The Duchy of Pskov 1066 –
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The night of Leontii’s marriage to Evgenia Rurikovich, he did not visit her rooms. In fact, several days went by before he summoned her to his chamber in breach of custom, by which custom he was to visit her. When she came, he spoke with her only briefly, reciting by rote wooden words of love and affection that were also customary, but in his mouth seemed even hollower than they in fact were. Finally, silently, he consummated the marriage with all the passion of old woman ripping even older garments into rags.
It was not that Leontii found his wife unattractive; he did not. Nor was he a particularly temperate and chaste man; he was not. He did not harbor ill feelings towards his wife; in fact he felt nothing at all except the faintest glimmers of formal duty mixed with a larger dose of pity. None of these things were the cause of his lassitude. Rather, Leontii was an eminently practical man, and this woman, now his wife, had been brought to Pskov for two purposes: to provide income through her dowry to the ailing finances of the realm, and to bear an heir. That she was useful as a financial steward was a bonus, but to Leontii’s mind, it was simply that. If she became more than a sleeve and a womb he would be glad. If she were less, well then that was something Leontii did not want to contemplate.
As for Evgenia, she was not unduly troubled by her husband’s lack of affection for her. She had been raised in a royal house as princess of one of the greatest principalities in all of Rus. She knew well her duties, and expected little in the way of care or concern from her husband. Marriage was about politics, and if she needed to feel love, well, there were other ways to achieve that goal.
It was not that Leontii found his wife unattractive; he did not. Nor was he a particularly temperate and chaste man; he was not. He did not harbor ill feelings towards his wife; in fact he felt nothing at all except the faintest glimmers of formal duty mixed with a larger dose of pity. None of these things were the cause of his lassitude. Rather, Leontii was an eminently practical man, and this woman, now his wife, had been brought to Pskov for two purposes: to provide income through her dowry to the ailing finances of the realm, and to bear an heir. That she was useful as a financial steward was a bonus, but to Leontii’s mind, it was simply that. If she became more than a sleeve and a womb he would be glad. If she were less, well then that was something Leontii did not want to contemplate.
As for Evgenia, she was not unduly troubled by her husband’s lack of affection for her. She had been raised in a royal house as princess of one of the greatest principalities in all of Rus. She knew well her duties, and expected little in the way of care or concern from her husband. Marriage was about politics, and if she needed to feel love, well, there were other ways to achieve that goal.
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Well if she does breed then the two of them might find love in the most unexpected place - the marriage bed itself!
It is a good thing for dynasties that neither passion, nor love, nor enjoyment is necessary for the bringing forth of children into the world. Were it so, then Leontii would never have borne any children with Evgenia. As it was, Evgenia found herself pregnant and in February of 1123 Leontii’s first child was born; a little girl who was to be named Adeila. That same month, Leontii’s armies in the field triumphed over the far away pagans in Lappland.
The brightly lit day belied the bitter cold of that February day when messengers brought news of the Lappish pagans surrender. When they arrived, Leontii sent for them to come to his study, in breach of protocol. They arrived and bowed low to the ground. Leontii waited silently as the two messengers delivered the news. As the spoke, he reclined in his thick chair, looking positively bored at the information, and when they finished, with a slight, barely noticeable wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and resumed reading the reports of the day.
His aide, a young noble of pagan lineage stood incredulously by, “My lord, should we not inform the chancellor, Lady Maddalena? Is not this, my lord, an occasion for feasting? I can speak with the steward if you so will.” Again, a small wave of the hand silenced the talkative aide. “Anton, I assure you that her ladyship, my aunt Maddalena has had this news far longer than I. Furthermore the capitulation of some distant hard to manage frigid swamp is of no consequence worthy of celebration.” The prince spoke quietly, his thin yet solid voice did not waver. “Yes, my Lord.” “Shall we then bend ourselves to the task at hand Anton?” Leontii looked at his aide with dispassionate disdain. “Yes my lord.”
Before they could turn their attention to matters at hand, another knock at the door, and shortly, a smallish woman with pale skin and paler hair appeared. “Your lordship,” her thick accent evinced her northern roots, “Princess Evgenia has given birth. The child is a girl.” Leontii greeted this news with more disinterest than the last. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Inform the necessary parties. And send our congratulations to her ladyship.” And with another wave of the hand, Leontii dismissed the old woman. “Anton, where were we?”
The brightly lit day belied the bitter cold of that February day when messengers brought news of the Lappish pagans surrender. When they arrived, Leontii sent for them to come to his study, in breach of protocol. They arrived and bowed low to the ground. Leontii waited silently as the two messengers delivered the news. As the spoke, he reclined in his thick chair, looking positively bored at the information, and when they finished, with a slight, barely noticeable wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and resumed reading the reports of the day.
His aide, a young noble of pagan lineage stood incredulously by, “My lord, should we not inform the chancellor, Lady Maddalena? Is not this, my lord, an occasion for feasting? I can speak with the steward if you so will.” Again, a small wave of the hand silenced the talkative aide. “Anton, I assure you that her ladyship, my aunt Maddalena has had this news far longer than I. Furthermore the capitulation of some distant hard to manage frigid swamp is of no consequence worthy of celebration.” The prince spoke quietly, his thin yet solid voice did not waver. “Yes, my Lord.” “Shall we then bend ourselves to the task at hand Anton?” Leontii looked at his aide with dispassionate disdain. “Yes my lord.”
Before they could turn their attention to matters at hand, another knock at the door, and shortly, a smallish woman with pale skin and paler hair appeared. “Your lordship,” her thick accent evinced her northern roots, “Princess Evgenia has given birth. The child is a girl.” Leontii greeted this news with more disinterest than the last. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Inform the necessary parties. And send our congratulations to her ladyship.” And with another wave of the hand, Leontii dismissed the old woman. “Anton, where were we?”
Leontii seems to be making a lot of breaches of protocol. A sign of things to come, perhaps?
He does not seem to be able to exert any great enthusiasm for much does he? I almost wonder if he is picking up the Lazy trait he is so laid-back
stnylan said:
he's not so much lazy as pragmatic; a female child does him no good, and the conquest of Lappland isn't really that great a prize.
kingmbutu said:
WHAT!? Lappland is infinitely important! The peat it earns is worth more than Pskov!
Great update. And Leontii really doesnt seem to do much. The other characters were rich and vibrant, and he is more like a nail that slowly is coming out of the wood its been placed in.
The long summer gave way to fall, and life in the Pskovian court acquired a steady and unassuming rhythm. The thrice weekly fasting that had been required since the earliest days of the former Lord Duke’s reign continued; Leontii has known nothing different in his life, and saw no reason to change that protocol, at least not for the court. Leontii fasted only once a week, and spent hours locked away studying volumes of military history. When he was not studying, he was training; either mock battles with the Marshal or play fights with pagan nobles in the court. The military was his obsession, and Leontii was a brilliant militarist.
“Screeeech!” the grating noise of metal striking Leontii’s shield caused him to shudder involuntarily, but only for a split second. Instinctively he batted away the blow and thrust with his own sword towards his opponent. The blade he carried is wooden; he had severely wounded several of his opponents in mock battles before, and it would be unwise to have all of his leading nobles limping into war. “Ugh” Leontii’s thrust was quick and nearly wordless and his opponent crumpled over in pain. Unlike most warriors, Leontii did not yell or scream as he battled. His movements were quick, silent, and, if this were a real battle, deadly. “Enough.” With one word, Leontii ended the mock battle and sheathed his sword.
“Attend to this man,” Leontii waved his servants forward as he strode off the field back towards the castle. He hated that he was so good, or rather that his nobles so poor at the martial arts. Although his face betrayed no emotion as he walked from the field, inwardly he struggled to discipline his heart, and cursed himself at the same time. A truly good warrior would not be so bothered by the wounds of an enemy. But then again, this young man was no true enemy, and Leontii knew that from the last thrust of his sword, well; there would be a long recovery. If wounds from mock battles were all that the young prince had to contend with, then he would have been more fortunate than any of Pskov’s rulers. This was not to be.
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The chattering of the banquet hall provided suitable cover for Prince Leontii’s conversation with Lady Maddalena. The conversation, as always, was matters of state. “My dearest aunt, what of my sister, Lukeria? What shall be done with her? She is ill as always, and her illness is known. I would not want to see her hurt.”
In a moment, Maddalena searched the eyes of her grand-nephew; her liege. She saw at once the struggle between his compassion and his practicality. To keep Lukeria would drain the fortunes of the state. To marry her off to some unkind count would be a cruelty, but would be a boon to the House of Pskov. All of this Maddalena captured in a single glance; her years of experience served her well.
She smiled, “My lord..sorry...my prince, leave Lukeria to me. I have already arranged a marriage for her, as well as one for your aunt, the sister of your father. Did you think I would fail to consider your concerns?” With that she turned her head and brought a mug of wine to her lips, content that her answer was satisfactory. “Of course Lady Maddalena, I should never have doubted you. Where is Count Demian? I thought he would be here tonight.”
“Screeeech!” the grating noise of metal striking Leontii’s shield caused him to shudder involuntarily, but only for a split second. Instinctively he batted away the blow and thrust with his own sword towards his opponent. The blade he carried is wooden; he had severely wounded several of his opponents in mock battles before, and it would be unwise to have all of his leading nobles limping into war. “Ugh” Leontii’s thrust was quick and nearly wordless and his opponent crumpled over in pain. Unlike most warriors, Leontii did not yell or scream as he battled. His movements were quick, silent, and, if this were a real battle, deadly. “Enough.” With one word, Leontii ended the mock battle and sheathed his sword.
“Attend to this man,” Leontii waved his servants forward as he strode off the field back towards the castle. He hated that he was so good, or rather that his nobles so poor at the martial arts. Although his face betrayed no emotion as he walked from the field, inwardly he struggled to discipline his heart, and cursed himself at the same time. A truly good warrior would not be so bothered by the wounds of an enemy. But then again, this young man was no true enemy, and Leontii knew that from the last thrust of his sword, well; there would be a long recovery. If wounds from mock battles were all that the young prince had to contend with, then he would have been more fortunate than any of Pskov’s rulers. This was not to be.
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The chattering of the banquet hall provided suitable cover for Prince Leontii’s conversation with Lady Maddalena. The conversation, as always, was matters of state. “My dearest aunt, what of my sister, Lukeria? What shall be done with her? She is ill as always, and her illness is known. I would not want to see her hurt.”
In a moment, Maddalena searched the eyes of her grand-nephew; her liege. She saw at once the struggle between his compassion and his practicality. To keep Lukeria would drain the fortunes of the state. To marry her off to some unkind count would be a cruelty, but would be a boon to the House of Pskov. All of this Maddalena captured in a single glance; her years of experience served her well.
She smiled, “My lord..sorry...my prince, leave Lukeria to me. I have already arranged a marriage for her, as well as one for your aunt, the sister of your father. Did you think I would fail to consider your concerns?” With that she turned her head and brought a mug of wine to her lips, content that her answer was satisfactory. “Of course Lady Maddalena, I should never have doubted you. Where is Count Demian? I thought he would be here tonight.”
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Hmm, does that question presage some ill befalling the good count?
Edit: Question kingmbutu, have you read Paranoid Tsar's Muscowy AAR in these forums? This AAR reminds me of that one a lot.
Edit: Question kingmbutu, have you read Paranoid Tsar's Muscowy AAR in these forums? This AAR reminds me of that one a lot.
A nice look inside Leontii's head there.
And indeed, I'm also wondering if anything's befallen Demian.
And indeed, I'm also wondering if anything's befallen Demian.
Making a religious duty to fast is a very practical way of making minimal foodstuffs go further.
Leontii is very practical and level-headed. I do wonder where the Count is. Conferring with his spies?
Leontii is very practical and level-headed. I do wonder where the Count is. Conferring with his spies?
Chief Ragusa: I hadn't thought about the fasting from an economic perspective. As for Demian... we'll see
Specialist290: Leontii as a ruler is still evolving; it will be interesting to see how he reconciles (or doesn't) his pragmatism and compassion
stnylan: Paranoid Tsar was a key inspiration of this work. Unfortunately he hasn't updated in a while. I await his update with baited breath and hope he hasn't abandoned it.
Specialist290: Leontii as a ruler is still evolving; it will be interesting to see how he reconciles (or doesn't) his pragmatism and compassion
stnylan: Paranoid Tsar was a key inspiration of this work. Unfortunately he hasn't updated in a while. I await his update with baited breath and hope he hasn't abandoned it.
Demian startled awake from his sleep; the papers he had been reading were scattering in a chaotic arc around his chair. He shook his head and pressed his long fingers against the sides of his nose. This was so unlike him; to doze off like this. He shook his head again. He had always been so energetic. The years were catching up with him. He sat up straight and arched his back, stretching the muscles without there while suppressing a yawn. He blinked; once, twice… What time was it? Again he shook himself and stood up. He was late, he knew that. There was a banquet tonight, and he was expected. He needed to get ready, but he was just so tired. He sat again. He would go to the dinner, but he needed to gather his thoughts.
The next morning he was found there; curled over in his chair like some giant infant, The great count Demian, eldest son of Domazhir I, was dead. He was fifty-five years old.
His death sent a shockwave through the nobility and indeed through the whole House of Pskov and all of northern Rus. No one in the court could remember a time when Demian was not present. Even his sister Maddalena who had come to wield nearly as much influence in foreign circles as he did domestically was many years younger than Demian, and felt lost without him.
As for Prince Leontii, Demian’s death was a fearful and tragic thing, but also an ordination of sorts. Neither he nor his father had ever known a world without Demian’s wise counsel. For the first time, Prince Leontii would rule alone; there was no one else to whose judgment he might defer, even if he had wished to.
The next morning he was found there; curled over in his chair like some giant infant, The great count Demian, eldest son of Domazhir I, was dead. He was fifty-five years old.
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Demian’s funeral was the greatest ever held in Pskovian history; greater even than those who had actually sat on the throne, a throne which was denied to him because of his illegitimate parentage. In many ways, he had been Pskov. He had defined court life, dominated politics and influenced the destiny of thousands from behind and sometimes beside the throne. He was, of course, a ruler in his own right, and his heirs would continue to sit as counts in Kajanaborg for generations. But Pskov was his home. He had never loved the land his brother gave him as a gift.His death sent a shockwave through the nobility and indeed through the whole House of Pskov and all of northern Rus. No one in the court could remember a time when Demian was not present. Even his sister Maddalena who had come to wield nearly as much influence in foreign circles as he did domestically was many years younger than Demian, and felt lost without him.
As for Prince Leontii, Demian’s death was a fearful and tragic thing, but also an ordination of sorts. Neither he nor his father had ever known a world without Demian’s wise counsel. For the first time, Prince Leontii would rule alone; there was no one else to whose judgment he might defer, even if he had wished to.
That rather solves any difficulties of breaking free of Demian's influence as well. I wonder. With Demian dead and the rest of the family so disrupted this is clearly the time for Leontii to stamp his own authority throughout his realm.
I think that with Demian dead it's not just the Pskovers that are going to be lost without him. He was the anchor of this AAR, involved in almost every aspect. It's going to be interesting to see how his loss affects the story itself.
It was a miserable day. The thick walls of the citadel of Pskov stood against the cold damp wind; snow was heaped high on the walls, higher than it had in anyone’s memory. Deep in the fortress, Princess Evgeniia half lay, half sat against the hard wooden birthing chair. A blazing fire illuminated and warmed the room; it was stifling. “Ahhhh,” Evgeniia screamed and sweat poured down her face and chest; and then in the next moment, a cry. The midwife, as ancient as the stones that encircled the room, caught the child and grunted. “It’s a girl.” She handed the child off to her protégé, a woman who looked almost as old as she did.
Upstairs, a knock at Prince Leontii’s door. “Come!” he barked his unwelcoming invitation; a slightly built servant entered. “My prince, her ladyship Princess Evgeniia has given birth. The child is a girl.” Leontii did not turn to acknowledge the servant; his chair faced away from the door. “Call the child Olga.” A wave of his hand dismissed the servant. Leontii sat, contemplating his life. The birth of another child was a true gift from God, but he wanted sons. He needed sons.
More pressing to Leontii at the moment though was a letter from the far away county of Hlynov. He did not even know why they were at war. It was the continuing legacy of his late father’s obsession. They were again offering peace, but Pskov could not afford to accept a peace without any gains. The treasury was not substantial, and the loss of life had been significant. To conclude the war without gaining anything seemed unwise. At that moment, Prince Leontii missed the advice of his uncle more than ever.