Homelands
Chapter Thirty Eight: Family Tree
Part 5
Prelude:
Butovit's death left many in Vishly's court suspicious and worried. Some went as far as demanding Vishly end his war with Gunvald. However, those nobles didn't last very long. Vishly became more fanatical about ending the war. His demands fell squarely on Vilhelms, who now saw what his elder brothers had both seen and known. He found his father distant, prone to violent outbursts, and hate-filled. Vishly never really spoke with people, he spoke to people. Everything was one sided, even Ziedás was marginalized. She sat off in a corner, unmoving, being fed by several assistants who occasionally moved her. The young Prince, however, took to his new posts with a gusto. He was determined to prove himself to his father (who didn't love him), his mother (who didn't notice him) and the nobility (who didn't want him). All this fueled his ever increasing anger and madness. But unlike Vishly and Butovit's controlled and smoldering madness, Vilhelms was prone to outbreaks at the drop of a hat. He was a loose cannon, often winning pyrrhic victories due to his brutish battle tactics. His victories achieved usually only through massive numerical advantages. His first assignment was to pacify Sambigrád, where sailors had staged a mutiny which boiled over into an all-out revolt. This revolt was the first of many due in part to Vilhelms' brutality. The Prince soon found himself holding the distinction of the most hated man in the Empire, second only to his father who had let loose such a monster.
September 25th, 1347
Gunvald had left the front briefly to work on pressing political matters at his capital. His so-called allies were quick to leave him behind in their own quest for independence. They saw little concern for Prussia itself, only for their own fortunes. "So much for Fraternal loyalty," Gunvald said to Viba. He looked at his map and slowly hashed Wallachia off. "My father is quick to give peace to many, and these people abandon me. They use his grudge against me to their own advantage. Soon it shall be only me and my father at war."
"We cannot win that war, Gunvald."
"I know that. We need to get more support from within my father's court. We need to get the people to revolt, like Sambigrád and Dánzik. We need a revolt so that my father will lessen the pressure on our fronts so we can better fight. I need more armies!"
"Well, then not all is lost, father," Doyvát entered the room, he was dressed in his knightly finery, having just ridden across the breadth of Prussia. "I return from Poland and Ducal Kiev, and I bear some good news," the Prince said with a deep bow.
"And what would that be?" Gunvald asked.
"Your revolts have started. Opole, Krákográd, Pinsk, Kiev and Chernigrád are all in revolt as we speak. It seems your younger brother, Vilhelms, has his work cut out for him. The Count of Lviv and the Prince of Silesia have both decided to remove their support from Vishly and their banners are now yours!" Doyvát said.
"O thank the heavens! How many men do they bring with them?
"A total far short of a total victory, but 50,000 men total is 50,000 more men for us. That should be enough to at least distract Vilhelms." Doyvát took a deep bow, his training with the knights of old was very obvious, but Gunvald saw him as a bright, friendly option to the other military commanders. Just having Doyvát around was a point in favor for Gunvald. His son had quite a following for his exploits, which included defeating a regiment of Death Knights by challenging them to a drinking game.
"As always, my lord, a pleasure to serve and protect." Doyvát laughed and then put his hat back on, "And now, I return to the front... we have a war to win father!"
August 22nd, 1977
Bendiks and Isabel exited a movie theater with throngs of other movie-goers. The two had decided, on Isabel's urging, to avoid her mother as much as possible. Bendiks did not need any more convincing than that. The movie had been the same movies Bendiks saw when he left Prussia to travel to California. Boy is a servant, boy joins rebellion, boy becomes great hero, boy dies but saves the workers of Prussia. Only now, instead of a boy dying defending his home in the fields of Poland he died defending the poor Romans from the evils of Imperialism and Fascism and Capitalism. How lucky those Romans were. In Rome and the other Communist countries such films were mandatory viewing. The fatherly Prussians had to remind their flock of the sacrifices made in the Patriotic War so that they could be free of monarchs and free to enjoy Communism.
The Flag of the Republic of California. California was know for its staunch anti-communist ideology and being a hotbed of fascism between 1920 and 1990.
"So what was California like... I mean... socially... what are the people like?" Isabel asked.
"Well... it isn't very different from here... but it is very different at the same time. They have all the same problems, just for different reasons. See, in California, they don't lie to the hungry. The rich keep the food, but they admit it, while here we get lied to. Also in California it is much harder to become a party member..."
"Why is that, don't they just have a few tests like here?"
"Yeah, but it is harder to pass those tests... because instead of reciting the pledge and reading a few books... they check your ancestry. If you are red, or part red, or your grandmother was friends with a red you are rejected."
"Red? Like us?"
"No, sorry... Native Californians, they are called 'reds' because of their skin. So Whites rule everything, and White Orthodox Christians are on the top, followed by White Christians, Jews and White Muslims, and then Half-Breeds, then Red Christians, then Red Pagans."
"Wow... and they say we are bad... at least you can be Jewish in Prussia..."
"Barely, but the natives in California have very little. So all the good land is owned by whites, and the major cities are white-only.... but whites are only about ten percent of the population. The rest lives in reservations inland, especially in the deserts in the south. But they are strong. They refuse to speak the official languages, they refuse to worship the official God... they are very inspirational."
"So that is why you emulate their music?"
"Yeah... I guess..."
"Did you go anywhere else?"
"Not really... stopped in France on my way out there. I only saw the inside of the airport."
"Did you go through Lyon?"
"No, just crummy Paris."
"Aw, that is too bad... the capital is supposed to be absolutely beautiful! It is where all the famous rebels stay. The safe house of the down trotted, the non-believers and non-conformists... all the pretty arches and buildings..." Isabel drifted off into a mental image of the warm Lyonnais streets, the people bustling between coffee houses and public forums. An artist stands, painting a young couple in love under the Victory Arches. A city where French, Breton and Vasque are all spoken together, no one beating out the others.
"You want out pretty bad, huh?"
"No... yes... well... maybe... I don't speak anything but Prussian, and I love Prussia... I just..."
"Don't love the government?"
"Yeah..."
End Chapter Thirty Eight