Grand Patriarch Yuriy II Gorislavovich of Ruthenia
Born: 1163
Reigned: 1176 - 1180
The end of the Russian caliphate was met with shock and dismay by traditionalists everywhere, particularly in Poland and northern Russia. The Greki were largely unknown in Ruthenia’s northern holdings, and rumors spread quickly that the good and wise Mahdi Ivan had fallen prey to a cabal of crypto-Christians. When the Grek Mahdi, Mitrofan, sent clerics north to call for pious Muslims to claim the lands of Jerusalem, they were met with hostility nearly everywhere. In Poznań and Warszawa, the crowds greeted Greki clerics with stony silence. In Kraków, a mob of rowdy apprentices threw stones at the esteemed
faqih Boris of Adrianoplis and assaulted his small crowd of supporters; the Patriarch was forced to send a detachment of light cavalry to retrieve the terrified cleric.
Even had the lower orders been aware of the Greki arguments, it was unlikely that they would have been sympathetic. The great boyars often saw Kiev as an impediment to their traditional liberties, but the Mahdis were simply too remote from the life of a peasant or even a minor landholder to appear domineering. They feared the interference and tyranny of Kraków (or Novgorod, or Minsk), and saw the Mahdi as a distant figure who cared for the common people. Stripping the Mahdi of his authority would mean that nobody could stand in the way of the local patriarchs.
As with the religious revolts under Ivan I, the Almohadi revolt began with a local dispute. In the fall of 1174, the unpopular high chieftain of Lower Silesia summarily stripped the
‘alim in Świebodzin from his responsibilities for failing to recognize the authority of Mahdi Mitrofan Vladimirovich. The
‘alim (known to history only as Andrzej) protested and refused to leave the Świebodzin mosque. The high chieftain sent in a detachment of heavy infantry to remove Andrzej by force, but they were met by an angry crowd of merchants, craftsmen, and peasants standing in defense of their
‘alim. Perhaps somebody in the crowd threw a rock, perhaps the commander gave a hasty order--in any case, a riot was sparked that obliged the high chieftain’s men to make a hasty retreat. The triumphant crowd ejected the high chieftain’s representatives and claimed the town for the Mahdi and for true Islam.
The following day, the high chieftain rode out himself with a complement of warriors to confront the rebellious town. There he discovered that the town had been reinforced overnight by a large number of deserters from his own retinue, led by Stefan Godziemba, a popular young
fāris (about whom more later). In the ensuing battle, the high chieftain was captured and his men scattered. Overnight, Godziemba urged his captive liege in vain to take up the banner of the Mahdi against the Greki conspirators. This having failed, the high chieftain was tried by a court of the rebels on charges of treason and apostasy, and executed in the village square.
The uprising in Świebodzin inspired a wave of imitators over the winter and early spring of 1175, until most of Poland was flying the flag of rebellion. The rebellions were led by
farsan, small landowners and prosperous burghers, typically with the sympathy of the commons. Many who served as professional soldiers in noble retinues deserted for the rebels, while loyalist garrisons were quickly overwhelmed. In smaller towns and cities, they frequently had the gates thrown open as they arrived. So far as we can tell, the rebellion of the
farsan was still professing itself a war in defense of the Mahdi and Islam. Supportive clerics described the rebellion as a sacred struggle and its warriors as
mujahideen.
In late August, 1175, the rebels invested the city of Kraków with a force numbered in the tens of thousands. Kraków had been the seat of Polish kings for centuries, since before the advent of Islam, and the populace there was more hostile to the rebellion than elsewhere. The lengthy siege exposed serious deficiencies in the rebel leadership, which had perhaps several dozen local champions all squabbling for control. As a result, they struggled in logistical matters and it seemed for a time that the besiegers might starve before the besieged.
The sack of Kraków in February, 1176 was particularly brutal--disorganized rebels, enraged at the hostility of the city’s townspeople and full of their own righteousness, looted the wealthy merchants of the town and set the dhimmi quarter aflame. Dozens of Christians and Jews died before the
farsan could restore order. The
farsan were horrified at the sacking and hanged two dozen of the worst offenders, but dhimmi leaders were not assuaged and many gravitated to the side of the Greki.
The fall of Kraków was greeted with alarm in Kiev, where the imperial council had fully expected the Polish patriarch to defeat a disorganized peasant mob. The fastest ship left in Kiev was sent with alacrity to the Levant to alert the Grand Patriarch of the rebellion and urge him to return home to restore order. However, the ship was delayed due to springtime storms and did not find the imperial army until Grand Patriarch Ivan had already perished. The urgent message went instead to Dmitry Konstantinovich Oskyldr, High Chief of Dubrovnik and Ivan’s second-in-command.
Dmitry was a kinsman of the Grand Patriarch, who could trace his descent from Dyre the Stranger via a younger son of Vasilko III and thus had a colorable claim on the throne. The fact of a man like this in sole command of the imperial army would generate suspicion, then and later. He was not, however, a man with particular ambition for himself. Rather, the High Chieftain had been raised with the expectation of service to the throne, and this ideal is one that he held deeply. During Ivan’s reign he had been less a commander than an enforcer in the organized crime sense, who had delivered maximum punishment to rebel armies and invading heathens alike. With Ivan dead and Poland up in arms, however, the Butcher of Bavaria would need to decide a different way to proceed.
Dmitry’s first decision was to sail his men--some eighteen thousand weary
mujahideen--to Ragusa rather than Kiev, anticipating (correctly) that the Polish rebels were likely to march south in order to rally the Sloviens to their side. When the army arrived in Ragusa, however, he learned that the situation was much more than he had realized. After news of Ivan’s death reached Ruthenia, the Bavarian Catholics had risen up in rebellion as well, and he was hearing disturbing rumors that the southern Slavic boyars were planning to revolt for their independence as well.
Dmitry and his commanders reached a basic understanding of the situation: the revolt of the Polish
farsan was a critical threat to the throne, and the other two revolts were not. Riders were sent to the Catholic rebels in Bavaria and to the High Chieftain of Bihar, who had orchestrated the southern Slavic cabal: Kiev would not interfere with their legitimate claims to independence if they did not interfere with the suppression of the Polish revolt. For the rebellious
farsan, Dmitry would offer an amnesty to all who laid down their arms. Those who did not would be put down with maximum brutality. He hoped to use the disorganization of the rebel army against them, attacking them piecemeal until the survivors finally made peace.
Dmitry Konstaninovich was acting well outside of his established authority, hoping to present Yuriy II and his regency council with a fait accompli. For all practical purposes, the commander of the imperial army was the only figure on the loyalist side that mattered, and he made decisions on that basis. When word of Dmitry’s conduct reached Kiev, however, the Grand Patriarch saw things differently. Yuriy II, with the inborn suspicion that came from years of coping with his father’s psychosis, determined that Dmitry was using the rebellion in order to place himself on the throne.
The one advantage that Dmitry had was the disorganization of the rebels. On May 20, 1177, the imperial army found and routed a rebel army numbered perhaps twenty-five hundred men, effectively ending it as a fighting force. He secured a much larger victory on October 21st, in Avlonas, leading to the death of seven thousand rebels. The
farsan still outnumbered his army, but as long as they remained divided, the loyalists would have a crucial advantage.
The rebel army retreated northward for the winter of 1177-78 to their strongholds in Poland. The losses at Danji Kraji and Avlonas had been a shock to many in the rebel forces, who genuinely had not anticipated that the Mahdi himself (as many still considered Yuriy II) would have opposed his loyal subjects. The leading
farsan saw it as particularly grave. They had received Dmitry’s offer of amnesty but could not believe such an offer coming from the Butcher from Bavaria. It would surely be victory or death. But to achieve victory, they would need a single commander, not a multitude of voices.
It was, therefore, a long, dark winter of internecine struggle, but in the end a cohort of western Poles known as the Ślązacy (lit., “the Silesians”) emerged victorious, centered around the figure of Stefan Godziemba. Godziemba had credibility as the first to draw blood during the rebellion, and over the course of his life he proved a master at managing rival factions without making enemies. In order to assuage rival factions, the Ślązacy promised that lands seized from ‘apostates’ (i.e., the Greki) would be given to the righteous. On the question of Dmitry’s amnesty offer, Godziemba adopted an all or nothing line. Kiev could not be trusted, so in order to protect Islam he would not sheathe his sword until a righteous Muslim sat upon the throne. Few missed that he was referring to himself.
First, of course, the imperial army would need to be defeated. The rebels had been receiving reports from Dmitry’s camp that made them optimistic at such a prospect. Morale in the imperial winter camp was low, as common folk who had expected to fight Christians for Jerusalem found themselves instead in Croatia fighting Muslims like themselves. Dmitry could not use religious rhetoric as effectively as the rebels because--as he well knew--the bulk of his peasant levies sympathized with the rebel cause. The professional soldiers of the imperial retinue, meanwhile, were once again anxious that a bankrupt imperial crown would try to dock their pay, and rebel agents were eager to suggest just that. Desertion was rampant that winter, leaving the High Chieftain with a fraction of the men he had commanded in Jerusalem.
During the campaigning season of 1178, therefore, Godziemba and his rebels refused to meet the imperials in open battle. The Polish light cavalry launched raids on the imperial supply lines, disrupted communications, and ambushed isolated patrols, only to retreat before battle lines could be drawn. In the spring of 1178, the imperials had perhaps twelve thousand warriors in their army; by the end of the fall, it was closer to nine. In the spring of 1179, with the imperial retinue nearly mutinous, the rebels finally chose to give battle. Stefan Godziemba met Dmitry Oskyldr in battle at Visegrád, their numbers seemingly even. Unbeknownst to the imperials, however, a complement of rebel cavalry had crossed the river Danube to their south; late in the afternoon, while the imperials and rebels were locked in combat, the rebel heavy horse appeared on the imperial right and led a devastating flanking maneuver. Thousands of imperial soldiers died and just as many fled. Dmitry was captured attempting to organize an orderly retreat, and brought before the rebel
farsan in chains.
The defeat at Visegrád stunned the imperial court in Kiev. The Regency Council was desperate to raise men from the great boyars, but they received nothing but excuses in return. The boyars now saw that Kiev might well lose the war, and in such a case there was no point alienating the rebel leadership. Attempts to raise money for mercenaries proved similarly futile--the crown was unable to pay interest on the debt it already had. Grand Patriarch Yuriy II Gorislavovich, now only months away from manhood, took a dark and suspicious view of events. His correspondence with selected boyars was full of conspiracies, most of which revolved around Dmitry himself.
Once in captivity, Dmitry became the object of a Ślązacy charm offensive. The victorious rebels were beginning to think of the future, and it seemed prudent to win allies from the imperial side. He was invited to dine at Stefan Godziemba’s table, and healers tended to his wounds and those of his compatriots. He was even asked to appear by Godziemba’s side while the rebel leaders said the Salat al-Janazah for the fallen of Visegrád, pointedly including the imperials and rebels alike.
After several weeks of this generous treatment, Dmitry was suddenly given a letter--written by Yuriy II to a Slovien ally and intercepted by a rebel
fāris. The High Chieftain had corresponded primarily with the Regency Council, who treated their commander with cool courtesy. Yuriy’s views, therefore, came as quite a shock to him. The boy did not simply think that Dmitry had exceeded his authority; in his view Dmitry had been against him from the start, acting in consort with elements in the rebel leadership to seize the throne for himself. Perhaps, the boy darkly hinted, Ivan II had not simply perished from a wound taken in battle in either.
The following day, a shaken High Chieftain was invited for a private stroll with Stefan Godziemba. The rebel leader was in an expansive mood, recounting tales of derring-do in border skirmishes with the Christian Franks and praising Dmitry’s victories during the recent jihad. He then began to question Dmitry about the boyars who had remained neutral in the rebellion thus far, expressing with evident sincerity a desire to bring them into the fold peacefully and limit further bloodshed. Finally, without mentioning Yuriy’s letter, Godziemba turned to his companion and offered him a seat on the imperial council.
Over the course of the year, High Chieftain Dmitry Oskyldr would travel to Memel, Minsk, and Novgorod, to treat with the patriarchs there. They were troubled by the instability of Ivan II and his son and unable to see a path to victory for the imperials. There was no better envoy for the rebels than Dmitry Oskyldr, and he made his case bluntly: even if Yuriy Gorislavovich could have won the civil war, he could not bring peace to Ruthenia. Only one man was capable of that now.
Late in the winter of 1180, the great boyars arrived in Świebodzin, to the simple castle that served as Stefan Godziemba’s castle. They watched, stone-faced, as Stefan Godziemba accepted the imperial crown of Ruthenia by an Almohadi cleric, standing with solemn dignity while the rebel
farsan whooped and hollered. Godziemba called then for a hush. These mighty lords, tied to Yuriy Gorislavovich by deep ties of blood and honor, stood before the Polish knight and knelt before him, one by one. The dynasty founded by Dyre the Stranger three centuries ago had been overthrown.
