“I am Urban Cyryl; one of the departed King Wladysaw’s closest advisors, and one of the nobles in the ‘Golden Circle’; a treacherous Regency Council of aristocrats who sit around waiting for disaster to strike, in order to take control of the country and improve our family name and improve our fame and power. Today is not one of those days, sadly enough, but we will instead witness the crowning of a new Monarch. His name is Kazimierz, the fourth of his line, and a young man of twenty-three years, if my memory fails me not. The youngest brother of King Wladysaw, who willingly took upon the status and ‘responsibility’ of King, if any responsibilities there are, on the Monarch’s deathbed. Teary eyed, he held his brothers hand as he went into that night. He is young. Inexperienced. He has not witnessed the true nature of politics, and so I will allow him some reprieve. But I expect him to turn as cold-hearted and ruthless as his past ancestors have become, and by the end, not a big fan of the entire feudal system, and the Golden Circle. Though it is better that he assume the throne, and not a band of petty squabblers and nobles, as would be our wishes. As I am writing this, we are all huddled inside the throne room, waiting for Kazimierz’ arrival so the Cardinal may crown him. We are all anxious; Stefan Czarniecki in particular who arrived well after everyone else had.
“Am I late for the proceedings?” he asked, scant of breath.
“No.”
“Good.” He took off his dirty hat, and rested his hands down against his gut. We could hear the cheering of the peasants in the streets, but we still couldn’t see anything holed up deep into the Keep. There was the slam of doors, and quick scurrying. This was the sign that the procession was reaching the last stages of its course. The double-oaken doors at the end of the room whirled open, with two guards leading the King’s retinue holding the door open for Kazimierz and the Cardinal. Those two led; Kazimierz clothed in royal garments, and the Cardinal, an old-man of sixty-three summers in priestly white gown. There was an undescribable mood in the air, which I only hope I am replicating well. Stefan was breathing loud beside me, and no one rustle in this hour of piety. The Cardinal led the way, clutching a tome to his chest, and Kazimierz following off to his left. Guards gently closed the doors, and parted to either side of the centre-rug to allow undivided attention upon the young heir. They slowed down as they neared the throne, and stopped just before the steps ascending to the throne. Kazimierz took a knee before the Cardinal, who slowly extended his book and opened it to the marked page. He spoke slowly and solemnly; his voice was old and frail, but full of determination. Kazimierz nodded along to the words.
“Kazimierz, son of the long departed King Jogaila, our most gracious sovereign and King of Poland, and upholder of Christ, in these hours where Poland is without a King, you have been nominated to step forward and cast off the veil of instability with your ascension to the Royal Throne, as King of Poland, and Grand Duke of Lithuania. Do you accept this?”
“I accept this.”
“Kazimierz, fourth of your name, and younger brother of the recently departed King Wladysaw, second of his name, do you acknowledge the commitment placed upon you to uphold your family name, and the name of God and Christ in these times by your ascension to the throne; to rule with just and fair, but also to be stern and intolerant of those whom commit evils?”
“I acknowledge this commitment.”
“Kazimierz, the now-present heir to the titles of King of Poland, and Grand Duke of Lithuania, will you rule with just and fair; stern to the oppressors of God and country, and intolerant to the evils that men do, to uphold the workings and writings of the Catholic Church, and to never succumb to the Devil’s temptation?”
“I shall.”
“Kazimierz, with these commitments taken, do you promise to the heavens, right here, before God’s listening ears, and to the ears of holy Jesus, that you will uphold his name, and that you will uphold your acknowledgements and responsibilities towards, and as King, that ye shall be smote with furious hellfire if you should break any vows taken on this day?”
“I promise to be consumed by the Devil, should I act outside of the holy guidelines lain before me today.”
“And lastly, Kazimierz, do you accept the title of King of Poland, Grand Duke of Lithuania, and protector of Christ and God in these troubled times, to arise, and usher in a new age for your country?”
“I accept.”
“Then arise, and take your position as King.” The Cardinal stepped off to one side with a smile, as Kazimierz strode up the stairs and looked straight down at the throne. It was heavy, and made of iron, etched with the golden epics of Poland’s past. He took a seat, his arms resting along the sides. Stefan slowly stood up to my side, and I whispered his name. That refuelled his memory; he had forgotten the last procedure of the ceremony. The Cardinal stepped back into the centre, and clambered up the stairs as the heir had done. In his hands was the White Crown; the symbol of Polish sovereignty. Etched into it was the black Polish bird, and various crosses and symbolism of Catholicism.
“I humbly do crown you then, sovereign of the Kingdom of Poland, and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.” He gently placed the golden trinket on the young Kings head, whispered a prayer above him, and stepped off to the side. The King sat there in silence, the whole throne-room with their heads bowed.
“Arise,” Kazimierz commanded. The Nobles did so, and erupted in loud applause and cheering.
“To the King!” yelled jolly old Janek, his face growing red with excitement and enthusiasm.
“To the King!” followed the chorus of nobles, cheering and chanting “Kazimierz! In the name of our King, Kazimierz!”
“You may stand up now and cheer, Stefan,” I uttered to my companion.
“Yes,” he laughed. “I have realised that by now.”
Taken from the perspective of Urban Cyryl
Midnight, May 30th, the year of our lord 1453
We feasted long and well that night. Jolly old Janek had too much to drink, and managed to end up passed out when last I saw him. I would that I could have stayed longer, but one of the King’s pages bid me to his private chambers, along with three other men. Normally, this was an honour reserved only for the King’s as-of-yet non-existent wife, so our premonitions were put to rest when he eased us into the meeting. The four of us bowed before the King. There was Stefan, and two others that I knew not.
“You doubtless do not know each other,” Kazimierz said, “but you will learn to by the end of my commission. The four of you have been chosen as Great Men of the Court. To serve the nation well, and to fulfil the dreams of Poland. You will spearhead those dreams. First of all though, I would like you to become acquainted with each other.”
The first mans name was Eugeniusz Tarnowski, although he was known by the considerably shorter form of Eugene. A pale, weary man, he had grown up in the ghettos of Krakow, given a break only in the form of public education. Even then, he did not have much by contrast of the typical nobleman, yet his governmental and political skills were of considerable note. In an open debate, Eugene managed to defeat renowned aristocratic philosopher Borys Gerwazy in an argument on the morality of serfdom. Borys became suddenly enraged and embarrassed, fleeing Krakow, while Eugene relished in his victory. The recently-departed King Wladysaw, who had been disguised amongst the spectators, offered him a position in the King’s court as head of Government and Reformation. Eugene refused, only wanting for a simple life, but Wladysaw took this as a slight and condemned him to a life-time of prison. When Kazimierz ascended to the throne, he looked back on this so-called criminal, and made a promise with him; thirty years of service, and his freedom, otherwise an eternity spent inside those dank gaol cells.
The second man I have already introduced to you. Stefan Czarniecki was a child-hood friend of King Wladysaw’s, and with the King’s crowning, he appointed Stefan to a higher position, giving him considerable praise and increasing his social standing just like that. Stefan was well-liked for his adorable oafishness, and peculiar style of beard; a silver jut thrusting out from his chin. Although he accompanied the style to its rise in popularity, he assures that, as it falls out of favour in recent times, it will become a fad once more within a lifetime, and that he will always be remembered as the person behind it all. His skills in Science, technology, and industry were much admired about the court, although he was sometimes too devoted. His wife fled across the border into Bohemia with her child, claiming that Stefan had neglected both of them and they were starving.
The third man was a tall, tan-skinned bastard named August Olesnicki, born to a Greek noble-woman in the port city of Methone. His Father, a wandering Polish handsome, soon afterwards departed for France, while the Mother was chastised for her promiscuity. Although August was allowed to live amongst the Morean nobility, he was never truly equal, and took to the seas at an early age, raiding Muslim fleets in and around the various gulfs of the Aegean seas. The Morean nobles, looking for any excuse to get rid of him, claimed that he was no more than a glorified pirate attacking the Muslim world for his own gain, and disguising it as fervency toward the Catholic church. He was exiled from Greece, and set sail for the North to live amongst the Orthodox communities in Moldavia. When a plague outbreak hit, he fled across the border into the Polish city of Braclaw, where he lived amongst the local Eastern Christians. He brought with him his reputation from the Black Sea, and was drafted into the army where he rose to the rank of Captain of the Local Militia. It was never Wladysaw’s intention to promote him to his current rank of General; Kazimierz instead recognised great potential, and so demanded that he accept the honour.
The King returned a few minutes later with a variety of scrolls and ledgers; all with information pertaining to the organisational aspects of the Kingdom. One of the scrolls was a map, which he lay out to a table and pinned down with a dagger.
“As you all likely know, I am inheriting the title of Lithuanian Grand Duke. These are the most vast lands in the Kingdom, and we can rely on them to act as a de-facto nation, guided by our choices. The maps are old, and still list them as independent, but they are not, so don’t be fooled if you are new to the country. We are in a solid military alliance with them. Also to the North are the Teutonic Order; a knightly faction of Christians, and various Polish Duchies. The two largest, Plock and Mazovia, are in a personal union, with Mazovia leading. As we speak, we are arranging for a Royal Marriage to one of Duke Stanislaw’s daughters.”
Before the King continued, he flaunted himself and added “To me, of course.”
“What of the West?” August asked.
“Can you not see yourself?”
“I cannot read.” This took me by surprise. The rest of the people were humble, and used to illiteracy. But at the time, I wouldn’t tolerate uncivilised scum barbarizing the court.
“To the south, that browned-sanguine colour?”
“I can see colours, my King.”
“That is Hungary. They are embroiled in conflict with the Ottomans. To the west are the Kingdom of Bohemia, and their vassals, the Silesian Duchies. They are strong, but their intentions are more toward the Holy Roman Empire, and we should be able to maintain favourable relationships. However, in Northern Germany, Brandenburg and Pommerania look down at us, scoffing through their noses. Perhaps one day this shall change, but for now, let us focus internally.”
“The majority of our nation is Catholic, save for a majority of Orthodox Christians in the province of Braclawskie. Where our Orthodox friend comes from, no less. As such, we are to tolerate Catholics and Orthodox Christians highest of all; Muslims come next. Vile as the creatures are, they are numerous in number, and given time, we will want to stay away from the Ottoman juggernaut, so favourable relations are essential. The Eastern Religions we know very little about, though if their Muslim cousins are anything to go by, we shall have to convert them sooner or later. Lastly, the vile Pagans of Africa and the distant lands will not be tolerated at all. You can string a Pagan. You can quarter a Pagan. But you can’t convert a Pagan, and that is most alarming of all.”
“Our Grand Army is composed of 5000 strong men. At the present, this shall not do as a majority of our neighbours have an army of equal or greater strengther, and are bolstering their numbers by the day. 3000 cavalry regiments shall be trained in the Outland provinces of Braclawskie, Galicja, and Przemysl. The Heavy Cavalry there is the greatest in all Poland. Likewise, Wielkopolskie, Kujawy, and Sieradzkie will draft 1000 men each into the Grand Army. As you may know, August Olesnicki and I will be in charge of leading the armies, while the rest of you will manage more administrative issues back home. Now, as I believe this is the end of today’s organisational issues, you are all dismissed.”
Taken from the diary of Justyna Ignacja, daughter of Duke Stanislaw
Morning, 1 June, 1453
“It is the morning after my wedding night, and my birthday. I am still in shock that Father would sell my body away to those uncivilised brutes south of our homeland.
“’tis for the good of the Duchy,” he said. “First Plock, potentially Poland next? The opportunities make me giddy. When we inherit their lands, then we’ll pull you out of the dynastic marriage, and you can take whomsoever you desire.” I’m not sure how Stanislaw made it seem so desirable, but that silver-tongued diplomat has a cunning way of putting things. Kazimierz is laying in bed, fast-asleep, and it is nearing mid-day already. He and the Golden Circle drank into their own heaven last night. Then they had their way with me. I’m only fourteen, and he was only crowned a few days prior; if the Cardinal were to know of the vows he had broken already, then the shame and dishonour brought upon his name would be enough to get me out of this predicament. But nobody trusts a woman in this day and age. Not the corrupt noble hierarchy. I did, however, meet one noble who seems to put responsibility over drinking; Urban Cyryl was his name, and he came bearing news from Lithuania-over-the-border. Something of a trade agreement, I think, but Kazimierz told him to put it off for a week, and then he jumped right into the hollering and intoxication. A shame; he seemed so nice at first. I’ve been here only a day, and I’m already hating it. I just want to go home. A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to take on responsibilities she didn’t assign to herself.”
Taken from the perspective of Janek Hassildor
Afternoon, 25th June – 5th July, the year of our lord 1453
Our first diplomatic excursion was assigned today. A man arrived, clothed in modest rags, claiming to be from the Rigan court. A note from the Archbishop Silvester Stodwescher.
“Riga?” I whispered to Urban Cyryl.
“Yes. It is a small bishopric north, wedged in between the Livonian Order.”
“Then we shall have him see the King.”
The diplomat took his parchment and proposal, and laid it in front of the King:
“A proposal of Alliance?” Kazimierz seemed shocked at the offer. He wasn’t expecting to make such decisions so early into his reign.
“I must accept. But not only that, I will send my two nobles here to meet the Archbishop himself; as a token of goodwill.” The diplomat nodded, and turned to us to bow. Urban and I repeated the gesture, and by night-fall, we had departed for the Lithuanian border to Riga. It took us five days to cross the forests of Lithuania; by night, we had to be wary of bandits. Crime was not relatively prevalent in Lithuania, but we weren’t exactly in the city either. All the time, we were trying to coax words out of the modest diplomat.
“You are a most gracious band of nobles,” he merely said. Perhaps he was trying to keep Riga in good standing with Poland? We weren’t exactly the most moral of men, so he was obviously lying.
“You too, diplomat,” Cyryl replied. Once we had hit the Livonian border, things got more complicated as we needed to pass through the small city of Bauska. The Knights tried to stop us and turn us back towards the border, but we insisted on being allowed to continue through to the Rigan homeland. There were only a thousand or so peasants living here and in Riga, but it was a quiet little area, and maybe that was why they refused to move out. Once we arrived in Riga, it looked more like a little collection of farms deposited by the sea. The Keep was small and cramped, but well-built, with a sound architectural style that we could not echo back home.
“Please, enter the Keep,” the diplomat said, stepping aside and gesturing us into the halls. Well, of course we were going to enter. The empty courtesies just make you seem like you’re going to put a knife in our backs as soon as we turn around. We wound down the passageways and into what was the Archbishop’s equivalent of the throne-room. They called it a lobby, but that was just a polite way of saying that they were religious tyrants, as opposed to wealthy ones.
“God greet you,” a voice quietly said. It came from off to the side, and behind a pillar emerged the Archbishop, dressed in gowns not too dissimilar to the ones the Cardinal was in during the King’s crowning. We both bowed before him, but he bid us to stand.
“Do not bow before me. We all find ourselves equals in here.”
“We are nobles from the Golden Circle Regency Council of Poland. We come on behalf of Kazimierz,” Urban Cyryl said. He was very good at this sort of stuff.
“Yes, and I thank you for divulging your time towards me. It is very flattering.”
“Archbishop Stodwescher, we would like you to know that King Kazimierz accepts your offer of military alliance. We will proudly stand by your armies and fight under your banner, and we only hope you can do the same.” The Archbishop closed his eyes and nodded.
“Thank you,” he said. “The Livonians commit atrocities every day on the outskirts of this little state. We are powerless to stop them, and in time, can only hope that you can avenge us. We will do all we can.” Now I realised why they wanted the alliance; for their own gain. I underestimated them, but they were certainly very polite and straight-forward about using us.
“I want you to know that we shall ask Kazimierz to do all he can in his power to stop the tragedies committed against our allies, the Rigans. A slight on his friend, is a slight on the King himself.” The Archbishop closed his eyes again, and nodded, taking each of our hands and kissing them gently. What the hell was up with him? We weren’t used to such politeness, and it was nice on the off-occasion that we actually managed to coax a compliment out of complete strangers, but this was just out of it.
“I bid you, stay for the dinners tonight.” I looked at Cyryl, who took the lead.
“We shall, gracious Bishop.” In the morning, we were ready to ride back to the court to return with the news of our diplomatic trip. The feast was nothing great; there was no wine. Just flasks of water scattered here and there, and an enormous amount of praying before and after each meal. Then I realised just how much life there isn’t in a Bishopric.
“Remind me never to holiday in Riga,” I chuckled in Cyryl’s ear, only to find out that I hadn’t just said that to Cyryl, but instead to a complete random who was also joining he feasts. He turned around, seemingly shocked, but didn’t hear me.
“Sorry,” said I, “I thought you were my friend.” By nightfall, we were ready to leave, yet the Bishop insisted we stay more. Was he trying to imprison us or something?
“Apologies, good Bishop,” Urban said, “but your hospitality has put us off course, and we must depart soon for fear of being late.”
“Then go with God,” he willed, chanting a short prayer before giving us water flasks as we set off. As soon as we got out of site of Riga, we dumped them in the forest, and had a much-needed drink of wine.
“That was an experience,” Cyryl sarcastically stated.
“Shouldn’t we stay in Riga? It’s much warmer down there.”
“No. I’ve had enough of faithful preachers.”
Taken from the perspective of August Olesnicki
Morning, 5th July-14th August, the year of our lord 1453
There’s a stirring at the doors, and then they open. Quite hard. What is that all about? People don’t appreciate the value of these doors. They might just be doors, but they are worth an extreme amount. And then I see that it’s the red-faced Janek Hassildor and his corrupt noble-friend Urban Cyryl, and then that makes me realise why.
“Back from the trip?” I asked.
“Yes,” Janek replied. “The Bishop really likes to party.”
“He likes to party?”
“Yes. Just, you know, with water, and bread, and all that funky stuff.” I raised my eyebrow at this, and bid them follow after me into the throne-room. “It is a shame, you know. You missed Kazimierz’ sisters farewell.”
“Where is she off to?”
“Vladislav Pohrobek of Bohemia has requested her hand in marriage. To his son, I believe.”
“Ah, that’s great. Strengthening the Dynastic ties.” I grunted in acknowledgement and pulled the oaken doors open, only this time, I pulled them open gently, as not to break them. Kazimierz sat there on his throne, rather content with his miserable existence as King. My, how politics was depressing.
“My King,” I bowed before him. The nobles did so, but at a later cue, and had almost passed me before they thought to stop and bend.
“Arise.”
“The diplomats have returned, and hopefully, they bring news.”
“What news, Cyryl and Hassildor?”
“The Bishop was very pleasant,” Cyryl stated. “But we do believe that he allies with us, as an intention to break away from the ties of the Livonian Order. They are strong, and numerous, and dictate how Riga makes its choices.”
“I see. And were you treated rightly?”
“As well as he treated us. The Bishop doesn’t like wine, it seems.”
“That doesn’t sound like rightful treatment.” The King smiled, and the nobles laughed awkwardly, although no one actually found it humorous.
“And we hear that your sister is soon to be married?” Malek said.
“Yes. To King Bohemia.”
“Good news, in that event. We wish the best for her, although we arrived late for her farewell.”
“It is of no concern, Hassildor. Is there any more news?”
“The northern towns are very small. If it there is something of an advantage we have, it is in population. Riga is considered large, and comprises only a thousand peasants or so in the urban district.”
“But what they lack in urban is made up in the country-side. Did you visit the local agriculturists? Apparently, we could learn a thing or two from them.”
“Who said that?”
“Stefan claims that they have superior farming techniques.”
“I did not know that, but I shall have to check the next time I am visiting Riga.”
“If there is a next time. Archbishop Stodwescher is not in my good books as of now. He seeks to employ our strength just to get rid of the Livonians? Their territory is far away. It’s as good as Lithuanian buffer-space if we invade, regardless of any casus-belli presented to us.
“My King?” I stepped into the centre.
“Yes, Olesnicki?”
“Are we to discuss the subject of armies at present. The majority of our council is present.”
“Where are Stefan and Eugene?”
“Eugene is polling the local populace to get a feel for how they are reacting to your reign thus far. Stefan is entangled in his research.”
“Such dedication.” The King shifted in his seat. “Yes, okay. What is it you wished to discuss again?”
“The military.”
“Oh, yes.” He turned to Janek and Urban. “In your absence, the conscription and training have finished. All we await now are the three-thousand Knights from Outland to arrive, and then our army should be ready for re-organisation. As of such, there will be two main divisions in the army; the Grand Army, and Outland Division. Outland Division will be comprised of Cavalry from the Outer Reachers, and they will be led by August.” He turned toward me, and I bowed. “Thank you.”
“Secondly, the Grand Army will be led by me.”
“What?” Janek gasped.
“It is too dangerous, milord,” Urban said.
“Nonsense. I can overcome any threat, be they Ruthenian, Polish, Lithuanian, or German.” That was the problem there; I agreed with Urban. Kazimierz wasn’t said to be a particularly adept commander, yet here he was, assuming command of our most important regiment.
“Are you sure it is safe?” I said. “Why not volunteer one of the Golden Circle?”
“It’s not volunteering then, is it, if I force them into the position? I am Commander of the Grand Army, and that is final.” We all sat there in silence, heads down in shame.
“But on a lighter note,” added the King, “we are going to make use of the Order of the White Eagle; Poland’s highest military award. The three of you and I are to be awarded this distinction, and we will wear the mark with pride.” Janek and Urban thanked the King aloud, while I just sort of bowed my head in acknowledgement. What good is distinction when we haven’t done anything?
I rode north the next month to assemble the army with King Kazimierz. We arrived at the city of Torun; the capital of Kujawy, with about three-thousand people living in the urban districts. It was there that we organised the Grand Army. Two-thousand Polish Knights, coupled with six-thousand infantry; three-thousand of whom were recent drafts into the army. They didn’t know war, and they likely wouldn’t, but a lucky break came for them eventually. After Kazimierz and I had done the general prep-talk that was common-place, we decided on a hunting trip out in the woods near the Polish-Teutonic border, close to the town of Danzig. There were a few guards to accompany us, but for the most part, it was just him and I.
“The Teutons,” Kazimierz said. “What to make of them?”
“I know nothing of the Teutonic Order, other then that they are an Order.”
“A cunning observation. Are you a keen hunter?”
“Only of Muslim Pirates. I cannot bear the scum.”
“You are deviating from the subject. We were not talking about ‘Muslim Pirates’, funnily enough.”
“My apologies, liege, but I do not know what to make of Catholic peace-keepers. The Teutonic Orders have a history of ill-repute.”
“Yes, those French inquisitions? Who would have thought it. And now, here they are, heretics and non-heretics, torturing Pagan men along the borders.”
“Down there.” I pointed deep into the forest, where a stag was brushing up against a tree.
“What?”
“A stag.”
“I see nothing.”
“Then you are blind, and of no use to the practical cause.”
“Are you trying to state a point?”
“Not at all, but there is a stag way down there.” We trotted along on our steeds, and Kazimierz tried to see the stag. He notched an arrow to his bow, took aim, and fired. His shot was off, however, and the stag bolted for the hills.
“You appear to have missed.”
“A cunning observation. Are you a keen hunter?”
“No more than you are.”
“So you aren’t a good hunter?”
I shrugged my shoulders; “not particularly.”
“Two amateur hunters in the woods shooting at shadows.” Kazimierz laughed.
“Well, I wouldn’t call it anything to laugh at, but let us continue.” There was a wild goat, and the pair against steered the horses closer. Kazimierz notched an arrow to his bow, and took fire again. This time, he struck the goat in its side, and it made a loud howling sound and started to limp off into the woods.
“Excellent shot, milord,” I said. “Almost killed it too,” I added.
“Oh, quiet you. For a Greek, you’re very unforgiving.”
“I am Polish, not Greek.”
“You are a bastard child,” he said, trotting after the blood the goat was spilling everywhere.
“Indeed,” I admitted, not wanting to go on anymore. We dismounted, bid our horses stay, and followed the trail on foot. The goat collapsed some fifteen metres or so from the location where we had shot it. Kazimierz bent down, examined the arrow, and tried to pull it from the carcass. He failed miserably, and the arrow snapped in half.
“Perfect shot,” he declared.
“Nonsense. If it were perfect, we wouldn’t have to have gone on a manhunt to find the damn thing.”
“No need for hyperbole,” Kazimierz said. “Where are we, anyway?”
“Very close to the Teuton-Polish border, if not on it. The border should be down there.” I walked over to one side of the clearing, pushed through some bushes, and looked down over the plateau.
“Wait,” I said, immediately realising something was wrong. “There are men, and they have peasants and serfs. Milord, come here immediately.” Kazimierz stood up clumsily, and ran over to the edge.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Down there,” I said, pointing toward a group of men. “That mass of Knights on the border. What are they doing?”
