The Reign of Eustach Rychnovský, Kráľ of Veľká Morava
TEN
Favours Far and Near
1 December 1025 – 20 March 1029
‘
Jo t’atent, Eustace…’
Dolz was wearing nothing but her updo and a naughty come-hither pout. The alabaster-fair, plump, round cushions of her
derrière, naked as the day she was born, thrust themselves out
contrapposto, with one hand resting languidly on the weight-bearing hip. Her lips parted and her tongue circled them with devilish intent, while her blue eyes remained fixed upon him over her well-formed, sloping shoulder. With her other hand she gathered up as much of one breast as she could, and began slowly stimulating herself in anticipation of the plunge. And then, as she sensed her husband approaching her, she stretched her arms and bent forward just so much, inviting him… Now he could just see her—
‘
Kráľ!’
The newly-minted king snapped sharply out of his lascivious reverie, summoned by the annoyed voice of his finder and gatherer of secrets—as he had been for his father—
Knieža Nitrabor. The one-eyed man drummed his fingers on the side of his arm as he looked over the young king.
‘As I was
saying,’ Nitrabor told the king, ‘the support that I have lent you in your father’s dotage rather demands some consideration on your part. Now, I am the one who keeps bearing the brunt, not only of this court’s goings-on under the rose, so to speak, but also the greed of the heathen to the north. I think it would be only reasonable that I should get to keep some of my own men stationed on my own land in reserve. Don’t you?’
Eustach sighed. Indeed, Nitrabor was not putting a fine point on it, but he
did owe the
knieža of Upper Silesia on several counts. Easing the demands on his levy contributions really was a reasonable demand, all things considered. ‘Very well. I think some rebalancing of the duties for the northern defence are in order; give me your requirements and we shall see if they can be met.’
‘Sire,’ Nitrabor gave an exaggerated bow that came
close to—but didn’t quite go over the edge into—mockery. Then he turned on his heel and left.
Eustach sat back with a sigh. His groin was still rock-hard from thinking about Dolz, and he was aching to forget his duties for the rest of the day, return to his chambers and give his wife a long, hard ride. These first few months of his rule, when his most serious business needed attending to, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift to a certain French blonde with a voluptuous figure and (wishful thinking on his part) a voracious libido, in various prone positions, ready to receive copious doses of his love in whichever of her orifices he pleased.
This can’t go on.
Eustach stormed out of his study, still at a loss about what should be done about it. He considered running a few laps around the castle as a possible remedy, and then briefly toyed with the thought of going to one of the synagogues in town and seeing if one of the rabbis there might have any advice for him. But both of these options, he set aside in favour of provoking Dolz’s desire for him, however straining it might be on him in the meanwhile.
Conversing with Dolz was still something of a chore, and he wasn’t certain he knew even half—nay, a quarter—of what was on her mind. Eustach was startled to realise he truly didn’t know much at all about his wife’s interests or tastes, beyond her admirable devotion to prayer and to the healing arts. But that was work. Eustach ached to approach her for wanton lust, steamy frolics, spirited bed-sports. Taking the path through her work, probably wouldn’t get him where he wanted.
But then he remembered the Ethiopian woman who had visited ten years ago, on Dolz’s invitation: Retta Yostos. Did she still correspond with her? Were they still on good terms, and close? Eustach was now king: with the resources he now had, he shouldn’t have much difficulty finding out.
Eustach waited until his wife fell asleep that night before creeping silently over to her desk with a lit candle-end, and peering carefully over her papers. Sure enough—there were letters aplenty among them, bearing Retta’s name. Given the length of each of them, it was clear to him (even in his indifferent French) that the two of them were deep in each other’s confidence.
His next task was a trifle more difficult.
He began penning a letter to Retta Yostos himself. He opened with a sincere prayer for her health of body and spirit and for her struggle to be saved, and then voiced the desire to be better acquainted with her, given how highly his wife thought of her. He finally promised Retta that, if it was within his power to grant it, he would gladly grant her a boon of her choosing. He then sent it out the following day, using the same courier that Dolz trusted to deliver her correspondence. And then he waited.
Retta’s reply came just as the Lenten Triodion was opened.
In the name of Igziabeher, the Almighty Lord of Nations, and in the lightness of the Spring of Lent, the humble Retta Yostos greets your Majesty, the Northern Bastion of the Realms of Jah, and offers heartfelt prayers for every blessing upon you.
It touched my heart deeply, that the husband of my good friend was so kind as to inquire after me. And the amiable way in which you desired to be better acquainted with me—God forgive me the vainglory!—was a blessing truly unlooked-for on my part. Dolz writes very highly of you, and has confided in me of your devotion to Almighty God, and of your prowess upon the battlefield. But your generosity was something I had not thought to witness, and in so personal a fashion!
You asked if there was any favour I might ask, that would reside within your power to fulfil. It had been my wish since my visit to your lands, to hold and cherish in my hands even a small particle of the relics of Saint Methodius, the Equal-to-the-Apostles who spread the Gospel among your people. I know how bold a request this must seem. The more so you should hold it, not to be an idle fancy, but instead the earnest desiring of a sinful heart to touch one who touches heaven.
Praying earnestly that Igziabeher keep and protect your Majesty for many illustrious and peaceful years, I am
Retta Yostos
~~~
At once upon the receipt of this letter, Eustach sent to Velehrad for both a particle of the relics of the holy saint, and also for an iconographer to write an icon of Saint Methodius, within which the particle could be enclosed, and shown through a small, metal-lined, sealed circular window in the corner. Eustach commissioned this icon largely by pulling in favours from the town craftsmen for whom he’d negotiated a better price for their town wall, but the end result was more than satisfactory. The iconographer knew her work and did it well.
He sent this costly gift back to Retta with a friendly letter enclosed, and then waited patiently. Several weeks later, Dolz came to Eustach in the king’s study. She was carrying an unsealed letter in her hand.
‘Eustach,’ Dolz beamed at him, ‘my friend Retta tells me you sent her an icon of Saint Methodius, together with a part of his relics. And, she says, you did this for her upon her request?’
‘I did indeed,’ Eustach told his wife.
Dolz’s smile deepened. ‘I think that she will treasure that icon for the rest of her life, and pass it on to her children.
Powait-estre,
que jo pens, the cult of Saint Methodius shall gain a… devoted following in the Ethiopian lands.
Grace à toé.’
‘Well, she is a friend of yours, Dolz,’ her husband returned. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind she’s worthy.’
Dolz went to her husband and wordlessly clasped his hands in hers, holding them a second or two longer than she normally would have done. Eustach searched her face, but apart from the lingering touch there was no indication that, at present, she felt anything more than gratitude and friendship toward him. Ah well. That would change. At the moment, there were other matters to attend to.
~~~
‘My liege, this entire arrangement is an outrage!’ Prohor Mutimírić shouted at him. ‘When my father came into possession of the White Croat lands, it was with the understanding that our traditional rights and privileges would be upheld! And yet not only did Jakub squeeze the good people of my land far more than was ever their due, but even
you now try to wring the last mite of silver from their backs with these duties! Ease their burden and mine, or face the consequences.’
It was a mark of the particular favour that the Bijelahrvatskići had enjoyed at the court in Olomouc that Prohor (who had from his childhood been used to getting his way) was not prepared for Eustach’s response at all.
The young king folded his arms. ‘Absolutely not.’
Prohor went beet-red. ‘
What—?!’
‘You forget your place, sir,’ Eustach pressed. ‘By the grace of God Almighty, and by the chrism bestowed by the Holy Spirit upon me, I
am your liege, and you
are my vassal. Never forget that my forebears patronised your family because they took pity upon your homeless state – and show some gratitude and grace in the acknowledgement.’
‘I see how I must act,’ Prohor muttered darkly as he left the office. ‘But rest assured, I am
not alone among your vassals in opposing your overreach.’
He spoke truly enough. In the end, it wasn’t only
Knieža Prohor Mutimírić, but also the
Hrabata Markvart and Soběslav Přemyslovec, Neuša Pražský, and—this turn particularly stung Eustach—Vratko Aqhazar, who rose in revolt. Indeed, the fact that such recipients of Rychnovský
noblesse oblige as the Bijelahrvatskići and the Aqhazarlar had turned against him was the cause of a minor crisis of conscience on the new king’s part. How could
Vratko, of all people, have betrayed him? Was he indeed overreaching himself, to have caused such a turn? Were the laws that he had grown up under, that his father had put in place, in fact too harsh?
But before Eustach could respond, there was one matter above all others that had to be dealt with. The silver in his coffers was nowhere near enough to mount a successful answer to this challenge to his rule. Eustach therefore turned to the readiest source of income he could think of: the hostages that his father had taken in his various campaigns.
The first thing he agreed to do was to release his adulterous kinswoman, the diminutive
hrabina Anna Rychnovská, who had borne her child out of wedlock under lock and key in the castle. She paid a lump sum equal to three pounds of silver for her release. Eustach also released one of his father’s Greek prisoners from the campaign for Nikaia, Nikaretē Maurikios, in exchange for eleven pounds of silver.
That was respectable, but still not sufficient. His final course was to ask for money from the Œcumenical Patriarch himself. His All-Holiness, the elderly Apollonios, would certainly not be happy to shell out good money to a new king so soon after his coronation, but Eustach was banking on the notion that Constantinople placed too high a value on Moravia’s defence of the Faith to ignore such a request. Indeed, in a rather brusque letter to the new
Kráľ, the Patriarch sent his greetings and well-wishes, and enclosed a good two hundred twenty-nine
nomismata.
With this amount, Eustach could afford to send for a troop of hired blades. One such troop directly answered his summons: the
Wolna Drużyna Lesu. A band of riders who hailed from the woodlands on the south bank of the Vistula, the
Wolna Drużyna were led by a practised riverman and a master of the charge, Captain Milan. Milan had ridden with his men to the mustering-grounds at Volovec, and came up to the young King in the midst of the camp and crossed his arms.
‘The situation must be dire, if the
Kráľ of Moravia is asking a Pole for help,’ he remarked.
Eustach brought out a chest and held it up for Milan to see. He shook it, letting him know the weight and nature of the contents, and then handed it to the captain for his inspection.
‘Dire indeed,’ Eustach remarked.
‘I see,’ Milan noted, picking up one golden
nomisma and twirling it in his fingers. ‘I have four hundred good men of the woods, along with three hundred riders. Is that sufficient for you?’
Eustach bobbed his head noncommittally. ‘I am actually more intrigued to see how you, personally, Milan, will perform as commander. Sadly my own
maršal has turned against me at this tide.’
‘And we will be fighting… in the mountains?’ asked Milan.
‘Most like.’
‘An interesting challenge,’ Milan stroked his pale beard. ‘Not my usual stomping-ground. With this sum and a contract in hand, I shall strive to provide results that are to your Majesty’s liking.’
‘Remember,’ Eustach warned him, ‘I
do not want my vassals killed. Not Aqhazar. Not even Bijelahrvatskić. I just want this revolt
stopped.’
Milan smiled cruelly. ‘The better to toy with them once they’re in your claws, eh? I understand you.’
Eustach felt in his breast a sudden, acerbic pang of revulsion and detestation for Milan.
You really don’t, he had to forbear from snapping in rejoinder. But he needed to keep on Milan’s good side, at least until all of this was over. Eustace raised a gauntleted fist and snapped for the groom to bring his horse. He mounted alongside Milan, flail in hand.
‘
We ride.’
~~~
Eustach and Milan led the Moravian troops through the Carpathian foothills into the villages of Košice. The first true test of Milan’s capabilities as a commander would be in how he met Vratko Aqhazar and the forces from Sadec here.
As the Polish captain had predicted, the terrain was not to the best advantage of his
konnica. But he kept his riders in reserve and focussed on manœuvring the lightly-armed footmen and
zbrojnošov against Aqhazar. The technique worked, and worked quite well. Eustach, as he watched from the reserve with the rest of the riders, approved the sapping of his one-time
maršal’s patience as he struggled to overcome Milan’s careful deployments. The end result was, as Milan promised, to his Majesty’s liking.
The Moravian army kept marching westward, across the lands of the Bijelahrvatskići. Eventually they came to a small village in the Slovenské Rudohorie, upon the outskirts of which the White Croats under Prohor Mutimírić were lying in wait.
Prohor knew these foothills like the back of his hand by now, and he had both patience and the element of surprise on his side. There was neither time nor space for the two sides to form up for a pitched battle. Instead, a number of disorganised scuffles broke out across the field. Horns and drums began to go up in order to organise the two sides, and flags for both commanders went up to rally around.
But as eddies and whirls of form began to appear amid the general uproar of cutting and scraping, skewering and struggling, chasing and dodging, sweating and grunting and bleeding, it became clear, as the footmen and archers emerged from the stone-strewn background, that both sides had roughly even numbers and deployments of armigers. Horseman matched horseman; spear-bearer matched spear-bearer;
zbrojnoš matched
zbrojnoš; volley line matched volley line (however broken). Even the common enlistments seemed evenly matched. But Milan had an ace up his sleeve – or rather, nine. The banners began to separate on the Moravian king’s side into three, and bands of three knights each rallied around each one. These sallied out and away amid the dodgy outcrop, and soon what had begun as a general
mêlée had turned into a many-vectored chase amid and around the rocks. Prohor, for all his carefully-laid plans, was forced to beat a hasty retreat back whence he came. So too did his relief force, which the Moravians met, and routed, on the bank of the Rimava River.
Milan followed up his promise to Eustach with victories in the Bohemian lands, especially at Litomeřice. But Eustach found Milan’s general disregard for the civilised niceties of war—as well as his heathen beliefs—distasteful. In the end, Eustach managed to find a way to manœuvre himself around this hired captain he’d been forced to use to his ends.
Eustach himself went out into the rebel camp near Hradec, under a white banner.
‘What the devil is he doing?’ asked the Czech watchman.
‘I think he wants to talk,’ Markvart Přemyslovec marvelled.
‘And the king has brought no one with him? Does he trust us to not simply capture him and hold him for ransom?’ asked the watchman. ‘Is he mad, or merely a fool?’
Markvart gave his watchman a sour eye. Although he had little reason to love the king, he was impressed with this show of bravery on Eustach’s part. ‘Bring him to me.
Unbound, do you understand? He wants to talk? Let’s hear out what he has to say.’
And so it was that the king was brought, alone, before his rebellious vassal. The light-bearded man crossed his arms and regarded his young, green sovereign with wary distrust—as well as the beginnings of a newfound respect. Any man brave enough to come into the enemy camp under a flag of truce, alone, was worth at least a hearing.
‘Well? You came here to parley. What is it you wish to say?’
‘I’m here to make you an offer,’ Eustach told Markvart levelly. ‘By now you must know, that with Bijelahrvatskić and Aqhazar beaten and on the run, you have little chance of winning by force of arms.’
‘Do you say so?’ Markvart sneered. ‘If that is so, then why are you here, and not I there?’
‘Because I believe you to be a rational man,’ Eustach cajoled. ‘Come. You know as well as any man that I must uphold my father’s laws, and my grandfather’s, and my great-grandfather’s. Rescinding them outright, of course, is out of the question. It would spit upon everything my fathers have done. But… rules are made to be bent. I think you’ll agree.’
Markvart nodded. ‘Go on…’
‘Suppose, if you will,’ Eustach told him, ‘you rescinded your support for our noble rebels. Today, let’s say. I could see to it that your own taxes are reduced, nominally, to what they were in Radomír’s time. With no prospect of them being raised again in my lifetime.’
Markvart crossed his arms, considering. ‘That’s quite a generous offer.’
‘I can be quite a generous ruler,’ Eustach told him. ‘And I hold
loyalty dearer than coin.’
Markvart sat for a long while, blowing out a long breath and looking skyward. ‘Nominal amount—from Radomír’s time. You’d better not be bluffing me.’
Eustach merely spread his hands. The message was clear. Was he likely to bluff, having come to the enemy camp, alone, under a white flag? The proud Přemyslovec took the point. He heaved a sigh.
‘Very well, O
Kráľ. I shall formally abjure this rebellion in the presence of all my retainers here, and send them home. You just remember your own promise.’
‘I do not forget,’ Eustach told him.
With that agreement, the war was all over but the crying. And it had been accomplished, not by brute force of arms or display of terror, but by cutting a deal with one disaffected noble in order to throw the rest of the alliance into disarray.
