Part 10:
The Ruler of the Blood
Now, the inheritance was passed to the most able of king Rörek's sons. His fourth son Håkon had served as marshal of the royal hird for a decade. Håkon had proved himself to be a skillful tactician with a natural aptitude for war and battle.
More importantly, he held a special hatred for Christians in his heart.
----
Krakow, fall of 1135
THUMP.
"My king, we cannot hold them!"
THUMP!
The king did not answer. He semed to have retreated into one of his long reveries of times past. With his narrow head tilted slightly to the side he stared off into space and seemed oblivious of what his latest marshal was telling him.
THUMP!
"My king!" This time, the growing desperation of the marshal's voice and the booming strikes were accompanied by the weak groan of wood giving way.
"How did it come to this" Domawuj of Piast asked himself.
"It was all so clear when I was young." It drifted into view now. The
Sabellianist priest and how they all had believed in a spiritual awakening. The joy at bringing heathen prussians into the clear light of God. The armies of the Lord ever marching forward. And now... this.
THUMP!
One of the wooden beams propped up against the large wooden gate of this, the last keep of the Piasts, slowly slid down and fell to the stone floor with a thud.
"It must be enough. Please, Lord, let it be enough. No more."
---
On horseback through Masuria, late autumn 1135
"Father, I don't understand," said the youngest of the three men who were riding near the front of the column. "Why didn't we just put his head on a pike along with his family and take his lands?" Erdenis had always been a bit slow to keep up with quick events. His sun-burned face was wrinkled in deep thought, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "We had him. Their armies were gone."
Both Håkons, the older and the younger, sighed. "Oh come on, sword-for-brains!" blurted the older brother. "You can't beat the crap out of everything you see and call that being a King!"
Erdenis smiled. He never took the insults of his brother seriously. "But we fought this war to beat them, right? Grandfather said we needed to neuter the Poles now, or..."
"And so we did", his father answered. "As you said, they have nothing left. We subjugated practically everything outside of arm's reach of Domawuj, their lands are burned, their armies devastated. They won't be a threat for years to come."
More or less accurate map of the fate of the Polish realm. Small dots: Wend tribes. Slanted linesolish vassals sworn to the Skilfing. Big dots: Skilfing cadet branch vassal. White: Under the rule of king Domawuj.
"But why didn't we just take..." Erdenis went on.
"Because we can't hold it." Håkon the younger interrupted. "Right, father?"
"We only won because we forced those
Polish magnates to fight on our side. The moment they think they have more to gain by defecting they will do so. The good news is, they will probably spend the next two generations fighting over who will be the next king of Poland." He sighed. "I spoke to your grandfather about this at some length."
King Håkon fell silent as they rode on. Erdenis opened his mouth to speak, but a quick jab in the side from his brother made him close it again. Behind them they could hear the sound of marching feet as the Helsingians, Westrogothians and the rest of the Scandinavian leidang were marching home.
"You boys need to learn to see the big picture. It wasn't just that it would be hard to hold those lands. If Domawuj hadn't been such an ass, or if he had convinced the Magyars to help him, or if he had managed to hold us off for a few months more... we might not have won." He let the words sink in for a few moments.
"You don't know it, but we've been losing troops for months. Back home, the Telemarkers have revolted. Again. Up in
Tavastia, there's a rebellion going on. Doubtless, there will be more. On the road to Rus, one of the Rurikoviches is now blocking the road from the east. We had to end the war before everything fell to pieces." The brothers looked at each other.
"Which is why you are not coming home with me."
"What?" both brothers said simultaneously, for once united.
"I need to have people in charge whom I can trust, and you need to learn how to control this realm. Erdenis, you will stay in
Aukštaitija. You speak the language better than any of us. As soon as we get there, we will throw out that idiot your grandfather left in control of the Lithuanians and put you in charge."
"And I?" Håkon the younger asked.
"You will accompany me to Finland, crush the rebellion, and be my loyal Jarl of Finland." Håkon the older smiled.
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And so it was that the event later generations would call
"The Rule of Blood" took place not in a well-lit throne room nor in front of a great ancestral burial mound (both popular depictions in a later age), but on horseback riding through a muddy forest.
----
King Håkon had been right. More rebellions followed, and for a short time it looked as if the realm would not stabilize for years.
As predicted, the magnates began to rebel as soon as the main skilfing armies were out of the region. However, king Håkon had kept control over most of the Polish troops and used them to march around the countryside, killing rebels as they went.
Eventually, his decision to leave Poland and maintain domestic order proved wise. In 1138, the Swedish realm settled to an uneasy peace. For the time being.