Greetings, citizen,
My name is Ingric Andicus, royal tutor and personal chronicler of her royal majesty Mundhild Gerhaucra of the Indus Valley. What you are about to read is a complete telling of our history and an answer to the question how our people, the Suebes, came to settle in this part of the world.
As her days will sadly soon come to an end, her majesty has ordered me to provide as accurate an account of this as I can, so that the deeds of her forefathers may never be forgotten. I address this story also to the queen’s daughter Rupa, whom I have personally tutored and who, Tuisto willing, will succeed my revered queen someday. May she learn from the designs – and the mistakes – of her predecessors.
To begin to tell the story of Queen Mundhild and her remarkable rule, we have to go back one century.
Back then, our Suebian tribes had just consolidated their power, controlling northern Germania and its adjacent seas with their powerful fleet. Our people have always been a naval power first, and the Suebian realm prospered – so what was to happen next made little sense to any of the chieftains at first: their ambitious chief, Sunnogast Dwaldus, advocated for an unheard of expedition eastward. He planned “to go and spread the Suebes’ strength and unity to the distant spice lands by the sea”, as one of his confidantes recalled his words. You see, a haggard, wayward explorer by the name of Demodamus had docked a northern port the year before, claiming to have been to those distant lands and offering a strangely carved statue as proof. Anyone else might have chased him off as a madman, or at best allowed him to stay in port until his ship was repaired. Sunnogast, however, took this explorer in and promoted him to his council, and they set to work planning this mad fool’s errand. In the history of our people, the fool’s errand would become known as the Great Migration.
In June the following year, Sunnogast left Suebia at the head of a great caravan of warriors and hopefuls, 30.000 strong. Leaving his country in the capable hands of his son in law, his caravan cut a path through the Carpathian mountains until they reached populated lands once more. Here, a local king tried to block their way, fearing these ‘foreign barbarians’ intruding on his land, as he called them. In the ensuing battle, the tribes fought back his armies and took many captives, among them the king’s young daughter, who had travelled with his army. No peace or ransom could be agreed to, so when Sunnogast marched on, the young girl was still his prisoner. Her name, as she told him with surprising confidence, was Thessalonike, and he would do well to respect her, for she was descended from none other than Alexander the Great. That name did not mean much to Sunnogast at the time, but since he found the girl’s attitude admirable and she did not seem to be in a hurry to get back to her war-like father and brothers, he took her in and allowed her to travel with him in his personal carriage to these distant lands they were searching for. For Demodamus the explorer insisted that these were not the rich spice lands he had discovered, so the caravan marched on. Rumours of their victorious battle raced ahead of them, and soon no other king was to oppose them on their journey.
The way led through mountains and deserts, and many men were lost in these harsh conditions, but at last, after years on the road, the Suebes reached a new, arid coastline. Sunnogast looked at the explorer, and the explorer nodded. They had made it; the rich lands he had spoken of lay just ahead. Alas, this barren beach they found themselves at would be unable to sustain their great army for very long. They had passed through fertile plains a few months before, but they had been compelled to hurry on by the watchful armies of another Greek king – who also claimed to be an heir of this Alexander – and it had been evident that the Suebes were not welcome there. The foreign soldiers, though smaller in number than Sunnogast’s caravan, were evidently much better equipped and supplied, and some of them were riding on huge war beasts the likes of which no Suebe had never seen, so he had decided against wagering everything on another confrontation and moved on. Now, however, it became clear that taking these plains by force might be their only remaining course of action if his people were to survive. They would not last through another few months of crossing these inhospitable deserts.
In this desperate hour, luck came to our leader’s aid. While the preparations for his risky assault were already in motion, his scouts returned to the camp reporting of battles being fought in the deserts to the north. The armies of the Greek king were clashing with those of another power, this one likewise fielding the huge war beasts. Though he lacked insight into this political climate he found himself in, Sunnogast recognized its unique opportunity rather than its dangers. Spreading his migrant soldiers out across the Greek king’s realm and moving them into position on key roads, he finally officially declared war on the Greeks, on the grounds that he, too, was an heir of this Alexander and thus had a right to this land. This reasoning seemed to be working for everyone else, so why not him? In the following months, Sunnogast took city after city from the Greeks, who were too preoccupied with their other foe to effectively stop him. Temples of various odd faiths burned all over the country as his men took what they could and then retreated before the cumbersome large armies of the king could show up. To fearful citizens and peasants whose walls Sunnogast had stormed, he became known as ‘The Besieger’. With these treasures and enough provisions to last his caravan another year, he finally retreated to a city near the original beach where he had made camp, and had his men dig in into defensive positions. Finally, evidently unable to afford this foreign horde occupying his territory any longer in the midst of another war, the Greek king conceded to Sunnogast’s demands and granted him the coastal provinces he occupied.
Most of them turned out to consist of nearly inhospitable land: arid deserts, sandy beaches and hills, with barbarians plaguing the hinterlands and pirates the sea. But there were also a handful of large towns scattered along the few fertile places along the coast – including, notably, one vast, sprawling city at the mouth of a great river, which had reportedly been founded by Alexander the Great. Upon Demodamus’ advice, Sunnogast immediately relocated there, planning to make the city his beach head in this foreign land, and eventually perhaps a flourishing capital for his people. The people who lived in these parts had been surprisingly welcoming at first, evidently glad to be free of the Greeks’ yoke, and even though they worshipped a variety of strange deities he thought they could be integrated into his new realm. Particularly these foreign ideas of cycles and eternal life intrigued Sunnogast. He envisioned himself uniting these vastly different peoples and ideologies into one, powerful culture, much like his ancestors had done all the way back on their home shore.
He did not live to see this dream come to fruition, however. This was were the first great crisis struck our people: Only months after he had reached the great city and his soldiers had begun to settle down among the local population, Sunnogast ‘the Besieger’ died of a strange fever, leaving the great caravan abruptly leaderless. In the following scramble to maintain order, one of his confidants, Randobald of the Gerhaucres clan, was finally elected as the new chief. To say that it was a contested election would be an understatement, as Randobald was not at all popular with the people. He was a warrior who was seen more as Sunnogasts vicious attack dog than a capable successor; extraordinarily gifted in military matters but completely unfit for government by all accounts. However, as unlikely as it seemed, his ascension to chief of the Suebes might have been what saved the Great Migration in the end. Because only a few weeks after Sunnogast’s death, a vast foreign army suddenly appeared beyond the river and drew up in front of the city gates.
Unbeknownst to our people, the war between the Greeks and their foes had ended, and now this foe had set his sights on us. It was a king of the Mauryans, as these people called themselves, and, under the flimsiest of pretences for war, he personally led an army of 30,000 directly into our new homeland. A force so large had not been thought possible, much less commanded by a single man. Faced with certain defeat, a few disloyal Suebian chieftains abandoned the city, leading their retainers back the way they had come and leaving Randobald’s forces isolated and hopelessly outnumbered. He would surely perish there, they thought. But Randobald, for all his faults, was nothing if not stubborn. He would not relinquish his city or abandon his people this easily just as he had been elected as their leader.
So, with the craftiness of a man who had nothing to lose, he employed every military strategy he knew to beat back the tide – and devised a few new ones himself, as well. Employing the reliable hit-and-run tactics of our people, he sallied out from the city and cut off the great army’s supply lines. He had Demodamus reinforce the city walls, allowing him to bring in indigenous craftsmen, who were frightened enough of a looming sack by the Mauryans to aid him in his efforts. He hired local mercenaries to reinforce his troops, paying them with the gold from the Greek cities Sunnogast had looted. Contrary to his reputation, he avoided open battle at all costs, unless it was on favourable ground. As the fighting shifted from the plains and deserts to the mountains, he had his soldiers abandon their chariots and equipped them instead with the heavy armour they had seen the Greeks use in battle. Remembering the chaos Sunnogast had unleashed in their enemies by striking deep into their territory, he sent out small raiding parties on horseback to hit the foreign aggressor’s countryside. To counter similar attempts by the Mauryans, he built forts on seemingly impossible locations; deep in the dry deserts and atop high mountains; places that no army could assail without enormous casualties. Finally, with his smaller forces being routed and his country reeling, the Mauryan king abandoned his ineffective siege of our city and turned his great army around to cross the river back into his own territory – where Randobald, having gathered his motley army of clansmen and mercenaries, waited for them on the opposite bank. The fighting was bloody and lasted until sunset, but at last when the dust cleared, the Mauryan army was in retreat and Randobald stood as victor.
However, his own forces were almost completely depleted and he felt that, should this war go on, an empire that could field armies the likes of the Mauryan king’s could only emerge as the winner compared to his exhausted, fledgling nation. So, while he was still in an advantageous position, he sent envoys to the king to offer his terms. He was prepared to recall all his armies from Mauryan soil for a guarantee of peace and security for his city. None of the rich, fertile lands he had conquered would be taken – they were indefensible, as he well knew. The mountains and deserts surrounding them, however? The Mauryan king seemed only too glad to give up those seemingly worthless lands if it gave him reprieve to build up his strength again. Within months, new forts sprang up in these inhospitable places, as Randobald made sure that no army could ever walk up to his city uncontested again. The attack dog was displaying an uncanny sense of defensive politics.
Now, this war had exhausted our people greatly. It had also transformed Randobald from a despised soldier to a hero of his people; the man who single-handedly saved them from certain doom. Randobald had a different outlook, though. He recognized that his victory had been as much due to luck as to his own military prowess, and to his enemy’s initial underestimating of the Suebes’ strength. And the war had laid bare a few glaring deficiencies in his own people’s systems and mentality as well: our gold reserves had been burned away by Randobald’s mercenaries, as his small country could not sustain such expenses by itself. His rival chieftains could not be counted on should worst come to worst, and their desertion had nearly destabilised his entire defence, fragmenting his army while the Mauryan king commanded his own uncontested. Furthermore, the nature of the caravan meant that every man was called upon as a soldier, leaving nobody to plow the fields or repair the walls – he’d had to rely on the local population for that. When the next attack came, as he was sure it would, these faults could prove disastrous. Changes needed to be made. Fundamental, lasting changes.
You have to understand, dear reader, that while nowadays it sounds normal for us to address our rulers as king or queen, back then what Randobald proposed was met with fierce opposition: Following the example of the Greek and Indian realms, he suggested that the elected ruler of the Suebes should be granted ultimate, unrivalled power in the realm. His title would pass on to his son instead of powerful chieftains, to avoid squabbles the likes of which had ensued after Sunnogast’s death. Chieftain levies would be eliminated, control of the military consolidated under loyal generals instead. Taxes would be collected regularly, not pressed onto the population in emergency situations. The migrants of the caravan would finally settle, freeing up a large portion of the population to work in the economy. In their place, a smaller standing army would be raised; professional soldiers who would be armed and armoured as well as the best of the neighbouring empires.
Needless to say, the large families were not happy with these ideas, especially not Sunnogast’s Dwaldus clan, who were seeing their prospects of ever again rising to such legendary status vanishing. But Randobald, with the support of the people behind him, pushed his reforms through. His realm officially became the Kingdom of the Suebes, stretching along the coastline of what the explorer called the ‘Mare Erythraeum’. It was not the mightiest of kingdoms in this part of the world, but, so Randobald hoped, it would be able to hold its own against the others. After all this effort, he officially ruled as king for less than four years. He passed away peacefully in his residence at the centre of our capital, passing the crown to his son Rigmund.
Rigmund, however, is a man who should serve as a warning to our soon-to-be queen. He was far from the mindful leader his father had turned out to be. While not without a certain intellect, he was rash, volatile, and he resented that his father had so easily given up the rich provinces of the Indus Valley in favour of nearly uninhabitable deserts and mountain ranges. Consequently, after only a year on the throne, he resumed hostilities first with the Mauyrans to the east and then with the Greek kingdom to the west. While the army his father had built up proved its worth and won a series of large victories, the war once again strained the kingdoms economy and its population to its limits. In the absence of the Suebes’ fighting forces, our new provinces were starting to voice thoughts of independence, free from both our or the Indians’ rule. Rigmund refused to see the danger in this, however, and pressed on even beyond the Indus Valley, until finally a great Mauryan force engaged him in their heartland and nearly routed his army. Even then, he only reluctantly agreed to a peace treaty after one of his most powerful generals threatened to defect. He had gotten his wish of ruling over the entirety of the Indus Valley, but it was apparent to anyone with eyes to see that these lands could not be held with the Suebes’ depleted forces and would be overrun as soon as the truce with the rival kingdoms expired. Upon returning home, Rigmund attempted to fund the expenses of his campaign by pressing high taxes on the Indian population, provoking even further unrest. In order to raise money to pay the war’s debts, he even went so far as to tear down some of the crucial fortresses Randobald had built. Without the ability to pay wages or otherwise appease them, even the diminished former chieftains were starting to once again conspire amongst themselves, undermining the still fledgling kingdom. To everyone except perhaps for Rigmund himself, things looked dire.
However, the one sensible decision the king had made in his life was to marry a truly remarkable woman, one Hildborg of the Dwaldes clan. This Hildborg - beautiful, intelligent and dangerously ambitious – was the granddaughter of Thessalonike, that Greek princess whom Sunnogast had taken captive during the Great Migration. The princess had eventually married into the chief’s clan and since then her line had quickly become influential in the Suebes’ new home – Randobald had greatly relied on her militarily gifted son during his campaigns. Now that man’s daughter, Hildborg, was married to the king of the Suebes himself, and had to watch for years how her husband nearly ran their country into the ground, skirting the edge of civil war multiple times and busy suppressing uprisings of the malcontent Indian population. Worse, she could never gift the king with a son and heir. Their only child, a bright, sunny-tempered girl she had named Mundhild, was her pride and joy, but under Suebian law women could not inherit their father’s titles. In the absence of a male heir, it was clear that one of the influential heads of the great families would take over the throne after her husband passed away – or, as seemed increasingly likely, they would speed that process along and make a violent grab for power, tearing the country apart in the process. For the sake of her people, Hildborg knew she could not let that happen.
What happened next was as much a testament to Hildborg’s cunning as to the unique sets of values and cultures that the new Suebian state had formed. In a swift coup d’état, Hildborg gathered her husband’s chancellor, the grand admiral of the fleet and the governor of the closest Indian provinces, and together they approached theking in his chambers and presented him with an ultimatum: he was to abdicate of his own free will, or each of them would pull all their retainers back, opening the door to the capital for anyone who lusted for the crown. The king, having fallen into some form of depression by then, had long tired of his responsibilities and the endless problems of his reign. He agreed to the demands almost immediately. The chancellor – a descendant of Demodamus the Explorer – took the crown from his hands and, as the court watched, proceeded to place it not upon his own head, but upon that of the king’s young daughter, Mundhild. Among the shocked whispers of the people in attendance, the young woman sat down on the throne and began to speak, and it soon became apparent that she had inherited not only her mother’s wit, but also her silver tongue. By the time the nobles learned of what had happened in the palace, everyone inside its walls was already firmly behind the young queen; the first in our country’s history and heiress both to the first migrants and to Alexander the Great.
Our blessed queen Mundhild Gerhaucra, though she had never shown ambitions to rule previously, wasted no time in leaving her mark on the kingdom. Within months, the disloyal nobles that had so plagued her father were either swayed or imprisoned. Under the guidance of her mother she passed number of new laws, granting rights to the Indian peoples of the Indus Valley and securing a new, loyal base of supporters for herself in the process. These provinces were never to rebel again. Next, she tackled the issue of her country’s borders, which her father’s aggressive expansions had stretched to dangerous levels. Recognising the wisdom Randobald had displayed in drawing his borders along easily defensible forts and deserts, Mundhild took this idea a step further: instead of stretching her army to all corners of her realm, she granted four of her border provinces independence, choosing four of her most loyal advisors to rule them as client kings on her behalf. Her new clients were placed in such a way that they secured all major roads into her kingdom, with her own navy safe-guarding them from any incursions by pirates or the great powers around them. Reflecting the proudly multi-cultural nature of her people, two of her client kings were of her native Suebian culture, one was a Persian and, crucially, the fourth was Indian. Though few saw it at the time, this was the first step towards a lasting balance of power with the other major players on the Indian subcontinent.
Two years after her ascension, Mundhild took a husband. Not a noble from one of her country’s great families, but the young nephew of the ruler of our powerful neighbour, the Pracyan Empire. Her betrothed’s uncle, the newly-crowned Raja, had no intention to continue his forefathers’ feud with his Germanic neighbours, recognizing that a great deal of his country’s wealth now stemmed from imports of valuable goods from our Indus Valley. The marriage proved mutually beneficial, finally securing peace and furthermore gifting the queen with a husband who was skilled in administration and finance; a self-confessed weakness of hers. In this informal alliance between the two great powers, so both sides hoped, lay the foundation for a bright future free of war.
And indeed, our queen’s reign has become one of peace and prosperity. She told me that she realized early on that Sunnogast and his successors had, largely unknowingly, conquered lands from which all major trade from east to west could be controlled, either by roads or by sea. Accordingly, she made full use of this strategic location: Our capital Alexandria at the mouth of the Indus flourished, and now draws people from all over the realm towards its markets. A great university was built here, whose scholars are developing new ideas and technologies almost by the day. The last great pirate fleet was cornered in the river delta only ten years ago, their port subsequently seized and destroyed.
While the formerly great Greek Empire to the west has since known almost half a century of strife and civil war, our country enjoys a period of unprecedented contentment and stability, as I don’t think anyone will doubt. Tuisto willing, it will continue to do so under our queen’s daughter, once she takes the throne.
This I would like to impart to our new queen, as one last lesson: learn of the great men and women who have brought our country to this point, and then learn from them. Take wisdom from the madman who led an entire people east; from the warrior who bent the new world to his will; and from your mother the queen, who united our people and led them into this new age.
Long may Suebia endure!
Ingric Andicus, royal tutor and historian.
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