Chapter II (continued)
When the Thunder Spoke and Fell Silent
During the time from Spring 1190 to late Fall 1190, the King’s eyes oft looked to the neighbouring Principality of Galich. While the monarch busied himself in the North, putting down rebellions and acquiring new lands, the prospective vassal – Kazimierz still could not conceive of that Principality differently – had begun a war against some of the tribes under the powerful rule of Koza, High Chief of Cumans – the Chiefdoms of Peresechen, Belgorod, Pereyeslavl and – the most powerful in this conflict – the Chiefdom of Kuban. Vladimir Rurikovich’s forces were extremely successful in their initial battles, pushing the Cuman vassals out of their lands. This was something to be closely watched by the King, for should Vladimir grow too powerful, it would be certain that he would never accept a vassalisation offer. Well, claimed King’s Chancellor, Katarzyna Bogoria (who, although very young in years, was extremely talented and enthrallingly charming), they would never accept anyway. Vladimir looked to the rest of his dynasty and would not stain his honour by submitting to a foreign power.
It was when the Summer was in its prime, when Krzeslaw Poraj – the itinerant bishop, who had arrived during the war against Lithuanians and who since some time had been the royal Marshal, rather than the diocese bishop – came and asked to marry the old spinster Eufrozyna Piast, who was a nearly forgotten distant relative of the King. It was something to what the King could give his blessing, though with some doubt. Eufrozyna moved out of her old chambers, which would be more appropriate in a cloister, and joined Krzeslaw. They moved to a new house situated near the outer city walls.
The King stooped in his chair, well fed with the aptly prepared dinner, and raised his chalice close to the face. He could see a ruby reflection of his face, as if awash with blood, in a precious stone struck into the side of the chalice. What did the world come to? Christian leaders move entire Kingdoms to war over toll profits from a royal tract – thought the King, still recalling the war between Heinrich von Hochenstaufen and the Italian king – bishops come from Rome are lustful and doubting bastards – still thought the King. The chalice was tipped in royal hands. A sudden smell of decay came in through the open windows. The King thought of a rotten apple he found earlier in the day, lying on a cushion of dew-sprinkled grass. The apple was brown and soft in touch. This… this made the King think of the Duke of Pomerania, Boleslaw Gryfita. Had he not compared the man to a rotten apple once?
Oh, Lord in Heaven, where art thou, when thy servants go astray? Behold your Church, what did it come to? Wouldst not tell the Pope to waif the celibate?
But who am I to judge. I’ve no right to throw stones, for I promised peace, I gave war; I promised prosperity, I led the treasury to debt. The cause was just, yes. Were we sincere enough in our cause to redeem us? Lord, forgive me if I went wrong, but you know my intentions were pure.
The windows had been shut, to contain the awful smell outside.
Summer was coming to its end and storms were thundering above Wawel daily. The torrential rain was a blessing at first, washing away the filth of man, but the longer it continued, the grimmer everybody in court grew. Grain could be spoiled if this was to continue and the courtiers became mightily bored with their confinement to the castle chambers. There were still hopes for some wonderful horse rides and festivities in the open air.
During this rainy season, Kazimierz funded a mission of choice villans, hand-picked by his spy master, to the Principality of Pskov. They were to harass the law-keepers there and run criminal enterprises.
September came and the rains were lifted. Fall came and was later changed into an early winter. Times were also much changed for the Prince of Galich. The tide had turned and Rurikovich’s soldiers lost their initial euphoric momentum. The weight of Cuman numbers began to bear and very soon Galich went under Cuman – to chief of Kuban, to be precise – control. This was alarming.
It was no great surprise when after the Chrismas mass the King announced his will to aid the Prince of Galich. There was to be war – again. On the other hand, it was certainly necessary to react. Pagan forces were gaining land in Peremyshl, which would mean that any day the Kingdom of Poland would be neighbouring one of the more powerful pagan people. This was not to pass.
Troops from the entire royal demesne were mobilised and went marching for Peremyshl and Galich. The aid of the Count of Cieszyn and the King of Hungary was also requested. Unfortunately, King Bela declined his help.
Thus the King made haste with his forces to lift the siege from the castle in which hid the Prince of Galich, whom the King still deemed a future vassal.
By mid February 1191, royal forces pushed the Cumans out of Peremyshl and beat them in Galich. Those lands became a gravitation point for enemy armies. Royal scouts were reporting more and more enemies gathering to the south of Galich. Meanwhile, Kazimierz managed to secure the land for his demesne, thinking it a fair price for saving Vladimir’s life. Soon enough, however, the Russian Prince managed to express his dissatisfaction with the fact. After all, his lands were now all separated by stretches of Polish territory, forcing absurd toll payments.
For that moment, however, the Polish and Russian armies still fought against a common enemy.
Fighting his war not only in the field – leading his armies with excellence, to an extent previously unseen – Kazimierz decided to put out the powerful chief of Kuban out of the war. Over 600 ducats were to be spent on inciting a revolt in Kuban lands. The royal spymaster once again proved to be a virtuoso of his trade and it was not long, before news of unrest in faraway lands began to reach the ears of Cuman forces.
Realisation of the fact sapped Cuman morale, which was already low after the bloody defeat in Galich, and this resulted in the grave defeat in the battle of Torki, on the 15th day of March 1191. The King’s long prayer before the battle and his insightful battle plan secured a wonderful victory. The casualties were small and the King himself fought as if he were under direct protection from God. The monarch sword carved its way through the pagan swarms and the King’s lieutenant secured the pagan colour. Witnessing this, a big remainder of the Cuman forces retreated in panic, leaving the field to the victorious army.
These victories, combined with the raging revolt in Kuban homelands, became too irksome for the Kuban chief and convinced him to sue for peace. First, he paid for his peace with the Prince of Galich, and then – left empty-handed – he sued for a white peace with the King of Poland, which was graciously accepted. The road to conquest seemed open and the Polish armies sallied south.
The King and his host were encamped near the east banks of Dniestr, having crossed the river during the day. As always when he saw his forces gathered in one place, the King’s spirits grew. His men were paragons of Christian warriors. There was no fear, for they put their trust in Christ and he was their guardian in this fight against these barbarians.
The evening came quickly and a fog rose up from the river. The guards were doubled, for this was enemy territory and although reports claimed that the enemy armies are drawing east to the north of the King’s forces, they also mentioned small bands of pagans left behind to bedevil the Polish advance.
The damp was seeping in through clothes and a chill run down the King’s spine. He came out of his tent, replied to his guards’ greeting and approached a nearby fire. The cracking of wood in the flames and the radiating heat could not warm the King’s heart. He didn’t know what the matter was, but he felt extremely restless.
Adorned in his warm fur, the King went closer to the river, disregarding his safety for the moment. When he left the camp and the glow of the fires, he began to wander in almost pitch-black darkness. Quickly, however, his eyes got accustomed to the starlight and Kazimierz proceeded to wander in the shadows.
Suddenly, there was a presence in the dark. It… A man, by the river, standing there quietly. It was difficult for Kazimierz to tell, but the stranger did not seem like a local.
-
Who are you? Show yourself! – called out the King, his hand going to the short sword he was carrying when encamped. There was no reply from the dark silhouette. The King approached a step, noticing that the stranger is a bearded giant, wearing heavy furs, standing there with his hands empty – or so it seemed. Nevertheless, the King drew his sword and the steel whispered when coming out of the sheath. Moonlight glistened briefly when Kazimierz put up the blade and pointed it at the stranger.
-
Do not try my patience. Who are you, speak! – spoke the King again. The stranger stirred and lifted his hand, showing the palm of it.
-
I mean you no harm, nor do I seek any. – spoke a powerful voice and added after a second of quiet –
my King.
-
Who are you, I know you not. Speak quickly, lest I call the guards.
-
King, do not call them. – said the man –
I mean no harm and pray, come with me, King. I am a friend of yours.
-
What is thy name, then, for I recall not such a face like yours. – said the King suspiciously, however he sheathed the blade back.
-
I have many names, King. I came here tonight to talk with you. I fear, however, that I know not what to tell you.
-
Well, speak thy purpose, man. Say what you have to say, I will listen with care – the two stood under a tree, wet grass caressing their legs.
-
There is little I have to tell you, King, for you know much – a little not of this world. I know about your vision. That is why I came.
-
Who sent you? How do you know of these things? – said the King eyes fixed on the stranger's face.
-
I came here of my own accord. You must leave these lands tomorrow. Return to your kingdom and end the war. What you have seen in your prophecies is not this. It is not yet, there is time still. You must go back. You do not need this war and you err thinking that you can win the heart of Vladimir Rurikovich on the fields of battle. That man will never heed you and you must forget about him. Please, King, return to your tent and tell your men to ready themselves to go home in the morning.
There was silence for a moment, silence broken only by the sound of flowing water and the chirping of crickets. Then the King spoke slowly, almost spitting out each word.
-
I… decide… my own actions. No one… will tell me… when I am right, or wrong. I rarely err, man, and I know that this war must be fought to the end. The power of these pagans is great, but I fear them not. Be gone, Devil! – shouted the King, swinging his arm. The man was gone. Kazimierz crossed himself and hurried to his tent, spending an hour on prayer and asking God’s forgiveness. What kind of a creature was that?
The sun was high and it was good. The day was good and his men were the braver. It is good to die when the day is fitting. It is wrong to die at all, but there are times when we have to die, no matter what. Home was what seemed weeks away. He thought of his home. There were many good bowmen there. He remembered how he, as a small boy, used to wait with his grandfather in the woods. The wolf would come, smelling blood from the hurt lamb. The wolf would close up on the lamb and it would get frightened. Then the bowstring would quietly say: “I’m ready” and the arrow would fly, seeking the right spot to nest itself in the wolf’s body.
He also liked riding his horse. He got his first horse when he was five. His father gave him the horse. The horse was a good one, a strong one. He would ride for days, living off the land.
He remembered when he was nine, his father once took him on a ride. They rode half a moon north and a whole moon south. When they finished, they stopped by a creek and drank some water. His father then said: “This is our land. But we belong to a mighty people and the land of our people extends much farther than that. Perhaps some day, you will see more of it.”
When he was twelve, his father went to war. He and the other men went north. They said they have to fight far to the north, in dense forests. His father never came back, so he was the head of the family ever since. He had to beat his sisters, they were stupid creatures and they could not do a thing right. His mother was wiser, but he still had to beat her, because he was a man and she a woman.
When he was sixteen, he got a woman for himself. She was a pretty one and she worked hard. He was satisfied with her. On their first night, he had her and she bleed like a lamb whose throat had been slit. In the morning sun he saw they were both covered in blood. The elders congratulated him. He had his mother and his sisters moved to a different tent, because soon he and his wife started having children. He needed space for them.
After a few years, he was chosen the leader of his people. He was a strong man and a wise one. He could discipline his women and he could discipline men as well. The people grew stronger.
One day, warriors from the leader of all their land came. They said there was war far to the west. Etrek took his best men and went with them.
They rode for over two moons. That is when they met the beaten warriors. Their warriors. The Christians were strong. Their numbers were not as big as of Etrek’s people, but they were all clad in steel and they had great might with them. Etrek saw many wounded. He had been on small wars a few times, but this time it looked like a tough fight.
He and his men separated from Koza’s warriors. They said Christian warriors carrying letters had been caught. The letters said they want to go to Koza’s land and conquer it. This was bad, for Etrek’s lands were there as well. He did not want to have his possessions burned.
Etrek was to stay behind and slow the advance of the Polans. Koza would use the time to gather armies in the east. Etrek was to die and he knew it.
His life had not been as long as the life of the elders, but he lived long enough.
The sun was high and it was good. The day was good and his men were the braver. It is good to die when the day is fitting.
His men lay hidden. Etrek with his bowmen lay hidden. The Christians were many. He had been watching them for some time now. He watched them appear far away. He watched them draw closer. He watched them now, as they were passing him.
He spied a group of horsemen clad in steel. These were called ‘knights’. These were important. A killed knight was worth the life of four his men. It is hard to kill a knight, because he has to be hit on the neck. Etrek watched the knights get closer. They were clad in strange clothes. He could see gold glisten in the sun. Their steel was also glistening, even with the dust.
There was one to whom all the knights looked. He must be an important one. Etrek told his men to wait for him to shoot. He would shoot this one.
He was moving on horse, it would be difficult to hit him. Etrek rose up to his knees and readied his bow. His hand was steady. He breathed out. He breathed in. He was watching the bare flesh on the neck of that one. He breathed out. The knight leaned back in his saddle, turning to the one beside him. There was more flesh revealed. Etrek breathed in. The bow sung and the arrow whistled. He covered his eyes and watched the arrow fly through the air.
The men were happy, for their victories had been great. Everyone feared the pagan might at first, but they were beaten once, twice, three times and God was ever favourable. The lands were called Oleshye. They were nearly completely under Polish control. The King’s design was to go far east, to the lands belonging directly to the chief of Cumans. Cuman vassals, luckily, didn’t rise up against the invaders. This was most fortunate, for the Polish armies could easily feed themselves, with most people they met not unwilling to give up some food. There was also some game in the lands, so sometimes the scouts returned not with a prisoner, but with food, instead.
Kazimierz was tired, because the continuous march was working on him. He needed to stop for a few days and lie his old bones, let them rest a little. The dust rising up from ground made him cough sometimes. He leaned back in his saddle, to the lieutenant beside the standard bearer.
-
Ride forward and tell them to turn a little north. I don’t want to go through those hills. – said the King.
-
It will be done, my Liege! – answered the young knight, speeding ahead. Where was he from? Was this the friend of Count of Cieszyn? Maybe the other one…
Waclaw Jastrzebiec heard a noise similar to that of an arrow flying and heard his King gasp loudly. He did not resist the temptation to look back at his monarch.
He stopped his horse and cried out murder – the King was hit on the neck with an arrow! The knights quickly surrounded their Liege and stopped his horse. Many drew their weapons, looking for signs of enemy. Panic quickly spread. People were yelling, running around. Someone made haste for a medic. The King, swaying in his saddle, was bleeding. They took him down from the saddle.
Waclaw held the King's head and put it gently on a taken-down saddle. Blood covered the King’s neck and the arrow pointed its accusing finger at the sky. The King gripped Waclaw’s chainmail with his armoured gauntlet, trying to bring him closer. Waclaw stared at his King and leaned closer to the monarch’s face. The King was watching him with eyes wide opened and there was something he tried to say. Waclaw listened intently, the screaming of others quiet to his ears.
-
My Liege… My Liege… Do not die, my Liege… – said Waclaw quietly, tears already watering his eyes. The royal grip was weakening. The King tried to say something, but only blood came pouring out of his mouth. The King blinked and tried to lift his head, his face an expression of torment and pain.
-
Yes, my Liege? What is it? What is it, my King? – asked Waclaw, unable to stop crying. How could he help his King, how could he help him? If only he could hear his King speak!
The King was choking with blood. He felt he would loose consciousness… bah! He would die soon! The boy, the young boy near him. He could see his tears. He wanted so much to tell him about the box, about the prophecy, to tell him why were they here. The pain was unbearable. He let go of the young boy, his hand already going numb. World was blacking away.
Kazimierz felt sorry for his knights. He did not want to leave them this way. He led them here, to the ends of the world and now he was leaving them like a coward.
He would soon suffocate. He moaned and the blood gurgled in his mouth. So much blood, sprinkling out of him like water from a source. Just… tell the boy… about the prophecy – his eyes said. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. They would not understand him. All is lost. God, forgive me, for I have failed you. Have mercy on me, for I have sinned many a time and I led my people astray. Let them not be punished severely, I am ready to take the blame.
His last thoughts were strange. He thought about a future war, where any peasant could be armed with a missile weapon, where even the lowliest of the rabble would carry a weapon that would strike foes over a distance of hundreds of feet, where they could strike down Kings without fear. A war where knights would be no better than a peasant with a missile weapon, where everyone be equal in their fight. Where leaders would lead their armies from afar, dispatching orders from behind hills, hidden from enemy fire.
Father?
The blood stained, tattered, Polish colours flew over the recumbent King. The pagans have been all found and slaughtered without mercy. Their bodies were left to the dogs and crows.
The men prayed for their King, remembering his valour and wisdom.
Dark times were ahead.