Book Two Chapter Seven
SEVEN
The Blind and the Ugly
25 June 930 – 17 January 936
I.
9 September 932
The Blind and the Ugly
25 June 930 – 17 January 936
I.
9 September 932
Two Moravian soldiers, one younger and one older, sat cleaning their gear outside their tent in the war camp. The sun sparkled off the waters of the Ionian Sea off in the distance, reflecting a limpid, immaculate sapphirine sky. Even the beeches and oaks of these shores, trees familiar enough to the men of Moravia, bore their greens more intensely, more sweetly. Maybe it was the red roofs and white walls of the villas that set them off, or maybe it was the balmy breeze coming off the Middle Sea. But the atmosphere in the besiegers’ camp was a relaxed one.
‘Can’t wait until the city falls,’ the younger soldier said to the older. ‘Have you seen these Epirote girls? Long black curly hair down to their waists… perfect oval faces… I’m gonna get me one or two of them, along with a big jug of wine, and celebrate!’
The older one regarded him tolerantly. Lust was well and good for the young, and there would certainly be plenty of willing women about. ‘Might want to consider scrubbing your own hair first, Bořek,’ he said. ‘Not to mention washing your ass and balls. Greek women might like their animals, but they don’t want their men smelling like ‘em.’
Bořek had been idly scratching the offending member, and stopped himself with a laugh. ‘That’s true enough, Florián…’
Just then behind them they heard a telltale whistling sound. The camp commander himself emerged from his tent into the sunny air, taking wheezing breaths to calm himself and ease the tension in his lungs. A thin and wiry fellow, not unhandsome, with a neatly-trimmed black goatee, he still occasionally suffered from this problem of the lungs and throat. He also had an odd habit of watching for birds and beasts and rare flowers while on the march: sometimes taking time to draw out a folded parchment and sketch the things he saw with a spare bit of charcoal. Since they’d begun besieging Nikopolis, though, he’d been all business, but evidently the warmer and damper climate had not been salutary for his windpipe. After he’d gotten his breathing normal and under control, Pravoslav Rychnovský turned aside and approached the two men.
‘Report.’
‘All quiet, sir,’ Florián told Pravoslav. ‘The garrison can’t have much more fight left in ‘em. Based on the reckoning of the town watch that we’ve held, I’d say the city should be ours within a fortnight.’
‘And already making plans, I hear,’ Pravoslav turned a sly gaze to young Bořek. ‘But you’re still on watch and I need you both on alert. We’ll depend on you if they make a desperate move in that time.’
‘Understood, sir,’ Bořek said apologetically.
‘Good. I’m glad to hear that we’re squeezing them well. Keep a solid watch on our line and theirs.’
‘If I may ask, sir,’ Florián asked, ‘how’s the King faring?’
Pravoslav smiled. ‘Father’s better all the time, but not quite well enough to leave his bed yet, last I checked. Give him a couple of days and he’ll be up.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be glad not to have to drink that hog piss anymore.’
‘Quite glad. But, strange as it might sound, that preparation turned out to be one of Frida’s better ideas. It’s been doing him good throughout his illness. I’ll have to thank her in person when we get home. The other thing that’s been doing him good is Hrabě Kochan.’
‘That toady?’ laughed Florián. ‘I’ve never understood that about the King. After seven months of constant fawning attention I’d be sick of him. He’s always struck me as an empty-headed flatterer.’
‘Not so,’ Bořek dared to contradict his elder. ‘Kochan is indeed very close to the king, but he’s never been one to curry favours. In fact, much the other way around! It’s supposed to be secret, but in my camp some of the common levy from Žatec told me that the Hrabě has been paying out of his own pockets for our provisions. That’s why we’ve been eating so well through the summer – we certainly haven’t been getting any more out of these villas!’
‘I should well hope not,’ Pravoslav declared. ‘Dauidēs gave us his plea not to do any harm to the estates here, and the King has made that plea a firm order. The Basileios relies on their support if he’s to maintain his rule over the Eastern Empire after this war with Doukissa Theoktistē is done.’
‘Who cares what that donkey-face thinks?’ asked Bořek with a laugh. Noting Pravoslav’s darkening glower – all the more threatening for its rarity – he hastened to add, ‘Not that I would dare countermand an order from King Bohodar.’
‘Is it so, milord?’ asked Florián. ‘About Kochan, I mean.’
Pravoslav, his face returning to its wonted placidity, shrugged eloquently. ‘I can neither deny nor confirm Bořek’s tale. I will say, though, that silver has been rather tight of late, and we’re grateful from support from any quarter. Father was even forced to sell off some of Great-Grandfather’s collection of obscure tomes to pay for this little expedition. Rather a shame. I had my eye on one of those myself…’
‘Probably better off sold,’ Florián crossed himself. ‘The old knieža was always a bit… odd, wasn’t he? Mucking about with old books and candles and incense… Dangerous powers beyond any of us to know.’
At that point, the horns blew from the centre of the camp.
‘The King! The King emerges!’
And there indeed was Boško, standing in the sunlit awning of his tent, back erect and head high. Even though he was thin and drawn from his long illness, he was nonetheless clearly glad to be up and on his feet again and walking in the light. Pravoslav loped to his side and flung his arms around his father’s shoulders.
‘It’s good to see you well again, ocko,’ Pravoslav said.
‘It’s good to be well again, Slávek,’ he said, taking in a breath of Greek air through his grateful and blessedly-clear nose.
Pravoslav asked him: ‘Have you sent word home? Will Radko be joining us here?’
Boško shook his head. ‘No. I’m afraid he will not.’
The elder son was dismayed. ‘Whyever not? He’s come of age now! He should be by my side!’
‘I felt that his prayers would be of greater aid to us than his sword-arm,’ Boško noted wryly. ‘I left instruction for him to withdraw from the world and enter the cœnobitical life. I’ve received word back that he has accepted to enter a cell of Christian brothers near Břevnov.’
‘That wasn’t well done, Father,’ Pravoslav remonstrated. ‘Even if you didn’t want to put him at bodily risk here in the army, he could still have been of use keeping the books! You know the troubles we’ve been having with money, and he was always a dab hand with figures – half again as good at it as Hrabě Petr! With Slavníkov gone—’
‘That’s not for you to decide, not till you have sons of your own,’ Boško chided his son. ‘Besides, he went there willing! He always has been drawn to the Church and the life of prayer. Would you bring him back from that calling?’
Pravoslav hung his head. ‘No, ocko.’
‘I thought not,’ Boško said. ‘Besides, I think this may have been the best way to keep Radko out of your mother’s hair. I’d rather not go back to those two bickering over theology at the dinner table.’
Pravoslav let out a dry chuckle. He still wasn’t happy about Radko being sent to a cloister, but he’d have to learn to live with it. Grudgingly, he had to admit that his younger brother was well-suited to such a life.
‘You’re not going to ask after someone else at home?’ asked Boško.
No answer.
‘Your wife misses you, you know. Terribly. She says as much in her letters. She feels quite desolate without you near, and wishes you back.’
‘She’s too kind,’ Pravoslav muttered.
‘Nonsense,’ Boško clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Marija treasures the father of her two daughters, and another that you burdened her womb with ere you left! She has the sense to know a good man when she sees one. Would that I had as wise a son when it came to women…’
The alternate praise and censure raised Pravoslav’s hackles, but he kept still. It was true that Marija was more than just a pretty face: she treated him well, kept him company, did everything a wife ought to do for her husband and more. But he didn’t love her. She was too chatty, too… domestic. Again, unbidden, the image flashed through Pravoslav’s mind—a wild beauty with a strong jaw and determined cornflower eyes looking out over the valley of Nitra, brushing back one long golden braid from around her ear…
Noting the far-off look in his son’s eye, Boško took a different tactic, and took his son by the shoulders. ‘Focus, now. I hear from Kochan that the city is about to fall. Have you inspected the lines?’
‘Yes, Father. The men in each camp are keeping watch at regular times, and keeping their equipment ready for a possible sortie…’
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