The Lions of Olomouc: a CKIII Ironman AAR (Duchy of Moravia, 867)

[Wolf6120]

Just as with the migratory habits of coconuts, the combustibility of objects which weigh the same as a duck, and the unladen air speed velocity of African and European swallows, you do have to know these things when you’re a king.

Eustach: My dearest darling Queen, what must I do to earn your romantic favor?

Dolz: We want... a shrubbery!

 

[Revan86]

Eustach: My dearest darling Queen, what must I do to earn your romantic favor?

Dolz: We want... a shrubbery!

One that looks nice. And not too expensive.

It's sad that even those who arrange and design shrubberies are under considerable economic stress at this period in history.

 

[Revan86]

ReadAAR AdvisAARy: More PG-13 rated steam in this chapter.

THIRTEEN
Consolidation
18 June 1030 – 25 January 1031

‘It was, in fact, during my grandfather Vladan’s time,’ Knieža Braslav Rychnovský of Milčané was saying, ‘that Radomír hrozný took the title of Užhorod in trust from Radislav Kopčianský as a result of the… irregular succession and internecine warfare among the Mojmírovci some years prior. This was before you and I were born, my liege. Thankfully, my family recorded the proceedings with meticulous detail. Radomír took Užhorod in trust specifically until Prohor Mutimírić was ready to take it.’

‘And what of it?’ asked Eustach.

‘Well…’ Braslav went on, ‘the vassalage treaty that Prohor signed on his majority specifically stipulates the King of Moravia as guarantor over the territory—not simply Radomír. And the territory is to revert to your Grace in the event of Prohor’s death, or treason.’

The implications of that were clear. The look of shock on Prohor’s face gave way to a gaze like daggers at the impudent Braslav.

‘Is this true, Prohor?’ asked Eustach dispassionately.

Prohor was upset and angry, but in the last instance he was far both too fair-minded and too jealous of his own honour to lie or even to give a hint of deceit. ‘This is indeed true, O Kráľ. The vassalage agreement was indeed between myself and the Crown, not between myself and Radomír. And it has no bearing upon my progeny.’

‘In that case, why did you agree to it?’

‘I was under the impression that Radomír did it for my protection,’ Prohor said. ‘He didn’t want the Mojmírovci outflanking another Bijelahrvatskić the way they did my father Mutimír, by taking me hostage. At least, that was his reason for spelling out the treaty the way he did.’

‘Well. I’m no lawyer myself,’ Eustach said reasonably, ‘but surely some changes to the treaty might be overdue? I’m not unreasonable, Prohor. Perhaps we can tool the language of your vassalage agreement so that it better accords with what other vassals of mine enjoy?’

Prohor was still affronted, both by Braslav’s impudence in pettifogging his vassalage agreement, and by the necessity of admitting he’d been shortchanged in the affair. But even such a man as Prohor was eager to fix such a mistake once it had been pointed out… and Braslav’s own interference had clearly been for his fellow vassal’s benefit. For his own part, Eustach saw this as an easy and cheap way of keeping his vassal loyal.

Knieža Vieroslav was the next to come forward for private audience.

‘Eustach, I’ve been in talks with burgomasters and gentry in the Bohemian lands, and there is considerable enthusiasm for some of your plans. Extending your judicial circuit into Praha and Budějovice was a particularly popular proposal. There are even some hints that they would be open to giving account of their lands and assets to the šafár here in Olomouc, rather than indirectly through the nobility. Of course, such a move wouldn’t be entirely favoured by them, but it would considerably streamline the process of integrating Česko into the greater kingdom.’

‘Excellent,’ Eustach nodded. ‘See to it. I won’t insult you by insisting that you be discreet.’

‘Milord,’ Vieroslav bowed. Before he turned to leave, though, he fixed the king with a worried look. ‘Are you feeling alright, Eustach? You look a little… parched. Peaky.’

Eustach shook his head quickly. ‘Don’t mind me, Vieroslav. I’m well.’

‘Mphm,’ Vieroslav uttered doubtfully. However, he decided not to press the issue, but withdrew.

Eustach sat back in his chair with a sigh, ignoring the rumble in his stomach. Thus far, his father, his grandfather and his great-grandfather had all faced revolts – as had he himself. There was certainly a knack to ruling that would balance maintaining his firm hold on the reins while keeping his vassals happy; and he hoped now that he was getting closer to it. Little Tomáš deserved every chance he could get.

Among his and Dolz’s children, Dosie, Anna and Tomáš, Eustach could already see certain tendencies. Dosie was a light, easy, lackadaisical soul—but if she was pushed or pulled too much in any one direction, she would dig in her heels with the very best of them. She wasn’t bad-looking for a fifteen-year-old girl, and finding a match for her would not be difficult. Already Eustach had exchanged several promising messages with Tsar Marko of Bulgaria, who was looking for a match for his youngest son Ioakim. The two of them being fairly close in age, that prospect seemed advantageous indeed!

Anna was a little different. Precocious, attentive and serious, she had already been managing full sentences before she turned one, and had an uncanny knack for telling what adults around her were feeling. Certainly she was quicker on the uptake on practically everything than Dosie had been at her age. All sorts of learning seemed to simply come naturally to her: as a salmon knows to find its way upstream by nothing but smell, so it seemed with her and knowledge.

In Tomáš, though, infant though he was, Eustach couldn’t help but see more than a bit of himself. Did every father feel that way around his son?

Eustach soon returned to his chambers, where Dolz was waiting for him. She grinned up at him.

‘You kept your promise!’ she told him.

‘Not one morsel for two weeks,’ Eustach told her. ‘And only a cupful of water in the morning and at night.’

Dolz positively glowed at him. ‘The desert ascetics showed their love and devotion to God in just such a way, so the Paterikon tells us, chieri. And now you have shown me the same devotion as they have.’ The Frenchwoman clasped his hands warmly and pressed them to her heart. ‘I am flattered to be of such worth in your eyes, my love.’

~~~

‘I knew it would work out for you two,’ Alžbeta smirked to her baby brother. ‘The two of you are a lot alike; I could tell that even before you got married.’

Alžbeta and Eustach were taking a stroll down by the old mill-race in the warm summer sun, watching the rascal sons of the local townsfolk swim and splash and rough-house in the water as they passed by. Just taking this quiet amble together with a sister he now often found himself too busy to talk to, but whose company he cherished all the same, was a rare treat.

‘And how’s that? I didn’t even like her before we got married.’

‘You forget, brother, I was there when mamka went and got that icon of Saint Eustathios!’

‘Kec,’ Eustach laughed. ‘You weren’t even two yet! How could you remember it?’

‘True, but mamka kept telling me about the iconographer’s foresight long before she ever told you! “Bold in battle and lucky in love”, is what she said. “Lucky in love” I can see for myself. Dolz dotes on you; she can’t get enough of you. She needs you like air. But “bold in battle”, on the other hand…’

‘Just what are you insinuating?’ asked Eustach with a playful swat.

‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,’ Alžbeta told him coyly. ‘Only that I haven’t seen it for myself nor any evidence but what the gašparko in the town square might say. And you know just how much I can believe him!’

Eustach shook his head with a chuckle. Dolz might be the love of his life and the apple of his eye, but his wise (if irreverent) older sister was rather the one who knew how to soothe his nerves. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in what seemed like ages.

‘Are you planning to go on the hunt later?’ asked Alžbeta.

‘Hunt? What hunt?’

‘The hunt your wife is planning,’ Alžbeta spelled out for him. ‘I swear, how could I be related to someone this dense?’

‘Oh,’ Eustach mouthed. ‘We ought to go back up to the castle so I can prepare myself and have the groom get the horses and the dogs ready. Thanks for reminding me!’

‘Of course, of course,’ his sister smirked as they made their way back up to the castle gate.

The grooms already had the horses and hounds ready for them when they arrived, and Dolz was already mounted side-saddle on her mare, proudly arrayed in attire for a summer outing. Eustach leapt up upon his own mount, and off they rode, up into the hills to the northeast in the kings’ traditional hunting-grounds near Opava.

Dolz proved to be the one most eager to leave the beaten path on foot, accompanied only by a couple of the hunting-dogs. She kept all of the attendants at a distance, even, with only her spear and her knife as armament. The dogs bayed off all in one direction while Dolz continued ahead on her own. Eustach, noticing this, followed her.

He kept her within sight for some long yards until they were out of sight of the rest of the hunting-party, when suddenly Dolz disappeared from his view. There were trees all about and he could see no trace of her. Eustach called out:

‘Dolz. Dolz! Where are you, my love?’

There was no answer.

Eustach, not being one for panic in any situation, calmly took stock of where he’d seen her last, and tracked in that direction across the roots of trees and through scraggly bushes and undergrowth. She had been here—she’d left her mark. And then he noticed a flutter of silk on one of the branches of another tree within view.

‘Ahh, playing with me, are you?’ asked Eustach.

He went to get the silk down off the branch, and stepped away from it to check for footprints. That’s when he felt a fair, slender pair of arms encircle him around his waist. And then he felt a pair of heavy, soft swells of flesh press into his back. Even without seeing them he could tell they were clad only in sky and tree-shade. And then her shoulders and her hips joined them, likewise without a single rustle of fabric to stir with their movement.

‘J’ai bésouogn de toé, Eustace,’ Dolz told him. The ache in her voice made the blood run hot in him.

‘Tu m’as,’ Eustach answered her. Dolz had already unclasped his belt and dropped it to the earth. She had tugged down his hose.

‘J’ai bésouogn,’ Dolz sighed, still holding him tightly where it mattered. ‘But not just this. I need your heart, your mind, your will and your soul with it. I need all of you, and only you, with no reserve. And you will have all of me. Everything.’

‘And you had to get me out to Opava and into the woods to say this?’ asked Eustach.

‘Whyever not?’ asked Dolz. ‘Cil est bel. It is a sweet and fresh place for us to eat the apple.’

This much was true. ‘And what if the rest of the hunting party comes back?’ asked Eustach, already feeling his resistance begin to weaken.

‘We can tell them…’ Dolz’s mind was working as mischievously as her hands, ‘… tell them you were saving me from a big, hairy, ferocious wolf. The wolf tore off all my clothes and scattered them all around, before you, ahh… skewered it with your spear.’

‘Naughty. But a flimsy tale,’ Eustach breathed. Dolz knew she had him now.

‘But you are not,’ she purred. ‘Your tail is healthy and hard. Now—take me, my wolf and my “saviour”!’

 

[Midnite Duke]

I am not 100% sure that Dolz is not trying to kill him. Dangerous orchid hunt, fasting, wolves! Thomas will be king before he is ready. Thank you for updating.

 

[Wolf6120]

With how many times this scenario has happened already in this AAR (twice? Thrice?) I’m pretty sure generation after Generation of Opava pageboys learns to absolutely dread having to go on hunts, and the things they witness in the process.

 

[Revan86]

FOURTEEN
Burning Faith
5 February 1031 – 1 January 1033

It was as though Eustach could see in that conflagration the very last fragile fragments of Christian unity between West and East going up in smoke. And, as a matter of fact, they were. Horror-stricken, he ran up to Ladomír, one of his riders whose outline was lit up in the hellish light of that inferno, gripped him by his shoulders and shook him.

‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you do this?!’

‘But your Majesty, you were the one who left supporting our supply lines up to us!’

‘I didn’t mean you could burn down a church to do it!’ Eustach raged.

‘But look at all the loot we hauled in! The altar-cloth alone probably could fetch five fat silver pieces. The mitre, the statuary, the jewels – this church was the big fish we needed! Besides, they’re Latins. Who cares a fig for them anyway?’

‘Was there anybody inside?’ Eustach shook Ladomír harder.

Ladomír shrugged. That was a mistake.

‘You didn’t even bother to check?!’

It took a lot to disturb the King of Moravia’s calm. But that did it. The Kráľ of Moravia flung his rider to the ground and began giving him vicious kicks in the ribcage and cursing at him in a rage.

‘Blbec! Prasa! Hlupák! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You haven’t just burned down a church, you filthy, faithless Pšonek! You’ve made a schism inevitable! You’ve made my father’s pilgrimage for nought, and thrown his soul into peril of Hell! Not to mention mine! Not to mention yours, you ass-faced dolt! The Hungarians won’t forgive me for this. The Franks and Germans won’t forgive me for this. And the Vatican certainly won’t forgive me for this! In fact, they’ll fling this at Constantinople’s feet for a grievance!’

Eustach, breathing heavily still, clawed up the bag of loot from next to where Ladomír was still rolling on the ground, coughing and clutching his side.

‘This is going to go straight back to whoever is left living in Chust has the most claim to it. I can only pray to God that He will forgive me this most horrible sacrilege.’

In fact, Eustach was having second thoughts about this whole enterprise of ‘liberating’ the Carpathians once and for all from the Magyar yoke, in the name of restoring the glory of Veľká Morava. If the Moravians went around treating the locals like they were treating Chust now, the Croats who lived here might very well find themselves preferring rule by Hungary to rule by him, and the sway of a celibate Latin priest to any married Slavic père he might send.

‘This is a disaster,’ he moaned, horror-struck, as the blackened, glowing wooden frame of the timbered church crackled and groaned under the bright-orange predator that was consuming it… soon to buckle and collapse, over God only knew how many innocents within.

And Eustach would pay for it much sooner than he knew.

The kňažná of Maramoroš, Čestislava Pavelková, was captured alive by Eustach and his troops. But not without considerable effort: she was in a frothing, cursing, righteous rage over the burning of her town and kirk, and bit and scratched her captors long past it had become a hopeless effort. Although her liege was Hungarian, she herself was a brave Ruská of the Pavelkov lineage, nearer to the folk of heathen Turov in her tongue than to the Slovien, let alone the Hungarians. Despite that, any attempts to calm her, in whatever tongue, met with spitting, kicking, biting, straining against her bonds, declarations of God’s vengeance upon Eustach and upon all the Moravian marauders.

When the news reached further south, the enraged Magyars swarmed northward into the Kotlina, and westward into the Nitra lowlands, with curses upon their tongues against Eustach for Chust. In the meantime, the Chervens, delighting in the fact that the Christians to their south were otherwise preoccupied, sent a massive nine-thousand-strong raiding party into the White Croat lands, for rape and pillage. But the misfortune of facing the furious former steppe-dwellers in battle fell upon the shoulders of Brother Pravoslav Rychnovský, formerly of the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulchre. During the battle, Pravoslav was savaged by the enemy, thrown from his horse and dragged around the battlefield until his face, arms and chest were a bloody pulp. He would never recover from the scars of that treatment, even though his forces did push the Hungarian incursion back.

The second battle took place as the Hungarians, under the leadership of the Slavicised Magyar King Ladislav, were besieging Nitra itself. They had the castle surrounded when Eustach himself took to the field and led his troops into battle against them. This battle between the two kings was a terrible and costly one.

Eustach and Ladislav each rode to the heads of their lines. Ladislav had far more men on horse, as to be expected, and thus the zbrojnošov were of limited use in the field. However, the more lightly-armed men with axes and javelins, in concert with the archers arrayed further behind them for tight volleys, were better able to make use of the low ground they were on.

Knieža Vieroslav, heartened upon seeing the king ride to his aid, did on his armour, mounted his horse, and sallied out from the gates of the city together with his riders, over the river by the northeast bridge, to meet the Hungarians. He led a wild charge at Ladislav’s flanks.

‘What is he doing?’ demanded Eustach. ‘He’s not going to—stop him! Blast the horn and raise the flag. Somebody stop him, now!’

But it was too late. The horn went up and the signal flag told Vieroslav to rally, but his charge was already crashing into the flank of Ladislav’s armigers. Too late Vieroslav noticed the javelin-throwers behind them. The armigers ducked, and the darts of the steppe-warriors flew thickly into flesh both horse and human. One such throwing-spear, aimed with baneful precision by another of Ladislav’s Slavicised Magyars named Bohumil, struck Vieroslav himself, impaling his calf just below the knee. Bleeding heavily and grimacing with the pain, Vieroslav barely managed to stay in the saddle as his horsemen limped off.

Vieroslav’s charge had cost Eustach the initiative—and Ladislav’s troops still outnumbered his own. Not by much, but by enough to matter. Ladislav had more men, more warning… and what’s more, he had the righteous avenging anger of three thousand Hungarians on his side. Eustach rallied to the front, master of himself before his men, and led the charge in against the besiegers.

The almighty crunch and clangour of steel upon wood resounded across the low-lying hills and off the walls of the town. The fury of the irate Magyars was upon the Moravians, and the line of zbrojnošov in the front with their round shields and their spears and their helmets all bent on withstanding that fatal storm, but the weather of battle pounded and blew, and the line wavered. Once, then twice, then three times. The air was thick with the Magyars’ arrows, and the ranks of the Moravians began to thin. Eustach himself was bogged down in the thick of fighting, having lit from his horse and gotten it behind the line in order to join the zbrojnošov himself in reinforcing the wall.

‘Hold the line!’ he cried out. ‘We hold the line!’

And the Moravians held out. All day that brutal struggle went on, and Eustach himself was sweating and heaving with the exertion of holding at bay the blowing rage upon the other side, raining down curses and vengeance for Chust. But the sun had not yet set in the west before another horn blew.

And Marko, Tsar of Bulgaria, appeared with all his host. Four thousand five hundred strong.

The tide of the battle turned, and it soon appeared that Nitra would be spared. The Bulgarians flooded down into the plain and swept the Magyars before them on the points of their spears.

Ladislav’s forces were utterly crushed, and with both Maramoroš and the kňažná of that territory in Eustach’s hands, he had little choice but to come to an agreement with the Moravian king and sign over the territory of the eastern polonina into Eustach’s suzerainty. He did not do it gladly, and the Magyars did not stay for the ceremony blessing the signing of the peace.

Eustach was right about how the war would be viewed between the two old imperial capitals. The ambassadors from the Vatican were not slow to decry him as a brutal tyrant, a filthy barbarian butcher and a satanic blasphemer of holy things—and to denounce him as such to Constantinople. They demanded his immediate excommunication. However, the Œcumenical Patriarch (who didn’t particularly care for Eustach either, given his earlier demands for financial aid) replied coolly that the only one who could excommunicate the King was his local archbishop. The Papal legate had left Constantinople in a huff as well, insulted, and bearing the tale of his humiliation back to the Vatican, the relations between Old Rome and New Rome became colder still.

The king himself brooded. Eustach could not get the image of the burning church out of his mind. He had to find some way to cleanse himself of his sins, and the penance that his confessor had given him had been far too mild for the guilt that continued to plague him.

In the dark, he reached for the handle of a bullwhip.

And he brought it down upon his own back. Again, and again, and again.

The lash stung and burned upon his back, but he did not feel lighter or unburdened by it. Instead, to his surprise, the blood began to rush to his loins. Even further to his surprise, the arousal came not from the wounds he had inflicted upon himself, but from merely holding the whip—having control—having the power to inflict pain. It excited him far more than he was willing to admit, and he found himself with ragged breaths listening to his thudding heartbeat in the dark.

What was the matter with him? Had he always been this way?

 

[Revan86]

I am not 100% sure that Dolz is not trying to kill him. Dangerous orchid hunt, fasting, wolves! Thomas will be king before he is ready. Thank you for updating.

To be fair, no real wolves were involved in the little Opava jaunt. But yeah, Dolz is definitely on the daredevil side in her romantic demands.

With how many times this scenario has happened already in this AAR (twice? Thrice?) I’m pretty sure generation after Generation of Opava pageboys learns to absolutely dread having to go on hunts, and the things they witness in the process.

[Opava woodsman lights up a cigarette, inhales deeply, starts talking in a low gravelly voice, jaded with age and experience]

Chlapec, we been seeing things up here for gone over eight hundred years like you wouldn't believe. Come springtime, you too'll see the royal retinue come out here lookin' for 'big game'. I tell you, it ain't wisent they're after. An' if a woman's leadin' the party... you know she's just anglin' to get herself gored, you know what I mean... You learn soon enough to jus' look the other way...

 

[Midnite Duke]

Radomir 'the Child-Killer' is not such a bad dude, after all. As Eustace 'the Church-Slayer' finds the joy is not in the pain but in wielding the whip, other backs will develop cuts and welts. This episode was not Moravia's finest moment. Thank you for the update.

 

[Revan86]

WARNING: Hard R-rating here, NSFW.

FIFTEEN
… Then, Hard
12 April 1032 – 20 January 1033

Eustach kept reading by candlelight, leafing through the Canons of the early Slavic church. Assigned reading from his loving wife. Dolz, having seen and sympathised with Eustach’s heart-burnings over the burning of the church in Chust, had recommended he read the Church laws and resolutions as a means of both reassuring himself of God’s grace upon sinners, and also broadening his knowledge of the teachings of the True Faith.

‘Do you enjoy them, meon amor?’ came a voice out of the dark.

‘I do.’

‘These are good for you, my husband, if you wish to improve your mind as well as your soul,’ Dolz told him. And then, with a shrewder edge: ‘And I trust that you will find, that it is best to listen to Xylaloes when it comes to deciding your penance, rather than doing so yourself?’

‘What would I do without you?’ asked Eustach.

‘Do not say that,’ Dolz had assured him modestly. ‘My Eustach would be a God-fearing, gallant and bold leader of men, with me or without me.’

‘Well, I’m glad I’m with you, all the same,’ Eustach had told her. ‘It’s a good thing I have time to read nowadays. Usually I’m so busy.’

‘Oué,’ Dolz agreed. ‘It seems Nitrabor has already balanced the books and overseen the new charters that you needed to sign. But, were you not about to ask Dosie to do that?’

‘I was,’ Eustach told her, surprising himself. ‘I’d wanted her to take on more duties since her majority, though everything I want to assign to her seems to get done before I have a chance to ask. You… don’t suppose that she…’

Dolz shook her head. ‘I cannot see how. Trés estrange! Nitrabor is not usually this obliging.’

True. But—though Eustach would never have said so aloud—perhaps Nitrabor simply hadn’t wanted to be upstaged. Despite the deeply-lamented incident with the church in Chust, Eustach himself had gained a firm reputation for being a careful keeper of books, reclaimer of lands, digger of trenches and repairer of walls, with a knack in particular for scouting out the fairest price and engaging the guild-masters with a keen eye for thrift. Such pursuits were not thought to be as worthy in a king as prowess in battle or steadfastness in prayers, but as Eustach already had both of these, his pecuniary talents were regarded not so much with suspicion, as with being a divine gift superadded to his natural qualities.

‘Forgive me, husband,’ Dolz lay a hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the head. ‘I am distracting you. Please, attend to the words of the Canons, rather than to mine.’

‘I shall,’ Eustach told her.

~~~​

There was also the question of what to do with Dosie’s fellow teenager, his newly-captured hostage and newly-sworn hraběnka Čestislava.

The relationship between the Pavelkovci and the Bijelahrvatskići was an interesting one. Both stemmed from the same ancient root within the White Croat folk. But whereas the Bijelahrvatskići had maintained their White Croat speech and dress and manners, and ultimately sided with the Orthodox Moravians, the Pavelkovci had largely adopted the speech and dress and style of the Russians, and even called themselves ‘Rusi’ or ‘Uhro-Rusi’, all while swearing their allegiance to the Catholic kings of Hungary. The two families had long been rivals, with the Pavelkovci seated in the eastern Maramoroš and the Bijelahrvatskići in the western Užhorod.

Perhaps that would now change.

Eustach drew in a long breath, and strode up to the door under heavy guard, behind which was housed the Ruska lady in question. Being admitted by his guard, he swung the door open and turned to face the bed. The yellow-haired Čestislava was seated upon it, eyeing Eustach with naked hostility. Her face had a sunken look to it, as though her captivity had not suited her.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded of her liege-gaoler sullenly.

‘I’d hoped to find out what you want,’ Eustach replied calmly. ‘Do you want your freedom?’

‘I will not take any favours from the likes of you,’ Čestislava spat, ‘whether you are my new lord or not.’

Eustach mouthed an ‘ah’. ‘Well, that is a pity. I just hate to see a forthright, fine young lady like you cooped up in here. Shall we… not make it a favour, then? If you were to part with, say, half a pound of gold in exchange for your freedom, would that be more acceptable to you?’

Čestislava considered. And she took a long time about it. At length, she nodded. Forthright and fine she might be, Eustach noted grimly, but she wasn’t the most intelligent of young ladies. However much she hated him now, she would be easy enough to control.

And somehow, controlling this young Ruska into doing what he wanted, caused the hot blood to surge in Eustach’s veins. He was suddenly aware that he could exercise power over her—with the proper application of enticements and flattery—and she would be grateful to him for the favour. Eustach knew the blood was rushing to his face now, his breath quickening. He found he couldn’t entirely resist the temptation to manipulate her.

He sighed to himself, as though thinking aloud. ‘I think about all of those poor people every day. I had no idea that Ladomír would do something so foolish, so wicked. And I did give all of the plunder my men took from there, back to the people of Chust. I suppose there’s no undoing it, though. I guess I deserve to be hated.’

Čestislava’s face began to soften. She was angry, of course, but hate didn’t run deep in her simple soul. Spite did not come naturally to her. In this, Eustach had already taken her measure. He went on:

‘There’s no point in ruling a people who hate me, and with good reason,’ Eustach confided. ‘Do you not think it would make them happy, for them to have their own God-anointed mistress at their head, walking free among them again?’

‘It would,’ Čestislava nodded. ‘It would indeed.’

‘I would even be willing…’ Eustach told her, ‘to restore to you all of the honours you enjoyed under Ladislav, as kňažná. But, of course, I don’t want you owing me any favours either.’

Čestislava saw in front of her now, not the wicked and blasphemous monster who had destroyed the church in Chust, but instead a humble and contrite man upon whose brow the crown sat far too heavily. Of course she was driven to pity—what girl wouldn’t be? She dangled her feet over the edge of her bed and clasped her hands in front of her.

‘Then let’s not call it a “favour”,’ she echoed his own words with a shake of her head. ‘If you will return me to my people, and return to me my honours, I will serve you as loyally as I did Ladislav. There is no shame in that for either of us, is there?’

Eustach only played at reticence. ‘Are you sure? I do not wish to cause you any further pain.’

Čestislava, now fully won over in sympathy to Eustach, shook her head again, more firmly this time. ‘My liege, it is no pain at all! I shall accept from you whatever you wish to grant me, and I will be grateful to you and serve you willingly for the rest of my days.’

Of course she was making this offer as a vassal, and nothing else. Her simplicity was such that she didn’t even blush at making this offer; her mind did not reach to the double meaning. All the same, Eustach tried to ignore the throbbing and the straining of his limb against his breeches. It didn’t seem the girl had yet taken note of his physical response to her now-willing subordination. He would get money for her freedom, and now he had her willing loyalty in exchange for a title which came with no land but was purely ceremonial. She didn’t know it, but he had wholly gotten the upper hand over her in the bargain.

‘Very well, Čestislava,’ he told her. ‘If you will take the oath publicly before me in the hall, I will happily release you back to your lands. You have my full trust, Pavelková.’

‘I won’t abuse it! I won’t!’

~~~

Dolz went into the side-room she used for dressing, and bolted the latch behind her. Her head was swimming with confusion and distress. She knew what she had seen, and she couldn’t now un-see it.

Eustach. Naked. Alone. With whip in hand. Doing things with it that a pious man had no business doing.

Dolz took several more deep breaths—in through her nose, blowing out through her mouth. She tried to calm herself down, but couldn’t. She was disoriented. She had seen a side of Eustach she had never seen before, and probably was never meant to see. That hurt her. She had thought he was completely open to her, and now to discover that he was this perverse—!

And Dolz discovered to her own mortification that her heartbeat refused to settle.

Her breaths kept coming hot and quick and ragged, and she began to itch between her legs. The image of her husband—naked, aroused and wantonly pleasuring himself with a whip—danced around in her head. She couldn’t rid herself of it. Involuntarily Dolz’s hand inched closer to the fork of her legs.

‘… My love? Are you well?’ came Eustach’s voice from the other side of the door.

Non. She wasn’t well.

She was disturbed. She was muddled. She was agitated and embarrassed in the dark of the closet. But she was turned on as she had seldom ever been, even in the later and more satisfying days of their marriage. She was not in control of her heartbeat or her breath. And she knew she was damp and sweaty. What was the matter with her? Had she always been this way, and never known it?

She was already unlacing herself, and stripping down to her shift. But even this seemed too confining to her. The hem of it was up, her hand now sinfully between her legs, and she was bent over nearly double, leaning against the door in a haze of lust and confusion.

‘Dolz?’ Eustach called softly to her.

She had to make a response, but… How dared he use that gentle tone with her? Dolz suddenly thought. After what she’d just seen? After what he’d awakened in her? She stopped, straightened herself up and composed herself as best she could. What would she say? How could she say it? Would Eustach still respect her, if she came out and asked for what she wanted from him? Would there be any going back?

After one more long, shuddering breath, Dolz made up her mind.

She tugged the shift up and off her, throwing it to the side. She straightened out her shoulders. And she swung open the door to the closet, fully nude.

Eustach was there. Now it was his turn to look shocked.

Dolz fought to keep her voice level, as she demanded:

‘Se-il vos plaist… batez-moé avoec celà. Soiiez dur avoec moé.’

~~~​

Half an hour later, Dolz was groaning pleasurably as Eustach was spreading a healthy portion of her supply of Anatolian aloe over the naked skin of her back. The cool gel under her husband’s nourishing fingers soothed the raised, red stinging welts that he had inflicted on her. And after that… after that… oh là, after that…

Dolz felt spent after the intense, wracking spasms of pure physical bliss that had ravished her body from head to foot, and which still sent quivering aftershocks like echoes of thunder up her spine. She had never felt like this before. She would never have guessed—even after having begged for it—that being made to kneel down and then being struck repeatedly on the back with such vicious blows of the whip would get her most of the way there. Restraint. Physical mortification. Abject submission. And then, after such hard use… Such light kisses! Such feathery caresses! Such tender and gallant touches upon her nethermost flower! Before now Dolz would not have known that such alternations between harsh and gentle, between bitter and sweet, between torture and titillation, between pain and pleasure, could be so thoroughly intoxicating.

Dolz pondered as Eustach kept spreading the soothing balm across her back. She decided that perhaps the physical pain was only secondary. What had turned her on the most was the surrender. Giving up her will completely. Letting herself go limp… that was what had truly sent her mind into a pleasant fog. To have all her worries removed from her and give herself over completely into Eustach’s power… Celà, en effet, cil est l’amor!

‘I am so silly…’ she breathed happily into the sheets.

‘Por quoi?’ asked Eustach.

‘All these years together… and we have never made it like this,’ Dolz turned a glowing, sleepy gaze back upon her husband. ‘I want it more, chieri.’

‘I worry I might’ve been too rough on you,’ Eustach told her.

‘Soz,’ Dolz chuckled. ‘I shall make a signal for you to know. If you become too rough on me, I will give you that signal. Also…’

‘Also?’

Dolz reached behind her and worked her hand up Eustach’s belly to his chest. ‘Also, I shall keep your secret, if you will keep mine. Ta seit de povoir, et meon souzmission… Only I shall know it of you, and only you shall know it of me. Our… fierce cavorts must stay here, between us only.’

‘Agreed,’ Eustach kissed her again, gently, upon the small of her back.

 

[Wolf6120]

What that witch prophesied for Eirene: “Your son will be most lucky in love.”

What that witch meant: “Your son will get into some real kinky Fifty Shades of Rychnovský shit.”

 

[Midnite Duke]

Radomir, not so terrible at all! Thank you for updating

 

[Revan86]

SIXTEEN
A Prayer to Saint James
30 March 1033 – 5 April 1035

‘… This is a rather large order, sir,’ the woman said. ‘You say this is for a hound?’

‘Yes,’ Eustach told her.

The webster looked doubtfully at the mock-up she had put together for her customer—who was in fact her king, incognito. He was together with his wife at his side, both wearing plain clothes and looking like well-to-do pilgrims. The basket the webster was designing for him was round and flat-bottomed, and large enough to hold, not a common spaniel, but a wolfhound of considerable size.

‘And you want it cushioned?’

‘I do. As comfortably as you’d cushion a bed,’ Eustach told the webster. ‘With blankets and pillows.’

‘This will be a new hound of yours, then?’ she asked.

‘Not new,’ Eustach intimated. ‘Rather on the older side. But she still likes to be pampered a bit.’

Dolz smirked slightly at her husband’s side, and squeezed his hand firmly.

The webster looked back up at the king, and told him: ‘Come back in about five days. I’ll have your dog-bed ready by then. Three silvers.’

Leaving the weaver’s, the disguised king and queen stopped at a tanner and leather-seller’s.

‘And what can I interest you in today?’ asked the tanner.

‘I’m looking for a dog-collar,’ said Eustach, ‘an adjustable one. And a good sturdy belt. And some gloves.’

‘Well,’ the tanner showed Eustach over to a row of pegs with a number of tooled lengths of cured leather along it, ‘these will do well for the collar and the belt. You don’t have the animal with you, I see…’

Dolz and Eustach exchanged a smirk.

‘… but could you tell me the general shape of the beast? And whether it prefers a tight collar or loose?’

‘Tight,’ Dolz answered at once for herself. ‘She likes it quite tight.’

The tanner looked at her with a bit of doubt. ‘That’s all well, I suppose, but bear in mind that dogs need their wind as well as we do.’

‘Will this one do, do you think?’ asked Eustach of his wife, fingering one of the leather straps. Dolz felt it between her fingers, in particular tracing the sewn, tooled edges. She shifted to another one, and finally another, heavier strap.

‘This one will do for the collar,’ she told him. ‘I leave the belt… up to you.’

After parting with some additional silver, Eustach took Dolz’s arm, and she drew as close to him as any fresh young lover might do. There was something incredibly naughty going shopping together in town like this for common sundries that would serve purposes entirely other than those they were meant for. And at the same time, there was something sweet about it as well. Dolz loved going about arm-in-arm with Eustach, outside, his proper and honourable wife, and at court his queen… and then knowing that once they got back inside the bedroom she would become a spaniel—serving a hard, stern but caring master. Eustach would train her, discipline her or pamper her as he pleased. The assumption of power outside the bedroom, and the relinquishing of it inside, was almost as intoxicating as the deed itself. And that had never been better for her, since she had turned off her will and become Eustach’s pet.

And now their fourth child was already growing inside her. She knew that now quite well.

Around the shops in Olomouc they went. To a roper for sturdy lengths of twine and hemp; to a carpenter for a sawhorse; to a turner for a smooth item perhaps best left undescribed; and – importantly – to a blacksmith’s for sturdy lengths of chain, shackles and a couple of small vice-clamps. All to be delivered, sub rosa, to Olomouc Castle when they were finished.

They were discreet indeed. But not quite discreet enough.

~~~​

Nitrabor—the knieža of Upper Silesia and the same elderly Rychnovský that Theodosie had cajoled into balancing the books before her father could ask—had followed the royal couple at some distance. His one good eye was sharp enough to detect the king even through his disguise, and he noted the circuit that he and Dolz made around the shops. The weaver’s, the tanner’s, the roper’s, the carpenter’s, the turner’s, the blacksmith’s… and the items that they bought together were most interesting indeed. Being as close in the king’s confidence as he was, he knew quite well that Eustach kept no dog in any of his rooms, only the hunting dogs in the kennel, and those he would not favour with a bed or a special collar.

It took Nitrabor not long at all to put two and two together.

‘All well at the blacksmith’s today, milord?’ Nitrabor asked the king.

‘What on earth are you talking about, uncle?’ Eustach asked suspiciously. There was a glint in Nitrabor’s eyes he didn’t like at all.

‘I’m talking about your… nightly activities. Rightly speaking, I know they’re none of my business, but I do have enough witness in town to piece together a picture that would… not look too good for you.’

‘You—!’

Nitrabor smiled. ‘I’m not unreasonable, my liege. I know how to keep quiet. But given what I know about you, don’t you think it might be safer for you to leave me in charge of the royal household as your šafár?’

Eustach ground his teeth. Nitrabor well and truly had the upper hand over him, and had not made any scruple about using it to his own advancement. But he had made a promise to Dolz—his wife, his love, his soulmate, and now his loyal pet—and he would not break it. Their shared secret must remain secret. And if the cost of that secret was to appoint Nitrabor Rychnovský-Kluczbork as his šafár, then… well…

It caused a few concerned whispers and a few raised brows when the elderly, one-eyed Nitrabor Rychnovský-Kluczbork was led into the council chamber and seated at the place that had formerly been occupied by the knieža of Milčané. Vratislav Prohorić of Užhorod (the late Prohor’s second son), Pravoslav Rychnovský and Vieroslav Mojmírov wondered, each to themselves and only half-aloud between them, why on earth Upper Silesia had replaced Milcenia in the position of Moravia’s steward.

But when the Kráľ made no objection, and entered the chamber with a determined air, those whispers ceased at once.

‘Gentlemen, the new tax season is upon us. Uncle Pravoslav, when last we met, you were talking about the new engines you were planning to place on the city walls in Prešporok, yes? What is the status on that project? …’

~~~​

‘Maman,’ Tomáš asked his mother, ‘how did the baby get there?’

Tomáš’s hand was on Dolz’s rotund abdomen, underneath which his healthy baby brother or sister was dozing, unaware that in only a few days’ time that one would emerge into a much larger world.

‘It is a gift from God,’ Dolz answered her young son.

‘Then how come God only gives babies to girls?’ asked Tomáš sensibly. ‘And why doesn’t Dosie have a baby? Does Dosie have to be married?’

‘Only women can bear children, yes,’ Dolz told her three-year-old. ‘And at that only with help from a man—her husband, one hopes. This is in the third chapter of the Book of Genesis, in Holy Scripture.’

‘But how does it happen?’ Tomáš pondered.

Dolz regarded her young son indulgently. ‘I will tell you more about it when you are a bit older. Now, why do you not run along and play? Your mother needs a bit of rest.’

From the unsatisfied look that Tomáš gave her, it didn’t seem likely he’d remain content with such a non-answer for long. But the considerate soul of the young boy did give his mother the requested space and quiet she had asked. He was turning out rather well, so Dolz thought. And soon—very soon now—he would make a fine elder brother for a new arrival.

Dolz had finished another revision of her book, and she was broadly being hailed in Moravia as a skilled physician. She had already shepherded her husband through a rather nasty complaint, and her primary prescription had been bed-rest. That had meant he couldn’t play with her as rough as she liked it, but it was good to have someone to take care of.

Dolz’s experiences as both doctor and mother had served her quite well over the past three births: Dosie, Anna and Tomáš. And she had no doubt that her burgeoning skill in matters medicinal would aid her in this coming one. Still, when she thought about it, three-and-forty was a rather advanced age for a woman to bear a child.

After that birth came, however…

‘I worry for little Jakub, chieri,’ Dolz told him as she attempted to feed the baby, who would not eat. He continued to cry and to tug on his ear. ‘He is not eating right. He seldom stops crying. And he keeps pulling at his ear as though it hurts. I will see what the medical texts say about such a case, but I must wonder if there might be some prayers you could say to his patron? Holy Apostle James the Younger must be of help in his case!’

Eustach left at once to pray before the icon of Saint James the Lesser, which had been commissioned precisely for the birth of his youngest son. He stayed on his knees for three days, but in all that time, little Jakub fared little better. Worse: his hearing was clearly affected. He did not respond to noises that issued from the side of his left ear.

Seeing that his prayers were ineffective, doubt began to set both king and queen. They did not speak of it, but the question was upon both of their minds. What if the circumstances of the child’s conception—? What if the sins of lust both of them had indulged, in their seeking greater heights and depths of pain and pleasure with the aid of restraints and punishments, had had some effect upon their offspring? Already there had been signs of divine displeasure: Nitrabor’s blackmail, and Eustach’s bout of illness. What if this was but one more sign?

And so…

‘What lies upon your heart, my child?’

Before the icon of the Theotokos, Archbishop Nifont Xylolaes laid his hand upon the king’s shoulders, and the king painfully unburdened himself of his sins. The burning of the church in Chust figured heavily into this confession, as did the twisted, perverse sexual pleasure he took in controlling others and inflicting pain.

Nifont nodded and advised the king: ‘This link, within your body, between the passion for power and the lust of the eyes… this is not as uncommon as you might think. No man who has power, is not tempted by the possibilities of its abuse. This is one among several reasons why we pray: “Put not your trust in princes, in sons of men, in whom there is no salvation”. And now you see it clearly: you have no power over the life or death of your own new-born son. Only God has it! But because this love of power, this illusion of control you have, is the passion which is leading you into sin—burning a church, or tempting your wife with sinful pleasures—perhaps you might consider starving the passion it feeds on. Remember to turn your eyes to Christ, my child, and He will not lead you astray. Relinquish your power over others in some material, some real way.’

Eustach nodded.

‘Well then, child… venerate the icon, and receive the forgiveness of your sins.’

Having received the rite of Confession and left the Church, Eustach went at once to the castle fonsels. If he was going to do penance for the sin that was afflicting his son, he was going to do it properly. The guard at the entrance to the cellar hailed and saluted his king.

‘At ease,’ Eustach told him. ‘Has the ransom money come for Slavič Čapekić and his son Ulfo yet?’

‘It has, milord. We are going to release them today.’

‘Very good. Please make plans to release Zemislav and Držislav from their bonds also—with no demands and no preconditions. They are free to return to their families.’

‘Are you certain, milord? We are aiding Bulgaria in their war against the Roman Emperor, and those two prisoners are still useful as bargaining chips…’

‘I am certain, absolutely.’ Eustach’s level tone brooked no further dispute.

‘Then so it shall be done, milord.’

And the silver that had come in from the south for the release of the Bosnian lord, once it was obtained, Eustach at once used to buy an unused plot of land on the north bank of the Morava. This was in the village of Litovel, lying about a third of the way between the town of Uničov and that of Olomouc. He brought in several monks of the tradition of Cyril and Methodius to break the ground and consecrate it to the Lord in the name of His saints, the Apostles Philip and James the Lesser, the latter of whom his sickly son had for his patron. And upon this, masons and carpenters from Uničov at once began setting out the foundation stones and floors of a grand new church in their honour. The king himself entreated both the monks and the workmen to offer their prayers each day for his son Jakub.

In this way, Eustach began his long atonement for his sins. The Church of Saint Philip and Saint James in Litovel would be the first of many Eustach would construct, for the health of his son, for the salvation of his and Dolz’s souls—for in truth he loved and cared about her more than he cared for his own life.

 

[Midnite Duke]

This needed to come with a warning for readers with elderly hearts. That is a beautiful church in the final picture. Tomas is wonderful but poor Jacob. Thank you for updating.

 

[jmberry]

By the way, whatever became of Držislava Mojmírová? It's obvious Pravoslav wanted his son to find out, but neither he nor we ever got an answer.

 

[alscon]

A reckoning of sorts for the royal couple's... uhhh... preferences. Let's keep it there. Treating your wife as if she wasn't really there may not come with love, but it does have political advantages.

Repentence through church-building. Why do I feel like that's just a first step, with missionary duty (read: holy war) following? Where better to build a church than on ground whose people have never even thought of building one before?

 

[Revan86]

This needed to come with a warning for readers with elderly hearts. That is a beautiful church in the final picture. Tomas is wonderful but poor Jacob. Thank you for updating.

Well, that girl is pretty wild, now...

As to the church, that really is the Church of St Philip and St James (Kostel sv. Jakuba a Filipa) in Litovel. I actually discovered it by accident after gameplay was over and realised that the name of the church fit Jakub's situation perfectly.

By the way, whatever became of Držislava Mojmírová? It's obvious Pravoslav wanted his son to find out, but neither he nor we ever got an answer.

I actually think she just got married to another dude. Weirdly, that 'heirs become lovers' event didn't actually make them lovers, just bumped their mutual opinion. Probably because Pravoslav was only 15 at the time.

A reckoning of sorts for the royal couple's... uhhh... preferences. Let's keep it there. Treating your wife as if she wasn't really there may not come with love, but it does have political advantages.

Repentence through church-building. Why do I feel like that's just a first step, with missionary duty (read: holy war) following? Where better to build a church than on ground whose people have never even thought of building one before?

First part? True, true. What happens in the bedroom doesn't always stay in the bedroom...

As to the rest... well. Bones of contention, and the north being what it is, that may be in the cards.

 

[Revan86]

SEVENTEEN
Prizonierul Ardealului
26 October 1036 – 2 November 1038

The lead rider looked ahead on the road, with a little more wariness than he usually would, and wrapped his cloak about him with the chill. They were headed downstream on the Bârsa toward the Olt confluence, and the willow trees with their long, sad fronds had burst into an unwonted cheer with their colourful explosion of flame-yellow in the late autumn, matching the vibrant orange of the ash trees with their great fat spade-shaped leaves, many of them still barely clinging onto their branches.

The Vlach rider, sworn to the Conte Mihai Negrumutați de Țara Bârsei who was following at some distance, had with him a chain of prisoners. That in itself was nothing unusual. Having come victorious off the battlefield on the Hungarian March, they were bound to have taken a few of the losers, by receipt of God’s favour. But the rank and importance of one of the prisoners made the whole convoy a potential target for vengeful Slavs from the north. At that thought, the rider turned back to where a tall, muscular, well-built Slav with a ruddy face stood, facing impassively forward where he was walking. He walked unhurriedly in the chain, upright.

The rider turned his horse about, cantered back along the chain and delivered a blow with his riding-whip upon Eustach’s back.

‘Keep up,’ the rider drawled in Slavonic. ‘King or not, we can’t afford to lose time on your account.’

Eustach looked up at the man who beat him, without fear and without rage. The man was under orders. It would do him no good to lose his head. He stopped where he stood, just long enough to hold up the line, and when the rider made to raise his whip again, he took one exaggeratedly long step forward, bringing his heel down with a clump. It was a silent dare to the man to strike him again. A small act of defiance, perhaps—but it was one large enough to let the rider know who was king and who wasn’t. The rider surely knew that this prisoner was worth good Byzantine gold to his master, and Mihai Negrumutați wouldn’t thank him for damaging his goods. The rider chuffed and spurred his horse back to the front. Eustach kept walking along in the chain, head still held high. Not that holding one’s head high was easy. The Moravian defeat at Polovragi had been a humiliation.

~~~​

It had started two years prior with the family plans that Eustach had made for his children.

Not too long after the breaking of the ground at St Philip and St James, a priest had come in at Dolz’s behest to minister the Gifts to little Jakub. No sooner had Jakub taken the elements of Christ’s body and blood upon his tongue, than he had been healed of his squalling pain and deafness in a manner that could be described only as miraculous. Truly St James the Lesser had been listening in heaven, and had interceded with Christ to heal the king’s second son!

Finding a potential mate for little Anna had cost Eustach fewer pains than he had originally feared. Even as an eight-year-old, Anna was often two steps ahead of seasoned adults in the room, and Eustach had worried that she’d run rings around any potential husband he might find for her. Thus it was a pleasant surprise—though, in retrospect (Eustach had to crack a grin, even in the middle of his forced march), it oughtn’t have been so quite unexpected—when Anna had intruded upon him just as he was beginning to make inquiries on her behalf, and presented him with a handwritten list on vellum.

‘I had heard, Father, that you were planning on arranging my betrothal,’ Anna told him, with a seriousness that highlighted both her precociousness and the fact that she was still a child. ‘In the interest of sparing you effort, I had put together a list of names for you to consider.’

‘Rainault de Bretagne?’ Eustach read the small, neat handwriting, a bit incredulously. ‘Alexandros Chalaracheilēs? Ember Borisov of Sredec? Beorhtnoþ Sæþryþson of Dunwic?’

‘Yes. These are all names of boys roughly my age, who are reputed to have intellects which come close to matching my own,’ Anna spoke easily and considerately. ‘I do know how difficult it makes your life, having a daughter who might intimidate or outwit the man for whom God chooses her to be helpmeet. And for my own part, I confess I cannot find the prospect of spending my life yoked unequally with an intellectual inferior to be remarkably enticing.’

Even after eight years of having known his daughter, Eustach still found not only her vocabulary but also her depth of feeling and self-awareness to be far in excess of what he might have expected from any other eight-year-old. He had a fleeting vision in his mind, of Dolz at Anna’s current age, embarking upon her studies of the wounded and sick, going into places foul with the smell of death and fleshly decay, all for the purposes of learning how to heal others’ wounds.

In the end, out of the list of several names which Anna had given him, he had settled upon the fourth: the English Beorhtnoþ Sæþryþson. Despite being from such a poor, barbaric and benighted backwater of Europe as East Anglia, Beorhtnoþ was nonetheless a similarly precocious, intelligent and self-possessed child, and Eustach could see at once the similarities between him and his daughter. He drew up the betrothal contract between Anna and Beorhtnoþ, which his mother Sæþryþ more than eagerly agreed to, given the degree of prestige a connexion with Moravia would bestow upon herself and her child.

That had gone relatively smoothly. Theodosie’s marriage plans, though—and this was more to the point for Eustach’s present predicament—very nearly did not.

Dolz had dragged Theodosie into Eustach’s presence. From the whiteness of her knuckles around her wrist and the cold blaze in Dolz’s blue eyes, as well as the tears that were freely coursing down Dosie’s face, it was clear that this news would be dire.

‘Dosie! What in God’s name is the matter?’

Dolz’s voice was ice-cold as she spoke to her daughter.

‘Do you want to tell your father, or shall I?’

Theodosie tried. She hiccoughed, made a strangled noise in her throat, and then burst into open bawls. ‘Father—! Father, I’m sorry—I—I…’

She sank to her knees. Any further verbiage that escaped her was incomprehensible. Eustach looked to his wife with a questioning glance. Dolz had folded her arms and was looking down at her daughter with implacable Norman affront.

‘Your daughter,’ Dolz told him, ‘has been in a man’s bed. The fruit is in her. She will not tell me whose.’

Theodosie sank even further to the floor, still sobbing wretchedly, bowing to her father.

‘Dosie,’ Eustach asked her calmly. ‘Is this true?’

His and Dolz’s eldest daughter lifted her head and—slowly, miserably—nodded her head.

‘When will she be due?’ asked Eustach.

‘Not late enough. The bulge will be noticed. And even if it is not, the Bulgarian boy is not such a dunce that he cannot count weeks.’

A terrible thought hung around them all, and Eustach and Dolz exchanged a dark look over the weeping form of their pregnant daughter. Eustach knew at once that Dolz would not allow him to commission a ‘draught’. The innocent life inside Theodosie would not suffer for her indiscretion, regardless of the personal or political consequences to them all.

‘And you won’t tell your mother, who the father is? Will you tell me?’

Theodosie shook her head.

‘Can I at least have your solemn word that you’ll break it off with him?’ asked Eustach.

Dosie hesitated, and then nodded. Eustach leaned toward believing her. However shamefully she had behaved of late, his eldest daughter was not one inclined to lie.

‘If you haven’t yet, Dosie,’ her father told her gently, ‘go to a priest and get yourself shriven. Then pray. We may still salvage what there is to be salvaged of your upcoming marriage to Ioakim.’

Dosie rose from the floor, courtesied, nodded, and shuffled off to find Archbishop Nifont. Eustach and Dolz were left alone in the room together. Now that Theodosie was out of her sight, Dolz’s implacable look softened, as did the hands which were still tucked in her elbows. She unclasped them as Eustach approached her and hugged him close.

‘Cil est ma faute,’ Dolz told him. ‘This is owing to my sins. If I had not spoiled our daughter… perhaps if I had given her better guidance when she was young, she wouldn’t have…’

Eustach squeezed his wife closer. ‘Non, meon amor. Don’t blame yourself beyond your due. I feel that all of us let her down. Me, for example! I’ve been a neglectful father, I know it. I’ve been far too busy struggling with Mojmírov and Bijelahrvatskić in council, trying to get them both to pay better attention to their duties, that I hadn’t noticed a thing about Dosie. Half the time Vieroslav shows up to council half-sloshed already, and Vratislav only bothers to show up at all when he feels like it.’

‘Do you want me to have a word with them?’ Dolz asked. ‘I can put the fear of the Lord into them.’

Eustach looked down at his wife between his arms. How dearly he loved her!

‘I think you’ve had enough aggravation for one day,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I think someone could use a little attention tonight.’

Dolz glowed at him and gave him a bashful smile, holding him even tighter. ‘Blindfold me,’ she told him. ‘Tie me up on the sawhorse, tight. And spank me, but not with leather or cord. I want to feel your open hand on my skin.’

‘Your wish is my command.’

~~~​

It very nearly earned Eustach himself another whipping in the line of prisoners, as he smiled at the remembrance of that little session of theirs. He’d been right about Dolz. She clearly had some frustration to work out, and the two of them had made that leather-covered sawhorse nearly creak off its legs all that night.

As for Ioakim, when he’d learned of Theodosie’s premarital escapade, he’d been as angry as any young lordling might be at being robbed of his rightful wife’s virginity. Eustach had done his level best to assuage him, assuring him that Dosie was repentant, and would be faithful to him afterwards. Ioakim had softened only with significant suasion, but he demanded:

‘Your support on the battlefield. If you expect me to take your strumpet of a daughter as she is, then I will expect your Moravians to be at the front line of this war to defend my crown. I’ll be damned if I let Kulin take for his own what is mine by honourable right!’

And that was how Eustach had come to be leading his troops into the Vlach lands.

This time, Eustach had paid much more careful attention to how his troops were supplied, armed and fed. He wasn’t about to have any more burned churches on his conscience. He had reviewed every element of the lines reaching back into Moravia from Wallachia, and cut out most of the scrounging middlemen and profiteers who most often handled the supplies on the road during war. In particular, he’d made sure to deal directly with the carpenters and blacksmiths and hire trusted teamsters to deliver the goods, rather than applying to merchants who dealt in weaponry. That had certainly made going to war far less expensive than it would normally have been.

And his campaign had met with success after success… at least at first. Thrift did not mean lack of preparedness, and God had readily vindicated his army at both Câmpulung and Târgoviște. But the reversal had come suddenly. He had made a miscalculation when he had engaged Mihai’s force at Polovragi. The saturnine Vlach had a better knowledge of the southern Carpathian foothills than he did, and also fielded significantly more troops than Eustach had expected. He had found himself and his troops trapped in a narrow defile, and had surrendered himself to Mihai in order to spare them from being wiped out completely.

… and now he was en route to the castle at Corona.

The castle hove into view, now. Built at a strategic meeting of the waters where the Bârsa ran into the Olt, the wooden stockade of Corona swept upward like a folded bird’s wing on its perch over the two rivers. The prisoners were led inside the stockade and into an underground fonsel, with Eustach being separated from the rest by dint of his superior worth to the Conte of these lands. He was placed by himself in a dug-out cell with its own meagre amenities, with cold stone, a nočník and a loose pile of straw for his only comfort.

Once he was inside his cell and the key was turned in the lock behind him, Eustach applied himself to the problem with the same level head he had kept all this way into Ardeal. Shackles wouldn’t bind him for long. The guards had placed him nearest the entrance—that was an advantage. But they hadn’t left him much else with which to plan his escape.

They had imprisoned him at the beginning of October. Days went by… he counted by the meals they served him how many. A week passed… then two… then three. He noticed that one of the guards, who was posted at the third shift after his last meal of the day, often came to his post drunk. Sometimes he was barely able to stand on his watch. Eustach monitored this particular guard closely.

It was the beginning of November, and the sloshed Vlach had come down from whatever revelry he had been at, and opened the door to empty Eustach’s nočník, grumbling to himself all the while. The Moravian king noticed that he closed the cell door behind him without bothering to lock it.

For a moment, Eustach refused to believe his own eyes. Could it be that simple?

Evidently it was. He opened the cell door without so much as a squeak, closed it just as silently behind him, and trod up the stairs behind the sloshed guard. In the late night hours there was little to distinguish Eustach from the shadows. When he called up to the guard to let him pass, he hoped that the Norman French accent he’d acquired from his wife wouldn’t give him away to a speaker of the Dacian dialect such as the Vlachs had. But the guard obliged him without question. Why wouldn’t he? The man spoke with authority, not at all like an escaped prisoner would.

And he was out and away. Eustach crossed himself and silently thanked his wife for the French lessons.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Is the King of Wallachia doing any fighting to preserve his crown? Is Anna's little finger smarter than Dosie? With all the brain-power Anna and her intended have, watch them produce a dolt. God Bless little Jacob! Thank you for the update.

 

[filcat]

- as the reading marathon storms, a quick note has been prepared -​

Never mind this one, do go on; fell off the pace a bit, but will catch up soon.

- but meanwhile, chapter seventeen is published -

- eyes hasten, jumping from words to lines to paragraphs -​

Spoiler: Almost there - keep breathing - will catch up

Naturally all aspects of the filcatorium will follow - including the student taking history as non-technical, the notes from the never-future, the nerdic defender of the fictional lores, some other extra filcatisch-pandemonium where applicable, and of course, the watchdog, outcast of fact-checkers of fictional lores.

 

[filcat]

I​

III - Chapter 3

Prohor, having walked across the Pont over the River Loire and having turned off the Royal Road onto the Grande Marche, found himself standing outside a bookstore in Orléans, with the copy of the Animadversiones in hand that had saved his leg and perhaps even his life.

{*}

---​

On Christmas Eve, the priest officiated over a light supper (the štedrý večer) made up of twelve Lenten dishes, in honour of each of the Twelve Apostles. The first was the koľiva, a slightly-sweetened honey pudding made from boiled wheat. Then there was pogača – a traditional Bulgarian bread which would be served with honey and grated garlic to each member of the house after the prayers, boiled halušky dumplings with cabbage and onion, a sour soľanka soup with mushrooms and cabbage, a lighter soup with lentils and pease, buckwheat kaše porridge with dried berries, shredded sour pickled cabbage, a mixed-vegetable ragú, sliced Spanish aubergines, mussels on the half-shell, candied pears, sweet poppyseed bobaľki and gingerbread biscuits. The only beverage served was sour small ale in wooden bowls.

{°}

---
​

Close in confidence as they were, he knew precisely what Eirēnē meant by it: Your father wouldn’t have managed it half so well as you have – and I’m grateful you are keeping your promise.

It must be indicated that the bar is low, but certainly, the promise is kept.

---

III - Chapter 4

Jakub sighed. ‘Very well. I shall extend an invitation to this Arnulf de Tréguier, along with his entire household, to visit us here in Olomouc for a small gathering. For your sake I shall do some gentle probing; we shall see ourselves if your sleuthing instincts have been led aright.’

{**}

--One minor detail; proper use of aright. Kudos.--​

‘Enchanté,’ replied the Norman with a calculating stare. ‘Yes, I had surmised as much, O King. And it is well to meet you also, Prohor de Užhorod. I am Arnulf FitzCopsi de Tréguier. This is my wife Pernette de Pontchâteau. And this is my half-brother Hrørekr’s girl, Dolz de Touraine.’

{***}

---​

‘No, no,’ Jakub spoke in mild surprise. ‘She’s right: you and I are first cousins twice removed. At any rate, welcome to Olomouc, cousin! Would you and your kinswomen care to come within for some warmth and some refreshment?’​

The problem of english language with its rigid limitations on any possibility of a proper translation for greater understanding. It will always be an incredible confusion, an unbridled bewilderment, a tumultuous phenomenon, for those learning and comfortable with it even after for decades. A cousin removed – what – the concept does not even exist in the other language families. Plagued the early days of reading when still an infant. Still remembering the childish questions from those days - who removes what exactly LOL?

For ernst mach’s sake; it is a faqing uncle if older – if ages are close, just a cousin – but no, the islanders and the tiberians have to complicate it, just spice up their seven-word-repertoire(!) for family denominations.

---​

Dolz lowered her head and took several deep breaths, composing herself before she spoke again. ‘Your Majesty… I am Helvius Turonicus.’

{****}
To repeat: ...and to the new starters, the enthusiasts, those already writing, those who would like to take the passion and cast it into words; this is how it is done; the arc, beautifully foreshadowed; the plot, stylishly presented; the outcome, masterfully exposed.

– and this is how it is brought to closure. The mighty delicacy may seem to grow thin at the point of introductions, as it is already revealed for those reading with the maniac-eyes for details, with a knack of latin; when the name Dolz is uttered, the surprise is already revealed. Yet this is still acceptable as a subtle diversion, since the celtic tribe of turoni (by Tacitus, 2nd century ce; not certain if an exo- or an endonym), and the city Tours – turonico is not easily recognisable if one does not have the sources for the toponym compilation of the frankish lands.

On the other hand, the masterful side of the premise-plot-outcome is enriched with the revelation of the familial bond, by including the descendants of another branch.
- brought in cooperation with The Nerdic Defender of the Fictional Lores

Kudos.

---​

I have a son a few years younger than you. What would you say to taking his hand, when he’s ready—and then coming here to serve as my court physic?’

sigh It was already foretold by numismatics, but here it is.

From the perspective of the gameplay, yes, it is frustrating to find out, that the candidate the player searches for hours, is perfect, the match is made, and then realising it is a great-grandchild of one of the siblings from decades ago. If the player is trying to avoid such disgusting match-making, the game will make an uppercut from the blindside as such, then there is nothing else but to scream ‘ck!’

Spoiler: Screaming ragefully, resentfully, thunderously – CK!

---​

Jakub sighed to himself. Well, so be it. Many a marriage was contracted on no sturdier a basis than physical attraction, only to blossom into fullness later. Perhaps he had simply been lucky to have met someone like Eirēnē, where the intellectual stimulation provided by a kindred spirit had come first

Jakub, my lad, it is safe to assume that this is a family tradition by now, making awkward marriages.

I - The Return of The Filcat​