Homelands
Chapter Twenty Four: Call to War
Part 3
Prelude:
Marriages in medieval Europe led to more than just forgotten sons and daughters running around causing havoc. Sometimes it led to a transfer of power between families in surprising ways. In 1227 Sigeric of Hwicce, the son of Aethelmaer of Hwicce, the son of Osric of Hwicce, the son of Eadbert King of Prussia, became the Emperor of the Roman Empire and the head of the First House of Hwicce-Palaelogus. His coronation took place in Constantinople and attracted diplomats from around Europe, including both Muslims and Christians. It was during this distraction that Serlo made his bid to become the sole Prince of the Azowians. After the Norman settling of the region there were four Azowian Princes: Azow, Taurica, Crimea and Wolga. Of the four three were vassals of the Prussian King, one (the Prince of Taurica) was a vassal of the Roman Emperor. In 1226 Serlo upset the balance by invading and annexing Alania. Now he had twice as much land and manpower as the others. But he also had Royal favor. Serlo was content with ruling all the Princedoms, but not of overthrowing Karnak or the Kingdom. Instead, Karnak was taken in by the romantic image of life as a Cossack. He trusted Serlo to defend the border and promoted him to the rank of "Sich" (a corruption of a Ruthenian word mean to "chop" but referring to the borders of different feudal entities). This meant Serlo was the senior ranking Prince and the envy of his neighbors.
May 12th, 1227
Four men met in Taurica, known as a middle-ground to the Azowians. Serlo Dormandy, Sich of Zaporozhia; S'vester Windor, Prince of Taurica; Villim Decomins, Prince of Wolga; and Simon Plantegenat, Prince of Crimea. The four men sat alone at a table, wearing only a loincloth to prove they were unarmed. Simon was the youngest at 16, S'vester the oldest at 40. Serlo was in the middle, not quite twenty years of age at the time. "This is horse shit, Serlo! A breaking of tradition!" Villim said. He glared across the table at Serlo who instead just smirked.
The Azowian Princes: Azow in Blue, Crimea in Green, Taurica in Purple, Wolga in Gold.
"Bah! You are just mad because I beat you too it. Your family thought that they were getting rid of Dormandies by giving us Azow, the border Mark, now who is laughing?!" Serlo said.
"We want you to turn down the title Sich! We should be allowed to elect our Sich ourselves, the King be damned!" Simon said, "What you say to that you damned Dormandy?!"
Serlo nodded, his mind at work, "I can agree... on one condition..."
Everyone took a deep breath, but S'vester asked, "And what is your condition?"
"We should settle this as Azowians, in battle! What do you say to that, brothers?!" The other three looked at each other, but Serlo continued, "And no scheming, each has two months to call up an army of their own soldiers, tried and true Azowian sons and lead them to the fort at Zaporozhia where we shall lead our soldiers into the fight in the field to the south. Winner gets the title Sich."
"I agree!" Simon shouted. His region was the second richest, and its border on Prussia proper meant it was easy to get mercenaries.
"Okay, but no mercs Simon... only fresh sons of Azowia," Serlo said. Simon sweated a little but remained firm to his agreement.
"I am ineligible anyways, so I won't bother," S'vester said looking then toward Villim who was now the center of attention.
"I am out, Wolga is too poor and we still have to deal with Mordvia." Villim sat back to watch Serlo's reaction. Serlo's face remained calm and collected, they were playing into his hand, simple as that.
"Then it is settled, gentlemen, we'll all meet up again in Zaporozhia with our Hosts," Serlo said. He stood up and dismissed himself, it was a dangerous gamble, but one that was necessary to guarantee his standing with the King and with his Host, especially after Drogo's tragic drowning. "I will see you in two month's time, then."
Outside Oleksander waited for his Prince when Serlo stepped out, the large cossack handed him his shirt, "Vet. Did everything go as planned, Sich?"
"Yes, Oleksander, lambs to slaughter, lambs to slaughter. Now, we ride hard back home... in two months I shall be confirmed Sich of the Cossacks, and Simon's realm shall be part of my own."
July 14th, 1227
"You are late, Simon Windor," Serlo said as the sun set behind him. "At this hour we shall have to wait until tomorrow to continue our deal. That is two months and three days; you should have paid attention to when the monks taught you to count."
"Sorry, Serlo, I missed those lessons to spend fifteen minutes longer on a horse." Serlo shrugged and the insult.
"So how many men did you find brave enough to come here?" Serlo asked.
"Six hundred! How about you, old man?"
"I am not saying. Just because you are stupid enough to tell your enemy your numbers doesn't mean I am," Serlo said. Behind him Oleksander chuckled. He patted Serlo on the shoulder in support and then made a scary at Simon.
"Who is he?"
"My lieutenant, Oleksander, he carries my standard into tomorrow's battle."
"Good, I'll know where to find it then," Simon said as a last laugh before leaving. Oleksander chuckled lowly.
"Not likely, Sich."
The next day, with the sun young in the sky, Simon's six hundred faced off with Serlo's two hundred crack veterans. Simon almost laughed, but far away a trumpet blew and he saw Serlo's horse leap forward in front of his men. The majestic brown stallion bounded forward with Serlo yelling his war cry, and then when he was about twenty feet a head the rest of his Host added their voices to the cry and the all began to charge forward. Oleksander was thirty feet to Serlo's right, carrying a massive red banner. Simon's Cossacks laughed, but their laughter was brief as they were green soldiers, and numbers only meant so much.
Serlo's Gamble, a painting from the XVII Century depicting Serlo's charge against Simon.
"Men of Crimea charge!" Simon shouted, he tried to mirror Serlo, but his own bravery was waivering. The story of the battle outside of Zaporozhia was one that would be told for centuries. But for Simon's descendents it was a sad, sad story. A day of defeat. For that day Serlo proved, once again, his might and power in battle.
