A Year and Two Months: The Epic of Serbia
Consisting of One Year, Two Months, Three Weeks and Three Days of unparalleled drama! excitement! epic battles! intrigue! love and betrayal!(*)
Consisting of One Year, Two Months, Three Weeks and Three Days of unparalleled drama! excitement! epic battles! intrigue! love and betrayal!(*)
Part One.
Setting the scene, perversity, and war.
Scene: Smederevo fortress, Central Serbia.
Anno Domini MCDLIII
Đurađ Branković sat atop his throne whistling tunelessly whilst he watched his courtiers busying themselves with their courtierying or whatever it was they did. Some minstrels in the corner aimlessly strummed their instruments, although their efforts were rather pointless as the noise levels inside the hall were getting increasingly louder. Loud enough to interrupt Đurađ's aimless ponderings and a rather detailed examination of a well endowed courtier, daughter of some minor land owner or somesuch. He was annoyed.
“Silence! What is with all of this sudden noise? A Despot does need his quiet, inner reflection time you know!” He shouted, standing up. (His 'inner reflections' mostly consisted of intently examining the daughter of aforementioned local landed noble. 'Wow', would of been one word Đurađ may have used to describe her. There were plenty of other words and sentences and wild fantasies he could of used, but alas, I'm afraid that they rather transcend the boundaries of good taste. Plus his wife, Eirene Kantakouzene, would of had a headfit!)
“My most sincere apologies my most gracious lord, despot of all Rascia, most honoured Stefan, King of all Serbs, Bosnia, Dalmatia, Croatia, and the outlying Coastlands, despotes, knight of the order of the Dragon...” the messenger, prostrated before Đurađ continued his grovelling whilst a bemused crowd spectated.
“Yes, yes...” Đurađ waved his hand at the messenger, “get on with it boy!”
“Yes my most honourable and kind King!” The messenger said to Đurađ's feet. “My liege, I have rode straight from the southern borders without rest, as fast as I could to inform you that Mehmed II has completed his siege of Constantinople, the Empire is no more! And now has crossed into our lands. He is riding with his heathen host, ten thousand strong and heading towards your fine castle!”
The room went silent, well aside from the minstrels, who weren't really paying attention to begin with, but who soon realised the sudden change in atmosphere with the aid of a goblet that was flung at the head of the leader of the troupe. The goblet clanged around the stone floor making quite a racket which was a handy way to underline the nature of the seriousness of this silence.
Deadly.
Infact it was so silent one could of heard a mouse scampering along. (Well that is if it wasn't for Đurađ's rather severe musophobia which resulted in the mouse and rat population of the Castle, and surrounding lands being reduced quite heavily after the breeding and employment of an army of a thousand cats which did lead to certain unexpected side results such as a massive decline in the local weaving and knitting trades due to the mysterious disappearances of any balls of wool left lying around, and the smell of old cat fæces was also rather unpleasant and quite a common complaint. It tended to crop up everywhere: especially behind the sofa.)
The silence was suddenly broken by the rather shocked despot:
“Oh shit.”
Some Images for your consideration
Image the First:
Serbia, and her surrounding environs consisting of: article a) The Balkans and more importantly article b) The Ottoman Empire who is at war with; article c) Serbia, being the unfortunate protagonist of this tale.
Image the Second:
"Oh shit." Indeed.
Image the Third (bonus content)
Đurađ Branković. He'll die soon.
(*)Note: May or may not contain any of the items referred to in the above subtitle. Kurek may not be held liable for any personal injury incured whilst reading this AAR.
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