Episode XXVIII: Ars GraTvera Artis
It had been a long day for Seamus Arkadius Dobczyński, right-hand man to Mikhael III Rurikovich, Prince of Tver, Ryazan and Murom, Regent of Muscowy.
The day, though, had been a great one.
The Nogai had been defeated once again, their armies removed from the principality’s territory with fire and sword. Prince Mikhael had congratulated him on this latest victory. A great statue of Dobczyński was to be built in the main square of Tver, along with those of other mighty warriors.
The rise of Tver, though, had brought the Principality to the attention of other mighty nations. The Sultan in Istanbul looked upon the growing Russian state greedily, and sought an excuse to fight the Tverians.
Prince Mikhael’s response was, as usual, artistic: the statue’s similarity to the Sultan was striking. The activity in which the statue was engaged was rather anatomically challenging, and illegal in most countries with even vaguely developed animal rights laws, but it got the message across.
The Tverian army was assembled at the southern border, and war was declared on the small state of Zaporozhia. The Cossacks had to be removed from the map, and fast, lest the Guild of Cartographers go on strike.
The result was never in doubt. While Zaporozhia had her theoretical allies, most were in unmapped parts of Asia, far too far away to stave off Tver’s acquisition of their territory.
The Kazakh Horde, though, was proving more problematic. One of their forces managed to force the Tverian eastern army into retreat, losing control of the Ufa province in the process.
Meanwhile, the colonisation of the Golden Horde continued, with Bogutjar the latest target.
With Cherkassk taken, the leaders of Zaporozhia surrendered unconditionally, and the province was brought under Tver’s administration.
Prince Mikhael had a plan. His son, Archbishop Konstantin, was proving more troublesome than ever. Here was an excuse to get the young man out from under his feet. He appointed him Bishop-Duke of Cherkassk, with responsibility for overseeing the Tverification of the former Tartar province, and its conversion to the true faith.
Dobczyński was unsure as to the wisdom of this plan. Konstantin was heir to the throne with many powerful friends in Tver’s government. Mikhael waved away his objections.
‘Some time in the provinces will do him good, Dobczyński! Get him some outside experience. I can’t make an artist of him, so I will inflict his dogmatism on someone else.’
‘You disapprove of his piety, sir?’
Mikhael sighed. ‘No, Dobczyński. Not his piety. But he does not appreciate
beauty. He has no time for the aesthetic, the sublime. This is as much a part of Christianity, Dobczyński, as his hellfire and brimstone! Religion should inspire, not condemn! Maybe some time spent amongst the heathen will change him.’
Dobczyński was unsure that it would work, but the young Prince was surprisingly agreeable to the idea, and set off within the week.
Five months later, a rider came to Tver from the Bishop-Duke. While the majority of the population were, as yet, unconverted to Christianity, he had managed to at least establish order – and he believed that Mikhael would approve of his changes to the city’s decorations.. He had thought upon his father’s words, and decided to try sponsoring local artists, to try and beautify the town centre, with some success. Would Mikhael come to visit?
Mikhael agreed. He found it hard to believe that his son had suddenly become a patron of the arts, but he had to entertain the possibility. He was not a bad young man, after all, merely...misguided. Perhaps the provinces had opened his mind. Mikhael, along with Dobczyński and his personal guard, made the road trip south to Cherkassk province.
The Bishop-Duke greeted his father in the town square, and bade him come with him to the newest work of art, one that he was sure his father would approve of.
Mikhael nodded.
‘Dobczyński, you and the guard will remain here.’
Dobczyński frowned.
‘Are you sure, sir?’
‘I wish to spend some time with my son. The province is under control, is it not Konsatntin?’
Konstantin nodded eagerly.
‘Yes, father. Absolutely! Completely under my control.’
‘You see, Dobczyński? What could possibly go wrong?’ He turned to Konstantin. ‘Show me what you have been patronising. This sounds interesting.’
Konstantin took his father to the north side of the great town square.
‘I chose the north side, father, so that it pointed towards Tver.’
Mikhael was impressed.
‘A fine piece of work, son! A local artist?’
‘No, father. Most of the work here is...’ He gestured around the square, which was full of new statues, a couple of fountains, a half-completed new town hall ‘but I remembered what you said about the Italian sculptor Bartollini. I convinced him to execute this one for you.’
‘I thought I recognised the quality.’ Mikhael smiled. ‘Well done, son.’
‘I am glad that you approve, father. If you had not liked it, I would have been...’
‘...
crushed.’