OOC
Brother Ivan squinted through the afternoon haze out at the valley. He could not see a thing. He returned to looking at the church building, and that he could see, an imposing structure. Even so the details were blurred. “Getting old,” he murmured to himself. Still he knew he was lucky. He could still read, he could still write, - and he could still walk. He had often seen Brothers in their dotage confined to bed and he was adamant that he would never suffer that fate.
“Ah Brother Ivan, I see you are looking upon God’s creation. It does you good to be outside the Scriptorium. One might almost think you thought your writing was more important than the church.” Father Boris had clearly walked up on him unaware, typical that the slimy boyar-son would take advantage of his age-dulled senses. He turned. A mistake perhaps, since otherwise he could have pretended not to have heard, but no, the Father was too close for that the have really been feasible. He simply chooses to ignore most of what had been said.
“Indeed Father, I enjoy the sun, we have had it rarely this summer.” He did not offer anything else, “May I assist you?” he asked, his tone making it perfectly clear how preposterous it was than a man in his late forties should need the assistance of one who had jut turned eighty.
Father Boris smiled, a thin smile, friendless and lifeless. “What news of the war?” So that is what the ingrate wants to know. Ah yes, his brother is serving under Sheremetev, I had forgotten that. There was an increasing amount that he was forgetting recently he was finding.
He waved a hand noncommittally. “I have heard no news beyond what you already know Father. I tend not to find out about wars until after they have been fought since soldiers, I find, are more useful fighting an enemy than keeping an old monk informed of what is going on.”
Father Boris sighed slightly, but kept the same cold smile. “How true you are Brother Ivan. I shall see you at the evening service.” Then the Father moved off rather suddenly, Ivan turned to see Mikhail. If there was one man in the Monastery Father Boris disliked more than Ivan, then it was Brother Mikhail. Their families were old enemies, but he dare not move against Mikhail for the repercussions that would tale place. That was another reason why Mikhail was Ivan’s chosen successor.
I am leading the Scriptorium into a feud. That cannot be right. But what else can I do? Lord?
___
For over ten years the Tsardom of Russia was in the blessed state of peace. Across the borders the Ottomans scored great victories against the Tartars, and against the White Sheep Turks. They beat down the walls of the fortresses in the Caucasus Mountains, and poured north into the steppe. They arrived at the pitiful capital of the Khan of the Tartar Horde, and threw him of his throne, replacing him with a provincial governor. Shortly afterward they forced the Crimeans to cede the steppe-lands to them. Now they turned their fury against their brother Turks, and when the smoke cleared they allowed the White Sheep Turks to exist only on their sufferance, and extorted nearly all their territory. Thus the Ottoman Sultan ruled lands on a wide arc from the Adriatic Sea to the Caspian Ocean. Preparations were made to confront this threat, for the Ottoman Sultan is known for his great greed. Also at about this time the Tartars of Azow rose up against their Lithuanian masters, and expelled them from the country. The then joined themselves once more with their Crimean brethren, and the Lithuanians proved themselves powerless to stop it.
Every spell of bliss must have its ending. This occurred in the month of May, in the Year of Our Lord 1504, when the Ottoman Sultan pronounced war against the Russians and the Magyars simultaneously. News of this caused great concern throughout the realm, for everyone had heard tells of the hated soldiers of the Ottoman, the Janissaries. Tales were still told as to what they did to the Queen of Cities, Constantinople the Lost. The Janissaries are slave-soldiers, culled at birth from the general populace and reared knowing only cruelty. The Ottoman had also been developing new weapons, and each janissary would carry an exploding lance that would discharge a small piece of stone at high speed through use of gunpowder.
Immediately the armies of Russia began to move. Small groups moved to raid and terrorise the countryside of the Crimean steppe-lands. In the northern part these coalesced to focus on the main encampment were all the Ottomans were caught. Across the Volga, in the former capital of the Golden Horde Danilo Schenya found the Ottoman commander woefully unprepared. Schenya was a veteran of the Tartar War nearly twenty years previous, and he quickly set about blockading the capital. Initially the blockade was incomplete because the city could still be supplied by boat across the river, but before long Schenya had sunk several ships in the channel, creating a formidable obstacle. A while later he constructed a bridge of boats, as the Persian Xerxes once had done across the Hellespont. This completely prevented any supplies entering the capital, and it fell that autumn. Schenya claimed the city for Russia, and renamed it Tsaritsyn.
Gennadi Sheremetev, the son of Petr Sheremetev, was in charge of the army at Astrakhan. With this force he now entered Daghestan. There he put a force of Ottomans to flight, and then ranged far and wide over the area causing great devastation. He also determined that half his men would invest the fortress town of Derbent on the Caspian Ocean.
While all this was going on the regent of Lithuania circulated a letter to his people, offering the interpretation the treaty with Russia: that the submission was meant to endure only for a certain length of time. The Tsar sent an angry reprimand, but could not at this time do anything else. The Ottomans were a far more serious threat.
Diplomatic Insult (CB v LIT for 18 months)
Having secured the old Tartar capital Danilo Schenya now moved southward against the northern steppe-lands. There his expertise brought about the quick conclusion of the stand-off and saw the Ottomans surrender. He was now eager to be on his way. Winter was close, and he had heard that a force of Ottomans, including some janissaries were to the south. The southern raiders had withdrawn before them northward. Thus far the Russians had faced no janissaries.
Alas, Danilo Schenya had been forced to stay in the steppe-lands far too long, and the Ottomans, not realising how close their fort had been to falling had moved behind the Russians to create an ambush. This caused great chaos and loss of life, for the guns frightened the horses: they had never been exposed to them before. It also panicked the men, and it took all of the general’s ability to hold his men together, and remind them of the advantages they possessed: they were mounted, and the janissaries were but infantry. There was no need to be afraid. Many were though, and Danilo led them northward into Lugansk, and restocked there. Meanwhile a message came from Petr Sheremetev that scouts in Armenia and Georgia had reported that a large army of the Ottomans was massing in Trebizond, and that all indications signalled that Daghestan was their target. Schenya, knowing that the Russians in Daghestan would be completely unprepared for what was about to hit them departed immediately with a few men, going through Tsaritsyn and Astrakhan. At Astrakhan he sent out orders that the recruits that had been trained that summer were to gather there, and then he went to Derbent.
Meanwhile he left his men in Lugansk under the command of Vasili Repnin. Once they had been re-supplied and reinforced he proposed a scheme to chase the Ottomans out of the steppe-lands. The Ottomans are a people of warmer climates, he reasoned, and the overall forces in the steppes are small. Thus, using winter as a friend it should be easy to overwhelm them. He set out on a dark December day, shortly afterward there was a storm. This proved to be a good omen, for it was not long before he located the Ottoman column, and destroyed it. Then he moved into the southern steppe-lands where the weather was not so bad, and proceeded to lay waste to the country.
The Ottoman army in Trebizond had started its advance shortly after Danilo Schenya had arrived at Derbent. He immediately set about trying to end the siege before the Ottomans arrived, but with Petr Sheremetev he started to prepare a plan of battle to face the Ottoman. It seemed clear that the Ottoman would march somewhat to the north, to cut off their supply. Therefore it would be necessary to leave small covering force at Derbent and move the rest of the army northward to fight. This they prepared to do.
The Ottoman marched quickly though, and did not give them all the time they needed to complete their preparations. They also did not act as had been expected, but came at the city of Derbent itself, clearly hoping to trap the Russians against the sea and the city. The Russian forces were marshalled, and a fierce battle ensued. Alas, the janissaries fired their weapons to good effect, and though not many lost their lives the chaos caused by rearing horses was enough to convince both generals that remaining near Derbent would be suicide. Thus they regretfully broke the siege, and punched a hole through the Ottoman’s line to the north. Petr Sheremetev led the charge that did so, and this brave boyar died when his horse reared from under him, throwing him to the ground where he landed on his head. His body was recovered, and was later buried at Astrakhan with all the honour it deserved.
In Astrakhan Schenya now prepared for the Ottoman advance: yet none occurred for the whole of the spring and summer. Across the river in Daghestan the Ottoman army kept watch. Schenya could only conclude – he told me this himself when he passed through to offer his prayers – that the Ottomans were wary of the army he now had in Astrakhan, for during the winter the recruits had mustered. It was at this time that Schenya started to train horses to cope with gunpowder. He did this by exploding bombs nearby where they stood or went with their riders mounted, for he reasoned that it was only by acclimatisation that his men and their horses would learn to master their fear.
At the end of the summer the Ottoman army began to move, but northward into the steppe-land. There the southern lands were now completely under the sway of Russia. When he heard the reports of the scouts Danilo Schenya mustered his whole army and proceeded to ride them hard to the steppes, so as to arrive before the Ottomans. There he laid his own ambush, a fitting revenge for the one in which he had been earlier caught.
The Ottomans marched in column of regiments, the janissaries at the front and at the rear. To the sides and up ahead rode the light cavalry, to prevent ambush. Yet Schenya remembered a place from a time when he had led a raiding party here during the Tartar war were the land was deceptive and could hide large numbers of men. Seeing as this was along the route the Ottomans were marching – it appeared they were heading for Tsaritsyn – Schenya positioned his men in these places. He ordered them to dismount, else they could have been seen, and posted some scouts that were to signal by means of flags when the Ottomans were in the trap prepared for them.
The Ottomans were surprised by the attack, for it came at them unexpectedly, but the janissaries are fine soldiers. They divided into two, one half facing each direction. Meanwhile they pulled together, so that they covered the weaker troops within. They waited as the horses neared them. The Ottomans own cavalry first met the Russians, and were forced away and cut down. As the Russians broke through they met the Ottoman volley. This one caused great devastation: it was close and many more were hit than in previous engagements. Yet the training over the summer worked, the horses no longer panicked as easily or in as great a number. The other sounds and smells of the battlefield they were already used to. They horses then went into the janissaries. The melee was hard, but the janissaries are less effective at close range: their guns are of no use, and the battle was won for Russia and the Ottoman force destroyed. The army returned to Astrakhan where a messenger waited with dire news: the Tsar of All Russia, Ivan, was dead.
The Tsar was an old man, his death should not have been a surprise yet it was a shock even so. Suddenly the realm felt uncertain, and peace was quickly made with the Sultan, who agreed to cede Tsaritsyn. The funeral of the Tsar was an occasion that I was unable to go to on account of my health, but Brother Mikhail did and reported what he saw. At first there was nothing, then a single man came, beating a drum. He beat the drum once at every other slow step in a loud intonation. After that came some priests, each garbed entirely in black. Heads lowered they said no prayers. Then came soldiers and boyars, all of these also dressed in black, and each passed without a sound, save for the remembered echoes of the first drum. There was a large interval before each group, so that one’s mind was concentrated on the moment.
After these came the Tsar. He was pulled by sight black horses, and about him was a guard of honour from his bodyguard. This included veterans as well as the current members. There was no noise save for the slow pace of the march, and the clopping of the horses’ hooves. Behind these followed the new Tsar, Vasili, on foot. He followed his father’s coffin throughout its long journey through the city. With him were other notables, both boyar and bishop. Like all the others no word was said, no sound was made. Following these came a force of men, and when these passed the people were encouraged to follow the coffin on its slow procession, so that by the time it came to rest it seemed as if the whole nation had taken part. And then, just lightly, it began to rain, as if the world itself mourned the passing of so grand a man. There is no testimony I can offer more fitting than that. And with that I end this book, the Fifteenth book of the Chronicles of Gregorias and the eighth by my hand, and I am Brother Ivan of the Monastery of Ss Stephanos and Ignatios, and I now mourn a distant friend.
___
OOC
Brother Ivan let out a long wracking cough. Brother Mikhail looked over at the Master Chronicler. Ever since he had returned from Moskva the old man had not seemed the same. He had listened to his report of what had taken place, then had quizzed him about what he had felt. Mikhail had been a little puzzled at that. Certainly he had been touched by what he had seen, but he felt no great emotion, not compared to what he witnessed in others. He supposed he was just too young, and too sheltered. The idea of the boyar’s childhood was already a faint memory.
Brother Ivan coughed again, and continued to scribble on the page of the book. Then he sniffed, and sat back with a groan at his ageing joints. “There, it is done,” he said to Mikhail. “I’ve brought it up to the funeral, and that is where this book will end. The next…” his speech was broken by a series of coughs. He started again, “The next one will be upto you.”
He started to get up and Mikhail immediately rose to help. “Come Brother,” he said. “You need to go to your cell and to your bed.”
Ivan waved that away with his hand. “To the grave,” he muttered harshly, and would have started pulling Mikhail along if the younger man had not hurriedly moved to keep pace. He was supposed to be helping after all. As they walked Ivan spoke again, “Now, don’t let that fool of a Father interfere,” he instructed. “Never let him or his kind interfere. They care nothing …”. They stopped until the fit had passed.
“Trust me Brother, I won’t,” Mikhail tried to reassure the old man. “Good,” was the only reply, and they continued their slow walk outside the monastery building and down to the cemetery. It was dark, but Mikhail let himself be led by Ivan, who knew the route from memory, while always keeping close lending support. Brother Ivan had become increasingly uncertain on his feet of late.
“Here we are,” said Brother Ivan when they reached the grave. He then knelt, and Mikhail could almost hear the muscles and bones complain. Brother Ivan lent forward and rested one hand on the grave stone. “I think I’ve done right,” he murmured, so quietly that Mikhail almost could not hear. He stayed there for what seemed like a long time, and Mikhail fretted that they might be seen.
Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, and for a moment he heaviness in his chest that he had been fighting against all evening lifted. His breathing had become raspier, but he hoped that Mikhail would only think that was because of the exertion of the walk. He had asked this wish, it seemed that it was going to be granted. I wonder if he will be able to manage that idiot Father. I imagine so. But not my responsibility anymore. Not anymore. His breathing became shallower still, and his head a little dizzier. He opened his eyes once more to look upon the gravestone a last time. “Pray for me,” he gulped out at Mikhail. He could hear Mikhail say something, but could not understand what. Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner. Everything seemed to go white.
Mikhail was standing patiently, and then he heard something quite distinct. Pray for me. The words were faint, and he knelt forward. “Brother, are you alright?” Even as he spoke he saw Brother Ivan close his eyes a final time, his hand slip off the stone; and his body, slowly at first, and then quicker and quicker, topple forward and hit the ground beside Gregorias’ grave with a quiet thud. Above he heard a night bird hoot. He said a quick prayer, and then rose and looked about. He would have to inform the Father.
