, a renegade Fraternalist who terrorized the areas in and around the Principality of Galich. The Count, was in fact Doyvát Gunvaldsun, the exiled Prince of Estonia and a pretender for the Prussian throne. But Doyvát was sure that his father was still alive and therefore the only legitimate claimant to the throne. Few supported this notion, but as long as Doyvát was willing to fight for it, there were those who would be pulled toward him.
Prussia with its vassal states in 1350.
March 5th, 1350
Elfwynn waited on a balcony straining her ears to hear the faint clip-clop of hooves. The bumbling Count had made a significant error in trusting her, to think that she would suddenly just stop supporting her father and her King was a stretch to say the least. A trap well set, she thought. The evening sun dipped below the tree line, casting long shadows across the castle. The only sound were the rustling of peasants as they went about making dinner and finishing their work. On the horizon, just at the crest of a hill, an armored figure appeared. Draped by an orange sky, one could hardly make out its form, but Elfwynn recognized it as the Count. He stopped short of the castle and seemed to heft his shield.
"M'lady, why does he seemed prepared for battle?" a soldier asked, trying to remain unseen and unheard.
Elfwynn ignored him, trying to continue the ruse, "My dear, why do you come armored?" The Count did not answer, instead he continued his approach, slow and awkward. Elfwynn was not liking the situation, something was amiss. But the Count was here, it was his trademark armor and his blacked out shield. "Archers! Fire! Kill that man!" The archers stood up from their hiding spots and within a moment a horse was without a rider. The Count lie on the ground in a heap, arrows protruding in all directions. The Princess smiled, easy.
Her men ran up to the body. They were tentative at first but it was obvious that no one could have survived such a barrage. Elfwynn joined the group, kicking the body onto its back. She stooped down and pulled off the helmet. Inside was the gagged face of one of her guards. His eyes frozen in shock, blood dripping from his nose and through the rag in his mouth. Removing the armor showed his arms had been broken and tied behind his back and then stuffed into the armor. From a distance, Doyvát watched in satisfaction, he whistled to his horse and as it came by, jumped up onto the saddle, holding on by the pommel and gullet and pulling himself up. Elfwynn and her guards could only watch as Doyvát rode off with his horse, without so much as a taunting goodbye.
Back at his hut, Doyvát began to pack what he could. He'd move out and head northward, not by much, but enough to keep people searching for him. He'd need a new shield and a new suit of armor. It wasn't going to be cheap, but the Prince knew he could come up with the funds somehow. He was disappointed with how this all worked out, Elfwynn would have made a good ally as well as a good lover, but alas, he was once again on his own. After packing his few goods, and leaving things that were easily replaced, he loaded everything on his horse and walked alongside it, leading it away. The thought crossed his mind as he walked that he could move to Memelgrád and live as a homeless man, but he had little time for that kind of walk. Little time and even less food.
June 6th, 1350
Doyvát sat in the front parlor of a small merchant manor in Pinsk. Across his lap lie a new shield, and he tenderly went about painting it. "You know, master painter, these paints were very hard to procure. Blue is not common this far away from France," said the merchant's daughter.
"I know, and I thank you, very much," Doyvát said. With a piece of chalk he slowly drew the first of three lions, for he had come to believe that the Black Counts deeds would be useless unless they knew where his allegiance was. The daughter watched the Prince go about his task, her children running about at their feet.
"I have seen that shield before, it is from Estonia, is it not?"
"It is, it is the marker of the Prince of Estonia."
"God rest his soul," the daughter replied. She made the cross over her chest.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Didn't you hear? The Prince of Galich announced that the Prince of Estonia had been killed just a few months ago. You really have been lost in the woods," she laughed.She wandered away for a few minutes, stirring a pot of a sweet-smelling stew before returning, cleaning her hands in her apron. "King Gunvald and Prince Doyvát were heroes to many in Pinsk, it was such a sad day when the Monarchists retook the city, my father cried... my brother... he marched off with the Fraternalists... and we haven't seen him since. My... my father had said very little since my brother left... my husband runs most of the business now."
"I know how it can be, my father was a merchant too, in Æstlinn... simpler days, but that is mostly behind me now."
"Are you fleeing from the Monarchists?"
"I was, but now I am not certain if I must."
"With the Prince dead, you mean?"
"Yes," Doyvát said, looking up from his handywork.
"I am sorry to hear that, Pinsk can use a hero these days... we are punished with heavy taxes and embargos from the King... but we are lucky to be alive."
Doyvát nodded, indicating toward his sword, "Well, then all is well... for I am a hero seeking a home." Dipping a brush into the blue paste, he spread it across the shield, keeping to his chalk lines. He had named the three lions from personal heroes. The top one was Sviendorog, the middle Achilles, and the bottom Arminius.
The woman seemed to understand what Doyvát meant, piecing the puzzle back together, she smiled sheepishly and wandered away again. The Prince spent the rest of the day working on the shield, and when he finished it was well after dinner. His host brought him some dinner from the stew pot, placing it beside him and then taking a seat. Doyvát turned and faced the elderly man, "Good evening," he said.
"My son in law says that you are the Prince of Estonia... I believe him. I've seen you before, clad in fine steel and atop a marvelous steed. I've seen you in the city before its fall... I also watched as you fought even as other retreated. I've heard that you fought still after your father's death... and now even after your own... But what of my own son?"
"I am sorry, sir, but I do not know... for all I know he is alive and well, living on the coast. The army disbanded, it probably left him with little idea of where to go... if he did make it, that is."
"You are honest, even when it would be best to lie. For a man who should have little idea of the life of peasants, you seem to know more about it than even we do. You will not win anything fighting this insane one man war... I urge you, Prince, do not try. You will fail, and you will lose everything for more people than just yourself. There is a lodge of men here, they are called the Order of St. Stephen, they are a band of knightly men who once were Knights of Estonia. Now they live under a vow of poverty helping the poor and the sick. Seek them out. They will recognize their own, Doyvát."
"I will do just that, thank you." Doyvát watched the man walk off again, back to his bedroom where he spent all of his days. The Prince put a hand on the tattoo under his shirt. He remembered what it meant to be a Knight, to belong to something bigger than yourself. He thought of an idealistic boy running away from home to fight a war that he only partially understood. Dying on the battlefield leagues away from home and those who you fought for. But he didn't die alone, and he didn't die unloved. And it certainly wasn't in vain. For if you died for what you believe, no one can take it from you. It lasts forever. Someone had died for him to rule.