Episode XXX: Inglorious BasTverds
Konstantin III, Prince-Bishop of Tver, sat down at his gilded dining table. Dinner would be served within minutes , or there would be trouble. The Prince-Bishop was a sensitive soul, and could not bear to watch a man being beaten.
Unless, that is, he was doing the beating himself.
He felt relaxed, pleased with himself. He turned in his chair to see the man who lurked behind it. And smiled.
‘A fine day’s work, my friend.’
His companion nodded his head, a fiendish grin splitting his features.
‘A verrrry fine day’s work, my Prince. Very fine, very fine,
carrramba.’
The man’s name – that he was known by in the court of Tver, that is – was Mysterious Don Pedro. He was small, angular and shifty. If the King of the Rats had been magically transformed into a human body, he would probably not have looked dissimilar to Mysterious Don Pedro. Having attached himself to the Prince several years previously, much in the way that a moth gravitates towards expensive woollen garments, he had become the young Bishop’s most trusted advisor. While Konstantin had been eager to dispose of the loyal Dobczyński’s services, it was Don Pedro who had encouraged him to make the final step. The Scots-Polish warrior was a mere soldier, a relic of a bygone era. His father may have
decorated Tver, but he had been too liberal, failing to enrich its coffers or to enforce religious discipline. It was time for change.
‘It is wonderful to be free of them. My misguided father and his filthy lapdog.’
‘Truly, my Prrrrince, they were not worthy of your rrrradiant prrrresence.’
‘No...no they weren’t. I like that line. Reproduce it for my personal newsletter.’
‘
Carrrramba.’
‘So. The map. Oh, father, what a mess you have left me with.’
‘A mighty rrrrealm, my Prince.’
‘True, Don Pedro. My house has built this great nation. And it is time for me to make it even greater.’
‘A good start has been made, my Prince. The Goverrrrnor of Smoleńsk reports record agricultural prrrrroduction, population growth and tax income.’
‘Excellent. The people require bread and circuses. We have provided bread. Now for the circuses.’
‘Before that, my Prrrince, there is trrrrouble in Murrrrom.’
‘But we are at peace with Kazakh.’
‘Yes, my Prrrince, but the governor of Murom is not.’
‘Idiot. We will wait until we are at war with Kazakh again, and remove them from the map of Europe once and for all.’
‘Yes, my Prrrrince.’
‘Until then, have the governor of Murom burned at the stake.’
‘Cerrrrtainly, my prince. I have better news also, though. Admiral Rrrrrezhentnikov rrrreports an advance in naval technology.’
‘What can we do now?’
‘He spent time in Scotland, my Prrrrince, observing youths standing outside shops drinking alcohol. He believes that the same tactics can be utilised by a navy to enrich our treasury.’
‘A genius. Promote him.’
‘He is already an Admiral, my Prrrrince.’
‘Oh. Then have him executed. ‘
‘Burning?’
‘No, decapitation for a change. Can’t let success go to his head.’
‘At once, my Prrrrince. And dinner will be served in twenty minutes.’
‘I will go in five, and have the maid executed for tardiness. Keep the rest of them on their toes.’
‘Yes, my Prrrrince. More burning?’
‘For her? Certainly. Show her what a roast should look like.’ Konstantin stretched, leaning back in his chair. ‘Until then, I am satisfied. The Hordes are barely a threat to us. Our true rivals are the Hungarians and the Ottomans.’
‘Yes, my Prrrrince. But your armies are not ready to fight them yet.’
‘Oh, I think they are! With myself at their head, how can they fail?’
‘Never, my Prrrrince...but I still would advise caution.’
‘Nonsense, Don Pedro. Caution is not the way of the righteous! I am empowered, inspired with a righteous mission to remove these heathens and heretics from the rightful territory of Tver!’
‘Yyyes, sir?’
‘Excellent. I will begin drawing up plans for war with Hungary this evening. Oh, and Don Pedro?’
‘Yes, my Prrrince?’
‘Go to the Prime Minister of Ryazan. Tell him that I expect his pitiful realm to be fully integrated into Tver. I have had enough of waiting.’
‘I will ask him, sir.’
‘Convince him, Don Pedro. I will have him burned otherwise.’ Konstantin smiled a disturbing smile. ‘Any problem can be solved with fire, Don Pedro. My motto! Remember it!’
‘I will rrrremember, My Prince. I will rrrremember.’
‘Very well. I will dine now, then bathe. After you’ve seen the Ryazanians, have my worthless sister prepare my bath. Find a good use for her.’
‘Yes, sir. Aromatic?’
‘Oh, I think so Don Pedro. I’ve earned a little luxury.’
‘A hot roast and a hot bath, sir. Easily done.’
‘Good man, Don Pedro. See to it.’
An hour later, well-dined, watered and de-staffed, the Prince-Bishop of Tver retired to the royal spa. The spa had been created during the reign of Aleksandr II for relaxation and exercise (though the bears – descendants of Aleksandr II’s wrestling partners - were neglected and malnourished: Konstantin had no love for animals), and constained numerous baths and saunas. Konstantin went over to his private bathtab in a side room, where on Pedro was waiting. His retainer handed hima towel, which Konstantin draped over the bath’s edge, and the Prince-Bishop slid himself into the bath. The water was thick and aromatic, the tub surrounded with burning candlesticks that provided light and extra heat.
‘This is the life, Don Pedro.’
‘Comfortable, my Prrrince?’
‘Hmm. When you’ve spent the whole day sorting out a country, Don Pedro...well, of course, service has its benefits! Reforming my father’s wasteful policies and patronages, guiding my dear people back to the path of righteousness...but after a long day, a hot bath is to die for.’
‘Excellent, my Prrrrince. And I can make your day even better.’
‘Oh? You spoke to the Prime Minister?’
‘Yes, my Prrrince. He agrrrrees with your assessment. He will dissolve the parliament of Rrrryazan, and its lands will be administered by Tverrrr.’
‘Wonderful!’
‘On one...minor condition.’
Konstantin looked at his advisor. ‘A condition?’
‘Yes, my Prrrrince?’
‘The impudent...what was his condition.’
‘Well, my Prrrrince...on the condition that you resign as Prince.’
‘
What? Konstantin leapt to his feet, the thick, aromatic bathwater resisting the movement. ‘I will have him burned for this! Slowly! And painfully!’
‘I had thought, sir, that this would be your reaction.’
‘What did you expect?’
Another voice spoke from outside the door.
‘I expect you to act for the good of Tver, Konni.’
The Prince-Bishop turned towards the door as Princess Aleksandra entered. He rapidly sat down, splashing warm liquid onto the bathroom tiles.
‘Aleksandra! You shouldn’t be here, get out you stupid bitch!’
‘I won’t be long, Konni.’ She smiled.
‘I don’t care how long you will be, I wish to have my ba...’ He looked at her, curiosity momentarily overcoming his anger. ‘But what did you mean, for the good of Tver?’
‘The Ryazanians will fully integrate their country into Tver, Konni – if I replace you as Prince.’
Konstantin laughed, harsh and cruel. ‘You? Replace me as Prince?’
‘Why not? I’m far more capable than you will ever be.’
‘Capable? I don’t care about your so-called capabilities, I don’t care what the Ryazanian bastards want, I am the Prince of Tver! I, Aleksandra, not you, and I swear that you will take my crown over my dead body.’
‘You’re learning, Konstantin. You’ve mastered feudal succession theory.’
‘Leave me alone, you treacherous harpy! Don Pedro, escort my sister out of here!’
Don Pedro smiled. ‘Ah...a problem, my Prrrrince.’
‘What? What problem?’
‘Well, my Prrrrince...I agree with your sister.’
Konstantin stared. ‘You agree...how dare you! I made you, you snivelling wretch!’
‘Ah, you did, my Prrrrince, and I thank you for it. But the Princess’ accession is for the good of your countrrrry.’
'When did you start caring about the
good of
my country?'
'I am but a humble servant of Tverrrr, my Prince.'
‘I do not give a fig for Tver! I am going to finish my bath, and then I am going to have both of you charged with treason! You dare try to undermine me, Don Pedro, you ungrateful swine! You should be preserving me!’
‘I am prrrreserving you, my Prrrrince. I have been prrrreserving you for the last ten minutes.’
Konstantin arched an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘The bath, my Prrrrince. You did not wonder at its...texture and arrrroma?’
The Prince ran his hand through the water. Still thick, slow and sluggish.
‘What...what have you...’
‘A radical skin treatment, sir.’ Don Pedro grinned.
‘
Embalming fluid.’
Konstantin stared at the liquid that surrounded him.
‘Why...why embalming fluid?’
‘It’s very versatile useful, Konni.’ Aleksandra walked forwards, Konstantin retreating further into the bath. ‘Good for embalming, but also...’ She grinned ‘very flammable.’
The Princess picked up one of the candles. Don Pedro did the same. Realisation dawned.
‘No, you can’t...you mustn’t...you wouldn’t...’ Konstantin scrabbled back. ‘Guards! Guards! Dobczyńśki! DOBCZYŃSKI!’
‘Over the hills and far away, my Prrrrince.’ Don Pedro’s eyes sparkled with glee. ‘Why did you think I wanted rid of him?’
‘No, Don Pedro, you can’t...’
‘What is the Prince’s motto, Don Pedro?’ asked Aleksandra, playfully.
‘His motto, my Princess? Why yes. “Any problem can be solved with fire...”’
'What will they say of him, my Princess?'
'Of Konstantin?' Aleksandra I Rurikovich, Prince of Tver, smiled once again. 'I think that history will remember my brother...
warmly...'