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

[Midnite Duke]

Very nice update for the Builder of Churches. Bulgarian son-in-law did not call you to war? Thank you for updating.

 

[filcat]

‘That isn’t how I’d have handled it.’

‘I’m not saying that. I’m only saying it was effective.’

Kudos for being able in creating another intriguing duo, at this point of the story - it gets complicated naturally, but due to the game mechanics.

Fortunately, as readAARs, sailing safely in the perilous waters of the story, finely distilled from its source-game, thanks to its turbo-writAAR.

---

‘I will allow your Majesty to see, and judge for yourself,’ Mihail produced in his hand a single silver coin, and handed it to Eustach and Dolz.

Another joyful arc, beautifully merged into its pay-off. Still envious of that scanned-image. Damn. Thousand kudos would still be not enough.

But in his own mind, this was a small way toward repaying what he owed the Church from the grave act of desecration and arson he had committed in Chust.

Of course. Go ahead, and redeem yourself from your own demons, Eustach. That would be admirable, O Kráľ.

Alas, you are not such a person, who can escape the judgement of the critical mind. In fact, you are not a human. You are, Kráľ. The plague of the human kind. You are, a noble.

And lastly—may I be so bold as to point out, the blessings and the gifts bestowed from the Kráľ’s worldly goods upon the Church?

...and it does not hurt when his master's voice is loud and repeated, simple and heard, effective and accepted.

Though; burning down a pile of stones is not the comparable crime considering your predecessors, so do no worries. Yours can be seen only as wanton destruction of cultural heritage. There is room for leniency. Maybe.

Thus, Eustach, you are all right, lad. Carry on.

 

[Revan86]

TWENTY-TWO
By the Word and by the Sword
16 February 1051 – 17 August 1057

I.
16 February 1051 - 15 January 1055

The tomb of Saint Methodius was one of the most popular pilgrimage destinations in Eastern Christendom in the middle of the eleventh century. Even in 1051—that is, the Year of the World 6560—the Trhonice marble slab beneath which the saintly elderly archdeacon lay was shiny and rounded off at the corners from having thousands of people kneel before it and kiss it and touch it. Young and old, men and women, hale and infirm, bowers, monks, honest men, charlatans, craftsmen, traders, soldiers, nobles, even kings came to venerate the wonderworking relics of the man who had brought the light of Orthodoxy to the Slavic lands. And wonders were indeed still wrought there: miraculous healings, lost items recovered, effluxes of fresh water during rainless summers. But notable and strange, even among the great throngs of pilgrims who came to Velehrad, was Berhanu Sehul.

Berhanu Sehul, a wealthy landowner from Abyssinia, had heard tales from Retta Yostos—a personal friend of the Queen here, so it was rumoured—of the many holy places and the great faith and hospitality of the Moravian people. He had come together with his wife, Lulit, to see for himself this unlikely bastion of Orthodoxy in the far northwest, surrounded on the west and south by the indifferent Romanist kingdoms of East Francia and Hungary, and on the north and east by hostile heathen Poles and Chervens.

Berhanu stood out from the crowd, both by reason of his skin, which was nearly as dark as the thick black curls on his head, and by reason of his garb, which was richly-embroidered white Indian cotton. But he did not bear himself proudly. Instead, he gave place among the queue of the pilgrims, particularly to those who had to hobble about on crutches, to the elderly, and to mothers with sickly children who were hoping for a cure. Berhanu himself had no such complaint—and why should he? God had been good to him, and this pilgrimage was his way of giving thanks.

When it was his turn, Berhanu knelt before the marble slab, placing his knees reverently underneath him and bowing to touch his hands and his lips reverently to the stone. As he did so, there came a sudden change over him… like a man who wakes suddenly from a dream. He stood, reverenced the tomb again, and turned back to his wife.

‘Lulit, dear. You never told me that your brother was ill.’

Lulit gave him a round-eyed expression of shock. ‘No. How did you know?’

Berhanu shook his head, as though struggling still to believe what had happened. Then Lulit went forward, a bit timidly and uncertainly at first, and gave the same reverence to the tomb that her husband had. The same change in expression, in posture, in attitude came over her that it had over Berhanu, and as she turned back toward the nave and joined her husband she spoke to him, sotto voce:

‘What did the Saint tell you? About Tafari?’

‘Saint Methodius told me… that Tafari was dying. That he had cancer.’

‘And that part of his saying was true,’ Lulit answered contritely. ‘Forgive me, husband; I hid the tidings from you. I did not want you to stay away from this pilgrimage of yours on his account, as I know you would have done. The doctors in Shewa gave him some months of life left yet; we would have returned to accompany him to his end.’

‘This was not well-done on your part, wife,’ Berhanu scolded her.

‘It was not,’ Lulit bowed her head. ‘But what else did the Saint tell you?’

‘He said to me… that the grace of God knows no marches, stretches over seas as though they were but droplets of mist, and that by our prayers—yours and mine and the Saint’s, together—Our Lord Christ had stretched forth His hand from this place and touched Tafari, removing the taint from his flesh… and do you believe it?’

‘What is there not to believe? Did the Saint himself not say so?’

Berhanu shook his head. ‘I will send a messenger back to Shewa. I must hear it direct from your brother.’

And this happened. And the messenger returned saying that there was no trace of cancer in Tafari’s body, that all of the pain had been taken from him. And Tafari knew that the source of the healing had been a wonder of God, coming from afar off to the north like a cool wind. Berhanu’s man relayed all of these things and provided proofs for them as well.

‘Husband…’ Lulit told Berhanu, ‘what would you say to staying here permanently, and living by the Church to render thanksgiving and praise to the saint whose prayers healed my brother?’

Had Berhanu not had these tidings and these proofs from home of his brother-in-law’s miraculous healing, he would not have even half-considered this proposal. But things seemed to have been arranged just-so, and he mulled long and hard over Lulit’s idea. The two of them knew no one here, apart from the saint they had come to venerate. But did that matter so much, when faith had guided them here so far?

~~~

Knieža Vratislav Bijelahrvatskić was not a man well-known for his reverence, to anyone or anything. Indeed, he usually made sure that the various Bethens and Aqhazarlar and Přemyslovci and even the lesser Rychnovský dynasts and kin of the king were well aware of the special favour that many successive generations of kings had bestowed upon his family. He had even, until recently, treated the whole of the hall in Olomouc much as his own, such was the way he would swagger and lounge about the place. But, recently… it was a matter of whispers and conjecture. Why on earth was he showing such deference, even dread, toward Kráľ Eustach staviteľ?

Eustach did nothing to quash these whispers or conjecture. Let them wonder. It was enough that he knew the truth about, in this case, a very literal skeleton in the family closet.

It had been Hrabě Siloš, Vratislav’s younger brother, who had come forward in secret to Olomouc, offering to let the king know what had happened to his and Vratislav’s older brother, Vlastislav – the beloved elder son of Prohor and Suzana who should have been the one to inherit the main principality. Evidently Vratislav, tired of being overlooked out of preference for his bookish elder brother, had taken it upon himself to remove Vlastislav from consideration permanently. Siloš had all the proof that anyone could possibly need short of a direct confession of guilt: witnesses and papers with the sordid details.

And Eustach had confronted Vratislav with these proofs. All swagger and bravado melted away from his knieža as he realised how thoroughly he had been cornered. Nothing was left for him to do, but beg abjectly for Eustach’s forgiveness… and silence. So far, Eustach had honoured that silence. And he had not insisted loudly or often on his knowledge, for he had no need. Vratislav knew very well what Eustach knew, and the witness he could bring to bear to his guilt.

The cornered Vratislav did not enjoy this situation one bit.

Being unable to give voice to his displeasure to any other, Vratislav instead lashed out at his fellow vassals. On hunting trips, Vratislav vented his spleen by sniping and tossing barbed comments at Hrabě Jakub of Boleslav. Knowing from his spats with Hraběnka Anna what a thin skin Jakub had, Vratislav’s barbs began to take their toll.

‘… I mean, look at him,’ Vratislav drawled. ‘Barely clinging to the coat-tails of the great Přemyslovec legacy in his shabby threadbare hand-me-downs. The only way he can even think of getting attention these days is by picking fights with a dwarf.’

Jakub’s cheeks and ears reddened, but he couldn’t very well fight back against Vratislav’s accusations without proving them true. Thankfully, Eustach stepped in on his behalf.

‘I wouldn’t know too much about that. Jakub’s brothers all seem to like him.’

For some reason, at the slightest of emphases on the word ‘brothers’, Vratislav’s entire complexion changed. His smirk vanished like a ghost from his face, which took on an almost frightened pallor. He made no more such remarks to Jakub after that, much to the latter’s relief.

Thus it was that when Mihail Rychnovský arrived from Milčané to meet with the King, the first thing he said after paying his respects was:

‘I can’t recall a time I saw Vratislav go like a frightened lamb before anyone! How on earth did you manage it, cousin?’

‘There are ways of putting the fear of God in a man,’ Eustach answered obliquely.

‘No kidding. But it’s God’s blessings I hear that have been in store for you! Two new grandchildren, I hear? Both Anna and Ricciarda delivered of their first-born daughters within three months of each other? Your brood is growing quickly.’

Eustach smiled thinly. ‘Tomáš and the Castro Arquato girl aren’t fully accustomed to one another yet. Anna… I think she’s resigned herself to the fact that this is a second-best match to what she had, and is making the most of it. But both little girls are well and healthy, praise the Almighty.’

‘That’s good to hear. Would you be interested in celebrating such small favours? It needn’t be a large occasion – just a few skins of mead between us.’

‘I would be happy to,’ replied Eustach.

Even those few skins, however, proved to be too much for the young vojvoda, as he unfortunately demonstrated too keenly, all over the front of the king’s robes. Thankfully Eustach was in a forgiving mood, and as Mihail eased his pace over the following night Eustach found his young cousin to be quite the pleasant conversationalist—and indeed a most appreciative audience for some of his more expressive anecdotes about travel, military campaigns and faith.

The time passed quite companionably between king and vassal over the traditional Moravian honey wine, and Eustach took his leave from Mihail only with great reluctance. Eustach was a bit tipsy when he returned to his room.

When he got there, he saw Dolz, wearing nothing but her dog-collar and chain, lying in the dog basket that Eustach had custom-made for her. Everything about her—her expression, her posture, her scent—indicated exactly what she wanted. White hairs and sagging flesh and wrinkles hadn’t dulled her fire in the slightest, and neither had it done so for Eustach, who found his body responding to her immediately. It had been too long since they’d played rough.

‘You want some attention, girl?’ Eustach asked his wife.

‘Mouarf,’ came Dolz’s enthusiastic response.

~~~

The following year saw Ricciarda give birth to Almodis’s younger brother, Bohodar: an elfin-fair lad who had the same bright copper locks that she did, the first Bohodar in the royal line since Bohodar mladší. Tomáš had evidently made an agreement with Ricciarda: she received the privilege to name their first child after one of her ancestors, and he got to name their second after one of his.

It came as a great relief to both Eustach and Dolz to see their son and his wife getting on well together, despite their very different temperaments. Tomáš had the Rychnovský sang-froid, and was deliberate and measured in all things. His Cisalpine wife, though, was as hot-blooded as her red hair implied: quick to embattle herself, eager to start undertakings and ready to get her hands dirty. Tomáš looked; Ricciarda leapt. And yet the two of them seemed to balance out in a strange way. Ricciarda’s easily-engaged sympathies instinctively recognised and resonated with the deeper streak of Tomáš’s humane interests. And for his part, the insightful, coolly-analytical Tomáš was quick to apprehend and appreciate Ricciarda’s abstemious self-control.

It was as Eustach feared with Anna, though. He saw to his regret that Anna could not respect Nikola Struma, and treated him with what could best be termed tolerance. The affection that she had for Beorhtnoþ she instead lavished on her daughter, Bohumila.

Dosie, on the other hand, had paid in overabundance for her indiscretion. She continued to be the political hostage of Ioakim Struma, the lord of the Vlachs. Ioakim called Eustach back into the civil war against his perennial rival claimant, Tereza—who had been forced to retreat to the mountains around Dlăgopole. The war was brief. It was a mere matter of cutting off all roads to Tereza’s strongholds and then starving them out, which Eustach and Ioakim between them were able to do with ease using their superior numbers and strategic positions, in just over a year.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Dosie's indiscretion is costly to the soldiers of Moravia. PG fifty shades of grey. Thank you for updating.

 

[Revan86]

I was actually gonna say that there aren't many characters in CKIII that I take an instant dislike to on account of their looks, but Vratislav here has a definite case of Backpfeifengesicht...

Very nice update for the Builder of Churches. Bulgarian son-in-law did not call you to war? Thank you for updating.

I will say this: that the relative rarity of nicknames as they are bestowed by the game (at least prior to v. 1.5) made it all that much more satisfying when one of your characters got one!

As to the Bulgarian son-in-law... I suppose not. This looks to have been a bit of a lull in Ioakim's otherwise near-constant civil warring.

Kudos for being able in creating another intriguing duo, at this point of the story - it gets complicated naturally, but due to the game mechanics.

Fortunately, as readAARs, sailing safely in the perilous waters of the story, finely distilled from its source-game, thanks to its turbo-writAAR.

---

Another joyful arc, beautifully merged into its pay-off. Still envious of that scanned-image. Damn. Thousand kudos would still be not enough.



Of course. Go ahead, and redeem yourself from your own demons, Eustach. That would be admirable, O Kráľ.

Alas, you are not such a person, who can escape the judgement of the critical mind. In fact, you are not a human. You are, Kráľ. The plague of the human kind. You are, a noble.

...and it does not hurt when his master's voice is loud and repeated, simple and heard, effective and accepted.

Though; burning down a pile of stones is not the comparable crime considering your predecessors, so do no worries. Yours can be seen only as wanton destruction of cultural heritage. There is room for leniency. Maybe.

Thus, Eustach, you are all right, lad. Carry on.

The last has not been heard of Anna and Ricciarda! But I thought this was a good framing for giving Ricciarda a bit of her own arc and growth before she really enters the story in earnest.

As to the image... I've got a couple of other sketches in my sketchbook that depict scenes or characters from this AAR. Most of them don't have the quality of the coin, though, and aren't as likely to make an appearance.

And yeah, heartburnings of aristocrats and all that. Sadly the game doesn't provide us with lots of opportunities to get inside the lives of the working-class... this is the way of the universe with CKIII, though.

Dosie's indiscretion is costly to the soldiers of Moravia. PG fifty shades of grey. Thank you for updating.

Yeah, my alliance with Ioakim is certainly one of the most one-sided I've ever had in the game, given the sheer number of wars he dragged me into. Cheers!

 

[Revan86]

II.
20 January 1056 – 17 August 1057​

Čestislava Pavelková spoke deliberately: ‘My liege, please do me the honour of making me understand. I know I am not… the brightest or most refined of your vassals. But my lands do have a vantage. I see young men come whole and living through Maramoroš going south. And when they come back north, they are broken or dead. And all this death… is in fights between Christians?’

‘I owe Ioakim a debt of honour,’ Eustach sighed. ‘He and his kinswoman Tereza have been at each other’s throats over the throne of Wallachia for the past sixteen years. And with Theodosie married to him, my hands are bound.’

Pavelková shook her head slowly, deliberating. ‘It simply seems wrong. You have all of this power. A mighty kingdom. And yet you waste its blood and its silver in fights between brother and sister. Meanwhile, the lower half of Silesia remains in darkness and ignorance because the Christians of this land do not fulfil Jesus’s commands. So: if your hands are bound, then whose are free?’

The truth in Čestislava’s words stung Eustach deeply. Indeed it wasn’t a worthy use for Moravia’s troops to fall, and for Moravia’s wealth to be wasted, in his in-laws’ petty bickerings. And the teachings of Christ still had not spread into the north, further into the Silesian lands!

‘You may go, Čestislava. I will take what you say into consideration.’

Čestislava was not entirely convinced or mollified; he could see that right away. He knew she would not be satisfied with any words he could give her; only with deeds. The parting look that she gave him now seemed to pierce straight through him, and he suddenly felt entirely inadequate—not merely as a king, but as a man. She might be ‘simple’, and some might even think her a fool, but Čestislava had a way of discerning what eluded more ‘refined’ minds than hers. That had disconcerted Eustach, and he had kept her at a distance these past several years.

But now, thanks to her questioning, he was faced with a clear choice, which was in fact no choice. Was he going to wallow in the mire of these internecine fights of the Vlachs for the rest of his reign—or was he going to fulfil the Great Commission to enlighten the Nether Silesians?

‘Send Zdravoslav to me,’ Eustach commanded the attendant.

When Vojvoda Zdravoslav Rychnovský, an elderly dynast with wild, grizzled hair and a near-white beard with only a few flecks of brown left in it, appeared before him, Eustach asked him bluntly:

‘You are familiar with the northward march. What manner of manpower are the heathen Silesians capable of mustering?’

Zdravoslav shook his head grimly. ‘It isn’t a matter of manpower, your Majesty. The Silesians live in scattered walled settlements; they certainly have nothing like our organisation. But their chieftain, MaƗowuj, is sitting on heaps of ill-gotten plunder… much of it originally ours. With all that gold and silver, not to mention mead and smoked meat and Byzantine spices, MaƗowuj would easily be able to furnish forth armies for hire to match ours. You’re… not thinking of attacking him, are you, milord?’

‘Oh, I’m done thinking about it. Make ready to muster the men and have them gather in Zhořelec. And call up the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulchre.’

~~~

Morning was broken in the village of Wilkowo outside Świybodzin, not by the sound of crows heralding the sunrise, but instead by the grunting and heaving of striving battle-lines, the clash of weapons and the galumphing of hooves over the marshy ground by the lake just outside the stakes of the enclosure. The villagers had known for some time that the Lower Silesians were gathering to meet the assault from the south, but they had not expected at all the swiftness of Moravian wrath as it descended with divine fury upon them. Those who were bold enough to peer out at the ongoing battle saw the Moravians, fighting beneath their banners with the Icon-Not-Made-By-Hands and the image of the Theotokos upon them, alongside the battle-masqued swordsmen with the ТФ and cross gules emblazoned upon their argent tabards.

The Moravians were on every side—ten thousand of them. Although the thousand Silesian warriors sworn to MaƗowuj and to Perun had made a fine show in Wilkowo with their bright helms and keen arms, they now seemed a pitiable sight, making a bold stand despite being cornered hopelessly at the end of the village wall and by the water’s edge with no way in and no way out—easy targets for the lines of Moravian archers who fired volley after volley into that pocket with deadly effect. Already long sprays of gore from the mêlée beneath them were festooning the wooden outside of the village rampart, and spooling away like dark smoke into the water. King Eustach himself was well within the fray, his lips constantly murmuring prayers to the Saviour in devoted focus even as he wielded his sword about him.

Help arrived from the north, from the high side of the village away from the lake—but too late to be effective. The Moravian zbrojnošov took up position behind the line of archers and easily held off the charge of the Nether Silesian spearmen who met them. Although the reinforcements from the Polabian lands tried their hardest to break through and afford the Silesians a line of retreat, it was in vain.

The relief was repulsed, and the Polabians moved off to the south along the lakeshore to the far side, while the slaughter at the wall continued, and the marshy edge and well out into the water itself were soon choked with the bodies of fallen Silesians. The power of Perun had failed them; and the power of Christ was readily evident to the villagers who stood cowed behind the rampart.

Once the battle was done, the Polabians had already gotten a head start and were on their way southward to besiege the fastness of Zhořelec at Businc. They must have known it was a hopeless gesture, as the bulk of the Moravian army gave chase to them and again overpowered them, although on the slopes of Businc the besiegers had the advantage.

Eustach caught up with them again just outside the main holding of the Nether Silesians at Šprotava. After a number of skirmishes, Eustach overpowered the stakes of the fortification there, and overran the settlement. From his hiding-place in one of the settlement’s cellars, one of the men found and hauled out the three-year-old son of the chieftain, Spytko. With this hostage between his hands, the chieftain of the Nether Silesians was forced to come forth to talk terms.

Eustach, unlike his grandfather, allowed Spytko to go free unscathed and unharmed back to his father… but only in exchange for the entirety of the Silesian lowlands. Those had been bitter terms for the proud MaƗowuj to swallow, but in the end he had little choice in the matter—not with all his armies beaten, his main city fallen and his son in the power of his enemy. In this way the Nether Silesians were reunited under the same Christian king with their baptised Upper brethren.

Eustach deliberated long over how to administer the new marches he had gathered to himself. It would be well if someone who was better-versed in the language and customs of these northwest Slavs was placed there, rather than a Moravian or a Slovak. In the end, he called to Mihail.

‘Come here, Wojwoda,’ he asked the man.

‘Yes, my liege?’

‘How old is that nephew of yours—your brother Ivan’s boy, I mean?’

‘Mstivoj is not yet three years old, your Majesty.’

Eustach gave Mihail a searching look, wondering what he would think of the idea. ‘Mihail, I’m about to bestow upon your close kin and mine another vojvodstvo—one bordering yours. If you have any objections to this, please let me know them now; you won’t be able to do so later.’

‘I have none, your Majesty.’

‘Good,’ Eustach told him. ‘When Mstivoj Rychnovský comes of age, bid him come to Olomouc, and I shall formally invest him with the symbols of his rule. May he govern with the wisdom and the faith of a true Christian.’

‘Amen,’ replied Mihail.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Is there a reason for the toddler having five counties? Thank you for the update

 

[alscon]

For a man who has come to be very pious, like Eustach, such a very successful holy war must be a good sign of divine favour, the sin of the burned church (and his... nightly acitivities) well repaid.

Also, I might think that with Vratislav and his brother, some bad jokes connected to their names must have made him snap at some point .

 

[Revan86]

Is there a reason for the toddler having five counties? Thank you for the update

I actually gave him the duchy as soon as I could afford it. Let him parcel them out how he likes. Best to keep the big title in the dynasty anyway for renown purposes, from a gameplay perspective.

For a man who has come to be very pious, like Eustach, such a very successful holy war must be a good sign of divine favour, the sin of the burned church (and his... nightly acitivities) well repaid.

Also, I might think that with Vratislav and his brother, some bad jokes connected to their names must have made him snap at some point .

Well, one hopes. And you did call it pretty well, here:

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?

And yeah, being the second brother in a family where your elder brother almost has the same name as you has got to be tough on a kid. Still, that doesn't excuse Vratislav from the offence of having such a punchable face.

TWENTY-THREE
A ‘lle reveoir
17 August 1057 – 22 August 1059​

Eustach sat by the bedside, holding his elderly French wife’s hand as she lay there—frail, fragile, thin. It struck and saddened the king more than he would have thought possible, to think of going on with life without her by his side. But she was quickly slipping from him. For five days now the king had not left her side, but sat with her in her inexorable decline.

‘Did you sort things with Róbert?’ she asked him. ‘Was he able to account for the missing silver, and did he repay it to you?’

‘He did, he did… don’t worry about that. Are you comfortable?’ asked Eustach.

‘That is the third time you have asked me that today, chieri. I am quite comfortable—and comforted, to know that you care so deeply about me. All is in God’s hands now. As I suppose it always was. Do not mourn for me—whatever fate awaits me, I trust in the Almighty that it shall be just.’

‘Oh, Dolz…’

‘Do not go soft on me now,’ Dolz warned him with a weak smirk. ‘I do not think I could take it… and you should be proud, espos. You have brought the light of Christ not only to the Silesians, but also to the Magyars to the south. Do I hear rightly that the Hungarian king and all his retinue were received by Confession into the bosom of the four right-believing Patriarchs?’

‘I certainly wasn’t expecting that news. The Roman Pope formally sent his anathemas to Constantinople five years ago—I was all but sure that Hungary would fall on the Western side of that split, particularly after that diplomatic incident with Tichomír.’

‘And yet they did not.’

‘No… they didn’t.’

Dolz reached up one hand and stroked her husband’s cheek. ‘I think they understood true faith when they beheld it… and true contrition. The whole of the Morava is consecrated now, with a new church upon each bend. That must have had some effect. And I hear you are raising little Bohodar yourself?’

‘I most certainly am,’ Eustach said, a little gruffly. ‘He’ll learn to hold a sword and a shield properly, and he’ll learn how to order a line of battle in any terrain. I won’t have any grandson of mine, certainly none to whom this kingdom falls, plotting and whispering and skulking in corners!’

‘Cil est propre,’ Dolz gave a contented sigh.

‘Don’t strain yourself any further,’ Eustach implored her. ‘All the business can wait. I want to be here with you… until the end.’

‘I am shriven. I am prepared to meet our Lord face-to-face,’ Dolz assured him. ‘And you know that death is not the end. I know I shall see you again once more… in the resurrection of the dead and in the life of the age to come.’

The priest was called, and the Gifts were administered to Dolz, who by that time could barely swallow and could no longer speak. Eustach stayed by her side the whole time, and kept hold of her hand even after she closed her eyes for the last time. He watched as her breathing came slower and slower. When it ceased altogether, he almost didn’t notice, so softly did his companion in this life depart it.

~~~​

Eustach felt as though only half of himself left the room that August morning. Although the sun shone down upon the courtyard, there was little that was bright in Eustach’s spirit. Where the other half had gone—whether it stayed behind in their bedroom, or whether it had gone beyond all earthly cares, he couldn’t rightly say. It wasn’t like him to have these doubts. Dolz had been his strength, in more ways than one.

‘Dedo!’ called a light voice from across the courtyard, as its owner saw and recognised him.

Trotting across the yard came Bohodar Rychnovský—the third of that name in the family, who would one day become the second king of that name in Moravia. The redheaded little imp already showed a few new cuts and bruises from the last time Eustach had seen him. As Bohodar came closer to his grandfather, and beamed up into the old man’s weathered face, he sensed something was wrong, and the smile upon his face faltered.

Eustach regarded his grandson earnestly. Although death was readily present at every turn in life, and took when and where it willed, it was not yet a reality for this young child. Words like ‘gone’ and ‘forever’ would have little meaning for him yet. And it was best that way, at least for awhile yet. Let the broken world and its cruel realities intrude upon little Bohodar’s life in the fullness of time—Eustach would not burden him with them yet and too soon.

Besides, Dolz was not really gone forever. She had assured him as much herself. But even on this side of hereafter, his wife had not left without a trace. Even in little Bohodar, Eustach could readily see something of an icon of his departed wife. Not an exact replica—no one could ever be that—but there was something in the firm set of his mouth, the level of his brow, the frank fearlessness of his eyes, so deeply reminiscent to him of Dolz in her younger days.

‘Dedko,’ asked the four-year-old, ‘Dedko v pohode?’

Eustach shook his head and smiled at his grandson. ‘Áno. Dedo je v pohode.’

The little boy gripped his grandfather’s hand and tugged him out further into the courtyard. His other hand was swinging a wooden sword appreciatively—something Eustach had given him to play with earlier that week. He was already taking to it happily, Eustach saw with a smile. He let himself be led to observe how Bohodar used it both on straw dummies and in scraps with the other boys of the court and guard. Another generation was rising up as his own was waning. Seeing Bohodar now, Eustach felt perhaps he could be at peace with that.

 

[Revan86]

TWENTY-FOUR
Runaway Lust
16 March 1061 – 11 December 1063​

The two girls—now grown women—sat at their usual spot on the wooden northern bridge overlooking the Morava as it bent around the eastern side of the castle. Anna’s belly was swelling heavily once more with expectant motherhood, and their companionship was one of that solidarity shared by mothers of all ages. Ricciarda had lately been delivered of her fifth child—a small, mousy-haired babe whom they’d named Ivan. Anna found that she needed Ricciarda’s company now more than ever. She had lost her second husband, Niko, shortly after he’d gotten her with this child—he had fallen in battle in a field near the Prut, in one of his brother Ioakim’s Bulgarian wars. Even if Anna had not loved Niko, it still wasn’t easy for a woman to be twice-widowed, with both of her husbands lost to violence. She relied upon her younger sister-in-law as much as Ricciarda looked up to her.

‘How do you and my brother come up with names?’ asked Anna.

Ricciarda kicked out her slender leg over the water, enjoying the ruffle of her skirts in the wind beneath the bridge, considering. ‘It’s been a mix. It was my idea to name our first child Almodis. I wanted our girl to have a strong will and a good spirit, and considering that there’s French blood on both sides of our family it was only natural. But Tomáš wanted a historical Moravian name for a son who would one day sit on the throne, and Bohodar seemed the natural choice.’

‘But then… Maria? Winefride? And Ivan?’

Ricciarda gave a smile. ‘To please your father. Naming our children for the Panagia and for the disciple whom Christ loved was a ten-pace mark to get into his good books. And Winefride was named after some British saint or other, probably a nun or something.’

‘That isn’t the only reason, I trust.’

Ricciarda was unfazed by the implied rebuke. ‘Per niente! Maria and Ivan are both splendid names! And even Winefride has grown on me, despite having that barbarous Celtic ring to it. And how did you come up with Bohumila?’

Anna shrugged. ‘That was Niko’s choice, not mine. … Almodis, you say. “Noble soul”?’

‘Mm.’

‘Make that Slavic: duša vznešená. Hm. Maybe if she’s another girl I’ll name her Dušana. Has a nice ring.’

Ricciarda affirmed her sister-in-law’s choice with an amiable silence, which stretched for a short time before she broke it again with:

‘Is it true what they’re saying about your father? That Vojvoda Mihail found him with a whip-handle up his—’

‘It’s true. Unfortunately.’

Anna crossed herself. Those three words managed to capture within themselves her certitude of the intelligence, her disapproval of the event, and her disappointment in her father all at once. Ricciarda flushed with embarrassment, her mouth forming a small ‘o’.

‘Did he truly take Dolz’s death that hard?’ Ricciarda wondered aloud. ‘Poor man. I suppose that after so many years being married, and now having to sleep alone, that he just…’ she let her voice trail off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Anna let out a polite, ever-so-slight chuff. It wasn’t anything she could prove, of course—and neither could Mihail, praise be—but she had an inkling that her father’s perversities did not arise from Dolz’s absence, but rather that her mother had connived in them and even shared them. If that were ever the case, though, then Eustach had done an admirable job of concealing or destroying all evidence of it, and preserving his wife’s good name intact. That was something to be thankful for, at least.

That said, there was certainly something to Ricciarda’s suppositions. Although the bowers still heaped praises upon the light touch of Eustach’s administration, the safety of the roads, and the bounty of their harvests, it was clear all the same that Dolz had been holding up her half of the kingdom and then some, albeit behind the scenes. The Kráľ had shown definite signs of strain that could not be attributed to age. Anna knew for a fact that he’d sent for money from Constantinople—something he would never normally have permitted himself to do. He had lost his temper repeatedly, not only to Vojvoda Mihail (which might be expected), but also to Hraběnka Anna and Knieža Zdravoslav. And he had also taken to long periods of brooding and praying in silence in front of his personal iconostasis, as though tormented by more than just the guilt of what Mihail had caught him doing.

As though thought were a kind of summoning, there was the trembling and the sound of heavy footfalls on the wood of the bridge. Eustach himself passed his daughter and daughter-in-law by on the bridge. He was moving at a brisk trot—an admirable pace given his advanced age. Anna and Ricciarda looked after him as he went by, and then looked back across the castle side of the bridge. No one was behind him, either to follow or to pursue.

‘What was that about?’ asked Ricciarda.

‘I’m not sure.’

They thought nothing more of it then, but turned their conversation again toward mothering and its attendant joys, pains and messes—when a quarter of an hour later they heard, felt and saw the Kráľ again running over the bridge from the same direction. In a circle. Eustach was considerably more winded now, and there were stains of fresh sweat pooling beneath the arms of his tunic.

‘Having a good run, ocko?’ asked Anna.

Eustach nodded and gave her a sign in the affirmative, before calling out to her between gasps of breath: ‘Get your mounts ready, dcéry! We start to ride for Opava this afternoon!’

‘Oh, that’s today, is it?’ Ricciarda raised her copper brows.

‘Mm,’ Anna watched doubtfully as Eustach puffed on along the water’s edge on the eastern bank. Speaking personally, she thought her father’s best remedy at this age lay in prayer and reflection, not in this… this… running that he’d taken to. Let alone the lackadaisical rural pastimes he’d planned for the coming fortnight! But if working off the pains of his spirit out-of-doors kept him from doing so more sinfully behind closed doors, then that was certainly a change for the better.

~~~​

The keen, fresh scent of the ancient spruces which had grown in Opava from before even the names of the old gods were heard there, mingled with the rich, earthy sweetness of late-summer alder (how different indeed from its overpowering pungency in spring!) to produce a heady waft that brought Eustach’s entire soul into a firm, centred sense of wholeness. Regardless of what his courtiers might think, regardless of how frivolous it might look, here at least Eustach could feel close to God and to the good order that God had created.

He was accompanied not only by Ricciarda (Anna had stayed home, as she was nearing her due day), as well as Tomáš and Jakub, but also, surprisingly, by His Holiness Patriarch Slavomír of All Moravia. Slavomír had been remarkably more muted in his praises of Eustach since Mihail’s revelations of the Kráľ’s indecency to the entire court. But the man was still evidently bent upon keeping up with the hunting party. In days such as these, when heretics were cropping up left and right in every nook and cranny of Christendom, from the Waldensians in Krain to the Bogomilists in Duklja, it was necessary for even a Patriarch to maintain something of a common touch, to be seen and heard in the secular realm. The Faith had need of even its youngest and smallest defenders, even down to the brave little Bohodar.

Even so—even Slavomír’s eyes were not immune to the beauties and enchantments of these ancient forested hills. The laughing waters of the Bilá Opava had their charms even for a man of God. And it was indeed Slavomír who spotted the beast first: a magnificent stag of at least three summers had emerged from the woods, making his way over a fallen log and tracking his way among the ferns and moss to the water’s edge.

‘Milord,’ Slavomír pointed the stag out to the king.

Eustach looked in the direction Slavomír indicated, just as the stag lifted its wary, heavy-antlered head. One keen, liquid black eye locked with Eustach’s own, and there was a single fleeting moment of clarity between hunter and hunted. It was as though each understood the other perfectly.

And then the stag leapt from its overlook of the water’s edge, and bounded upriver. Eustach barely had time to admire the powerful back, flanks and haunches of his fleet quarry in action. The stag was on the run for his life, and his exertion was entirely focussed upon the flight, as it should be. Eustach lifted one gauntleted hand and signalled the party—man, woman, horse and hound—to give elt.

The hart stayed well ahead of the party with natural ease most of the way up the bank. Whether from instinct or from experience, the animal deftly kept to a zigzag pattern, leaping left and right the better to baffle the aim of any archers in his wake, while still managing to keep its lead on the hooves of his pursuers. Again it took advantage of the cover of spruce boughs, and deftly leapt over two more fallen logs in his path.

Some seconds later, Eustach’s mount cleared both of these obstacles with ease. However, Slavomír’s was not quite so sure of foot, and it stumbled as it tried to clear the second of them. The horse managed to stay upright, but, with a hoarse shout of alarm as it happened, black cassock and kamilavka went sprawling to the ground in the direction of the river. Eustach faced a split-second decision between rushing to his Patriarch’s aid, or going off after buck which had managed to best at least one of his hunters. He saw Slavomír groaning and getting to his feet, embarrassed and scraped up from the fall but evidently little the worse for wear otherwise, and spurred his mount further on in the direction of the buck.

The buck broke with his pattern and opted for the safety of the forest over the vertical advantages afforded by the streambed, making a break up the bank. Again Eustach admired the sheer muscular strength of his forelegs and haunches as he ran, only one hoof making contact with the mossy earth at a time. But Eustach kept pace, glorying in his own exertion.

Time seemed to slow as Eustach suddenly understood, with an instinct born of war, the tactics of his quarry. He knew exactly what move the buck would make next, in an attempt to foil him. Eustach brought his horse up sharply to a halt, fitted an arrow to his bow, and aimed beyond the buck some ten yards off forward and to his left. Once loosed, the arrow sailed in a seemingly clumsy, lazy arc through the air amid the trees as again the buck changed course and bolted downhill. A deadly miscalculation.

The arrow landed neatly between the buck’s spine and his windpipe, causing his whole body to jerk and pitch forward in an agonised sprawl. It struggled to get back to its feet and stumbled several more yards, struggling for life to the last, before, unable to draw the wind needed for flight, it collapsed to the mossy earth some twenty yards further on.

The sally was over. King Eustach had his servants fetch the fallen stag, and bear it back to the lodge to be transported back to Olomouc. Ricciarda came up behind, having gotten a limping Slavomír back to his feet and back on his horse. Slavomír certainly didn’t look too happy about the fall, but his attitude was more embarrassed than angry.

‘Never fear, Eustach,’ the elderly archbishop told him with a wry smirk, ‘I plan to hover dourly over all your doings for many years yet.’

‘We’ll see if I have that many years left in me,’ said Eustach.

Although he couldn’t be said to be tired of life just yet, the thought of joining Dolz again was not without its comfort to the elderly king. Something of that wistful thought must have crept into his voice, as Slavomír insisted the whole way back on keeping to Eustach’s off-road side, the better to keep watch upon him.

When they returned from the hunt, they found that Anna had indeed given birth to a healthy baby girl, and that she had indeed named her as she had wanted.

 

[Revan86]

TWENTY-FIVE
Bulgaria Regained
20 February 1065 – 14 April 1068

‘That is a total waste of the king’s silver, and you know it!’ Hrabě Jakub of Boleslav was shouting. ‘I swear, your vainglory will be the overthrow of this kingdom. If we Czechs had even half the gall of you grasping, thieving Sorb-lords we’d be sent to rot in the king’s dungeons!’

‘Temper, temper,’ sneered Mihail. ‘I can see why Žatecková and Bijelahrvatskić don’t get along with you—no self-control. If you’d actually looked over the proposals I’m making, you’d easily see that the benefits of proper forestry, including provisions for foragers, get passed on to the whole kingdom. But you only look at the costs!’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ Eustach stepped between them. He knew Hrabě Jakub had something of a thin skin as well as a rather touchy spot where his own honour was concerned, and he feared that if this latest little spat between his choleric kancelárand his šafár went on much longer, it would come to blows that would damage more than just their relationship. ‘Let’s step back for a moment and speak about this reasonably. Jakub, you think Mihail’s forestry project excessive in terms of cost?’

‘It is excessive,’ Jakub insisted. ‘Sinking that much silver into a mere forest is a fool’s errand.’

‘Spoken like someone who’s never ventured beyond Boleslav and the court,’ Mihail muttered.

‘That’s enough, Mihail.’ Eustach snapped. ‘I went personally to inspect your lands, remember. I know, and appreciate, quite well how the Sorbs understand their relationship with the forests. I have no objection to making some investments to the border villages to help them cut, store and transport wood and peat from the woodlands.’

‘But—’ Jakub objected.

‘Jakub,’ Eustach laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder and took him aside. ‘I know you have my dignity at heart, and are worried about me throwing good money after bad. Listen, suppose we have a trial year? And you—not Mihail—get to oversee and administer it. If, after twelve months, you don’t start seeing returns, you have the authority to end the forest building project. How does that strike you?’

Jakub took more time to cool down than Mihail did, but ultimately he was able to see the wisdom in Eustach’s decision, and even if he disagreed with it, his own honour and esteem were well on their way to being assuaged by giving him oversight authority over the project. It was a compromise that all of them could live with, and Jakub and Mihail left the council chambers on civil—if not warm—terms. Eustach sighed.

Maintaining good relations between his vassals sometimes seemed to be as much as he could handle on its own, but the insatiable honour of King Ioakim continued to rely upon Moravian blood, sweat and steel. He found it necessary again to trim some of the corners of the military budget in order to keep up with the constant demands upon them by the King of the Vlachs, who was again angling to become King of the Bulgarians as well. Along those lines, he had managed to betrothe Bohodar to a girl of a good Bulgarian family (which had in the meantime, for some reason, decided to adopt Armenian customs and language), Alitz Hrabar.

When Eustach had asked his grandson what he thought about the betrothal, Bohodar had merely answered: ‘I’ll have to get along with any girl I marry, I suppose, so just as well her as any other. I’ll try not to be too demanding on her.’

Although it was a fine sentiment, and although Eustach had no doubts about his grandson’s courage in arms, he was still a little unsettled by the lad’s lack of ambition and his willingness to make the best of any such situation. Would such thinking be suitable for a king?

Eustach’s constant military support for his Bulgarian son-in-law had cooled relations between Olomouc and Constantinople considerably. Not entirely without grounds, the Greeks saw Ioakim as a loose cannon, a rabid barbarian prone to attacking his neighbours at whim, and they didn’t have much higher regard for his kinfolk by marriage, demands of honour be damned. But this was perhaps the first time that Moravians would be facing Greeks in battle, and they would be doing it on their own ground.

As Eustach’s maršal, Zdravoslav acquitted himself remarkably well, crushing the Byzantine army at Mesembria with ease, and moving on to capture with commendable alacrity the string of fortifications between Wallachia and Thrace that ran through the mountainous Stara planina. The swift action from east to west, from coast to inland, secured Ioakim’s victory and his conquest of Bulgaria.

But the war was not without its costs. Both Tichomír Mikulčický of Nitra and Jakub of Boleslav took deep cuts at Mesembria. And both of them succumbed to their wounds within the space of several months, despite Tichomír being a rather old man and Jakub of Boleslav a fairly young one. Death, that hungry stalker of battlefields in all ages, came for young and old alike seemingly without preference.

The easily-affronted, money-conscious Jakub Abovský of Boleslav might have been mortified to discover that his old rival, Anna Žatecková, had taken his place as kancelárka. But his mortification might have been assuaged had he learned that Tichomír had been replaced in office by Jakub’s son, Hrabě Heník Abovský. Heník was rather unlike his father… although certainly much more idealistic in his speech, he was also a natural prevaricator, with a subtle tendency that suited him implicitly for manipulations and intrigues.

Eustach wasn’t inured to the fact, though, that his new Hrabě of Boleslav had taken to spending quite a bit of time together with Tomáš. And he wasn’t entirely certain he approved of their too-close association.

Tomáš had always been a physically big child, chubby-cheeked and heavyset, ever since he went traipsing around the Sorbian lakes with his father. But since marrying Ricciarda he’d certainly gotten bigger—especially around the middle. And he’d always been an easygoing and amiable soul, one who didn’t even like harming rats or stoats or other pests because he hated to see them suffer. And he had a great tolerance for all manner of company—now including the subtle, ingratiating newly-minted Czech hrabě. Perhaps it was an old father’s folly, but Eustach didn’t want to see his son harmed. But he also needed Heník’s skills—and so for the present he did nothing to split the two apart from each other. Tomáš was an adult now, Eustach had to remind himself—and capable of choosing his own friends.

Again Ioakim called Eustach to war—this time against his vassal Emiliya of Fehér. And again, thanks to Zdravoslav’s masterful planning and painstaking execution of the siege of the town, he was able to capture two of Emiliya’s sons in the siege: her elder and heir Dominík, and her younger Trpimír. After such a loss, Emiliya had little choice but to capitulate.

Ioakim even called Eustach into putting down a peasant uprising, which did cause the Moravian king to baulk. Although he promised aid, Eustach sent no troops to help Ioakim quell the revolt, and it turned out he didn’t need to. That war resolved itself in fairly short order. Instead, the last thing that Eustach saw to in this life, was to see his granddaughter Bohumila married to a worthy young soldier named Višeslav the Red.

King Eustach stayed active to the very end. And his death came swiftly and softly, as it had done for his beloved Dolz. He simply sat down to rest in the shade after an inspection of Olomouc Castle, and did not arise. It took Tomáš several minutes after seeing his father thus at rest to discover that something was wrong, and that his father wasn’t breathing.

Eustach was buried next to Dolz in the churchyard at Velehrad, going to join his fathers and mothers. Bohodar mladší and Blažena Rychnovský in their single grave; Pravoslav Rychnovský and Marija Kobilić; Radomír Rychnovský and Raina Srednogorski; Jakub Rychnovský and Eirēnē Drougouvitissa; and of course his passionately-obedient and loyal Dolz de Touraine—all awaited him there, and he was laid beside them with all due reverence and solemnity.

This done, Tomáš went into the cathedral at Velehrad and received the chrism together with the symbols of his kingly office from the hands of Patriarch Slavomír.

It may have crossed the minds of some of the nobles then in attendance, seeing the fat, placid, amiable and easygoing figure of Tomáš Rychnovský as he took the throne, that God had favoured them with a ruler who was indulgent and easily-swayed.

How very wrong they were.

 

[Revan86]

Map post time!

EUROPE AT THE END OF THE REIGN OF EUSTACH „STAVITEĽ CHRÁMU“ RYCHNOVSKÝ

​

Podkarpatska is now under Moravian control; the natural extent of the historical Czechoslovakia has hereby been reached. Hungary has been split through the middle, but now I feel guilty about it because the Magyars decided not only to Slavicise but also embrace Orthodoxy. Gah.

Second Rome continues to do quite well for itself. Caucasus fell apart and has been replaced by a kingdom of the Caspian Steppe. The Cherven Cities kind of fell apart as a major regional power, evidently after getting their butts kicked by Hungary. Eustach's constantly getting called into Wallachia's wars has paid off, in the form of a massive (and relatively friendly) Bulgaria.

Western Europe is still something of a bordergore mess, with England being the most notable victim, but France (West Francia) and Germany (East Francia) are beginning to consolidate themselves.​

 

[Revan86]

INTERLUDE VIII.
Clear as Crystal
23 November 2020

Jolana Hončová enjoyed visiting the History Museum on her days off of school; one of the perks of being a student was that admission was free. The exhibits of the historical cannon were always front-and-centre, Budejovice’s innovations in field artillery and the feared wrought-iron houfnice of the mercenary bands of the fifteenth century being a point of Moravian national pride (despite their deployment mostly in civil wars and religious upheavals). She wandered through the exhibit of Radim Reiner paintings from the early Renaissance, and the visiting East Geatish and West Francian historical exhibitions. At last she came to her favourite spot in the place.

The glassware exhibit.

The colourful panoply of Bohemian lead crystal dating back to the 1500s and earlier was one of the main draws for Jolana, who had a particular appreciation for the deep vibrant colours, the stylish lustrous sheen, the luminous patterns of the pieces on display. Floral and pastoral motifs had evidently once been popular among the manufacturers of glassware in the Bohemian Renaissance: not just flowers and leaves, but also deer and birds in flight.

Some designs were enamelled or gilt overlay. Some such contained portraits of noble or kingly patrons—even foreign ones like the Gorchakov Tsars of Russia or the Asch Erzherzöge of Bavaria. One sixteenth-century beaker had an ornate engraved depiction of the Greek goddess Hygieia, her voluptuous nude body posing contrapposto, with a medicine bowl in one hand and the snake of Asklepios in the other. In the glassware exhibit, there were vases, goblets, pitchers, bowls, wine-glasses, pipes, boxes, service sets, light-fixtures and even full chandeliers. It seemed that every time she came here, there was something new for Jolana to admire or to appreciate.

For some reason, though, amid all this wonder, this time Jolana’s eye was drawn to one corner that she hadn’t often gone—because the pieces here never seemed as colourful or as intricate as the others on display. But now as she stepped over to this corner of the exhibit, she marvelled at what she was seeing.

‘“Colourless beaker (pohár). Blown glass. Olomouc. 11th century. On loan from the Archducal Collection, Drážďany”?’

Indeed, there it was. The beaker had no handle, but instead a flared lip similar to a cordial glass. There was a finely threaded spiral, more opaque in colour, just underneath the lip and travelling about halfway down, presumably to aid in gripping the implement. The workmanship of the blown piece was fine indeed—there were no thin spots, and both the lip and the threads ran nearly level all the way around.

‘“Pale blue karafa. Enamel and gilt on tinted glass. Velehrad. 11th century.”’

The wine decanter in question had ornate geometric whorls and knots running down most of its tall neck, and underneath that was a depiction of the Wedding at Cana that seemed like something that would have come out of Western Europe rather than from a Moravian iconographer’s discipline. Much of the gilt and enamel had worn off, but enough of it was still intact that Jolana could imagine how the image must have looked when the decanter was new.

‘“Green two-handled drinking vessel. Blown glass. Velehrad. 11th-12th century.”’

Both handles of the drinking vessel were intact; the knobs had been well-secured to the sides while the glass had still been molten. The vessel itself had the full, portly shape of a modern-day brandy snifter, though there were decorative ‘ruffles’ running around the sides around it. The ‘foot’ of the vessel was composed of seven or eight knobs that reminded Jolana of a wheeled office-chair.

‘“Colourless flask. Blown glass. Olomouc. 12th century.”’

Although the description was rather prosaic, and although the piece it described was not particularly decorated, Jolana still admired it. The flask was a perfect, egg-shaped orb with a delicate opalescent patina, with a high thin neck and a foot that was very nearly hidden beneath it. Simple, but showing truly superior workmanship!

‘“Pale violet beaker. Gilt on tinted glass. Olomouc. 11th century.”’

The delicate image of the Rychnovský heraldic lion had been gilt-painted onto the body of this piece, which was about as tall as (though significantly narrower than) a pint-glass of beer. Even the claws and the tongue of the beast had been etched and applied with loving detail.

‘You’ve discovered the mediæval part of the collection, I see,’ came an amused female voice behind Jolana. The college student wheeled around.

The blonde, full-cheeked woman who addressed her was in the sharp, professional garb of a museum docent. Her deep, watery blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

‘I often see you in this room, gazing at the Renaissance pieces. Those are usually our most popular, and for good reason. Few art historians aren’t aware of the many virtues of authentic Bohemian lead crystalware. The modern pieces in the official styles also get their fair share of admirers. What brought you to this corner today?’

‘Well…’ Jolana explained, ‘I saw some of the colours here, and decided to take a look. I had no idea the Museum had glass pieces this old.’

The docent’s smile deepened. ‘Not many people do. I certainly didn’t before I started volunteering here. The Renaissance glassware is our most famous; and so we don’t usually associate glass-blowing as a discipline with mediæval times. But the arts of glassblowing and decorative ware were not unknown to Central Europe. We certainly had plenty of raw material to work with! And of course there were some very generous patrons of such domestic arts.’

‘You mean Tomáš 1., right?’

‘Well… sure, him. But not only. The other Rychnovských nobles of the time, as well as the Abovských, the Bijelahrvatskići and the Mojmírovci all commissioned pieces similar to these, though many of them are only alluded to or described in written sources. To hear the churchly historians tell it, the whole latter half of the eleventh century was one of decadent noble excess… though you’ll note that several of these extant pieces come from Velehrad. And that they’re decorated with images from Scripture.’

‘These were commissioned by churchmen?’ asked Jolana.

‘By, or for. But that’s a distinction without much difference,’ replied the docent. ‘Patriarchs and bishops were happy to drink from them all the same, and you can bet they weren’t drinking the cheap stuff!’

Jolana whistled and shook her head slowly. ‘I never knew.’

The docent stood silently by as Jolana continued to admire the pieces. Then she said:

‘You know, during the summer they have a period glassblowing exhibition at Český Krumlov. I think we have a brochure for the event around here somewhere. If you show them your student card you might be able to visit free of charge. Would you be interested in going?’

‘Summer’s a long way off,’ Jolana considered. ‘But I won’t have classes then. Sure—I’d love to go!’

 

[Midnite Duke]

Fare thee Well, King Eustace, your precious Dolz is eagerly awaiting. Did the alliance with the Bulgarians end with Eustace's death? Thank you very much for the updates.

Would you mind giving birth and death dates for Eustace and Dolz?

 

[Revan86]

Fare thee Well, King Eustace, your precious Dolz is eagerly awaiting. Did the alliance with the Bulgarians end with Eustace's death? Thank you very much for the updates.

Would you mind giving birth and death dates for Eustace and Dolz?

Yes, the alliance with the Bulgarians ended. I didn't care to renew it, for obvious reasons! However, Ioakim did manage to drag me into one last war just before Eustach died, which Tomáš was obliged to honour.

Birth and death dates for Dolz and Eustach:

Dolz [Douce] de Touraine, b. 26 Aug 989, d. 22 Aug 1059
Eustach [Eustace] Rychnovský, b. 26 Jul 992, d. 14 Apr 1068

 

[Midnite Duke]

Thank you very much. (I am a non-CK3 player.) Is CK3 using the unusual CK2 date cheats? 1) All of a woman's legit children are born of same day of month? ex 26Aug., 26Jul., 26Jun. (quick dirty paternity check) 2) Mothers who die naturally will die on same day of month as her children are born on. 3) zombie bug when you restart game people who die before birthday get credit for birthday. ex. Dolz will be 70 and Eustach will be 76 when you reopen (ages are correct during active session) Thanks again.

 

[Revan86]

Thank you very much. (I am a non-CK3 player.) Is CK3 using the unusual CK2 date cheats? 1) All of a woman's legit children are born of same day of month? ex 26Aug., 26Jul., 26Jun. (quick dirty paternity check) 2) Mothers who die naturally will die on same day of month as her children are born on. 3) zombie bug when you restart game people who die before birthday get credit for birthday. ex. Dolz will be 70 and Eustach will be 76 when you reopen (ages are correct during active session) Thanks again.

This is a fascinating question! I actually don't know if they changed the date mechanics, so let's go into Debug Mode to find out.

[Objection: Master, this is an entirely frivolous use of my immense and state-of-the-art processor power! Rather than send me to investigate the circumstances of the activation and termination of these already-dead meatbags, I would FAR prefer it if you sent me to eliminate some. Hopefully with extreme, gratuitous and excruciating violence. Damn it, Master, I'm an assassin droid, not an archivist!]

Just get me into the guts of the files.

[Clarification: I'm just registering with you that spilling the actual guts of actual meatbags is far more satisfying.]

Don't make me scrap you for parts, HK.

[Appeasement: Oh, very well. Have it your way, Master. Accessing files on the offspring of Mechthild, lowborn, ID number 20333.]

​

[Request: Master, may I please take another look at the circumstances of deactivation for Mechthild's second offspring? I find the method of his termination highly satisfying.]

Sigh. Very well, HK. That is part of what I asked you to do.

​

[Wistful admiration: How efficient and thorough these 'Norsemen' were at fulfilling their primary functions of facilitating communication and putting an end to hostilities! They have a sense of finesse, of artistry, if you will, that is truly lacking among the other self-designations of meatbags of this time. Why you chose to give up your delightfully-sanguine Bloodsnake and Battlewolf story about the 'Norsemen' continues to mystify me, Master.]

Thank you, HK, I'm glad you enjoyed it while it lasted. Now, about the questions @Midnite Duke was asking you.

[Commentary: Given the absence of "Real Father ID" tags on any of Mechthild's offspring, the only logical conclusion to draw is that all of them are in fact the genetic descendants of Bohodar Rychnovský. Despite her frankly-distasteful meatbag predilection for coital bonding, she only seems to have engaged in it with a single male. I suppose she must have lacked initiative.]

But were all of her children born on the same calendar date?

[Irritated affirmation: No need to get impatient, Master. I am accessing that information now.]

​

[Analysis: There appears to be no identifiable consistency with regard to the time of activation of independent life functions for each of these meatbags, and the relative position of the sole natural satellite in its orbit within their planetary system of residence, Master. Nor is there any such consistency with their mother's deactivation event. Also, Radomír, despite having almost completed his 25th planetary revolution around the primary star, is listed as only having actually completed 24 when his meatbag body was hacked apart by an expertly-wielded forest management tool. The idiosyncracies in accounting which @Midnite Duke appears to be concerned with, do not appear in the historical record... May I please be released from this demeaning duty and permitted to go kill something now, Master?]

Perhaps later, HK. Perhaps later.

 

[filcat]

Was going to post another colossal, gargantuan, proper filcatian one for the chapters 22 to 25;

...but then you posted Interlude 8.

O Master Revan; where did you find these charming images, and the beautiful illustration?

Spoiler: Wow.

 

[Revan86]

Was going to post another colossal, gargantuan, proper filcatian one for the chapters 22 to 25;

...but then you posted Interlude 8.

O Master Revan; where did you find these charming images, and the beautiful illustration?

Spoiler: Wow.

View attachment 825723

Do not underestimate the power of the Force.

(By which I mean, the power of Pinterest tags and a JSTOR subscription...)

 

[Revan86]

The Reign of Tomáš 1. Rychnovský, Kráľ of Veľká Morava

TWENTY-SIX
Crossing Thrace
18 April 1068 – 15 January 1072

Together, a father and a son rode shanks-mare. They looked a little mismatched—the father was a tall, broad-shouldered, heavyset man with a thin, scruffy brown beard. The son, taking after his mother, was slight and slender, with a long mane of bright copper flowing from his head. Together they rode along the south beach, with the high red walls and bright domed roofs of the town of Mesembria—built on an island out in the Euxinus—glittering like a jewel amid the ocean off to their left. The Moravian Army stood at attention along the beach, awaiting their inspection.

‘Well?’ asked the father. ‘What do you see, Bohodar?’

The red-headed youth answered him: ‘You did well to wait and resupply the troops in Silistra. They are attentive and focussed. No signs of illness, hunger or mutiny. All the arms and armour are properly cared-for. But of course the sheer number of Moravian troops is enough to repel anything Rastko is likely to send against us.’

‘And which unit do you think you ought to lead, son?’

‘The riders.’ Bohodar jutted out his narrow chin proudly.

‘Because they will have the advantage?’

‘The opposite, Father,’ Bohodar told him gravely. ‘Rastko is known for relying on his Bosnian light footmen in the field: easy to manoeuvre; difficult to pin down beneath a couched charge. Our riders don’t have much staying power. They’ll need someone confident to lead them effectively.’

‘You’re not likely to get much glory that way,’ Tomáš informed his son nonchalantly. ‘I wouldn’t want all those etiquette lessons your mother gave you to go to waste.’

‘That isn’t what this is about, Father,’ Bohodar told him. ‘I want our riders and horses to return to Moravia with both their honour and themselves intact. Although there won’t be as much glory in my leading them slow and steady, in the long run it’s better for army morale if even the less-effective units are given good commanders.’

‘And are you such a one?’ Tomáš asked with a grin.

‘I flatter myself, I am,’ Bohodar answered likewise. ‘No offence to the other commanders, naturally.’

The king clapped his elder son on the shoulder fondly. ‘You will do well for yourself, Bohodar. May God keep and protect you.’

Bohodar paused before he left to head up the horsemen. ‘Father… you’re not still planning to make your detour to the Hagia Sofia, are you?’

‘I am. Why?’

Bohodar shook his head with a chuckle. ‘It’s just… isn’t it funny for a Moravian king who has lately been at war with the Emperor to pay a visit to the Imperial City for a blessing from the Emperor’s Patriarch? His All-Holiness Polykarpos isn’t exactly renowned for being a forgiving man.’

‘Well. That was your grandfather’s problem,’ Tomáš answered reasonably. ‘Not mine.’

Bohodar gave his father a salute that was halfway between sincere and flippant. ‘Good luck convincing him of that, ocko.’

‘Why, thank you, chlapec,’ Tomáš returned the salute with a laugh.

The armies of Rastko had drawn themselves up along a ridge poised for their best advantage. But even then it was a long shot for them: they simply didn’t have the numbers. Bohodar took his wing of the riders and led them at an ambling pace around the field, skirting the range of the enemy archers, before mounting to a gallop as they drew level with the uphill left flank of Rastko’s light infantry. Not a full charge. Touch and go. Nip a couple of over-adventurous footmen and break a retreat. Bohodar’s hit-and-run tactics turned out to the riders’ advantage as Tomáš’s main force made its punishing uphill advance. Rastko’s troops were overwhelmed and routed.

Bohodar surveyed his riders. They hadn’t done too badly in this fight, despite the disadvantage they’d had against Rastko’s light footmen. A few of the riders had taken cuts and bruises, and among the horses still standing several had spear-wounds that would need to be washed and treated. Otherwise, Bohodar noted with a nod of approval, they had come off quite admirably.

~~~​

As he had intended, the new Kráľ Tomáš rode out alone to the south to the great city of the Basileios, and the immense domed cathedral of Hagia Sofia, to pay his respects to the Patriarch of Constantinople as a brother in Christ. The sight of the City was awe-inspiring, for the glittering domes and towering walls were built precisely for that purpose. As he rode through the Gate of Charisios and along the paven Mese, bustling with the noise and activity of commerce and rich with numerous pungent, appetising and stomach-turning smells, he occasionally turned off to admire the view from the crest of each successive hill, from the sixth all the way to the second.

Eventually he came to the Fora of Theodosios and Constantine, and at the end of the Mese lay his destination: the massive dome of the Hagia Sofia, the greatest crown jewel of Christendom. With great reverence he handed off his horse, did off his riding-cap, crossed himself three times before the threshold, and went inside. Truly he had stepped from earth into heaven, so luminous was the interior with its lofty roof adorned with the blue of heaven and with the icons of angels and powers and saints, and the great iconostasis which adorned the eastern wall. He lit a candle and offered his prayers, and stood as the deacon in the front chanted from the Psalter, his voice supported by its own echo as though a heavenly chorus were joining in.

At last Tomáš came before His All-Holiness and meekly asked his blessing. Polykarpos 3. recognised the Kráľ as the son of Eustach, bade him rise and kissed him upon each cheek, exchanging a few words with him before the king meekly stood aside to allow the next person behind him to be blessed. Evidently the son of Eustach had little to worry about. Polykarpos might not be of the temperament to forget a grudge, but he was also in the last instance too fair-minded to allow that grudge to pass over beyond the grave, or to pass on to the children of the one who aggrieved him.

Tomáš stayed several days in the Emperor’s City. It was on the third day or so when he saw, among the throngs that gathered beneath and among the colonnades and in the shadows of the Column of Constantine, a familiar face in a familiar monk’s cassock in the crowd. It was his younger brother, Jakub! Tomáš went up to Jakub and happily embraced him. The fat elder brother and the thin younger brother spent several valued moments laughing, arm in arm.

‘What a pleasure to see a known face!’ Tomáš exclaimed. ‘But what business brings you here?’

‘God’s business,’ Jakub answered him, crossing himself. ‘I am on pilgrimage to the Holy Places.’

‘A funny sort of monastery, which allows its monks to up and go on pilgrimage on a whim!’ joked Tomáš. ‘For the hegumen’s sake, I hope you left without a word and snuck out in the dead of night!’

Jakub’s face turned thoughtful, and serious. ‘I did, in fact, seek his blessing, under discretion. And he gave it, when he saw that my desire was genuine, and not of the Evil One. It is my intention, once I have reverenced the places where Jesus walked and taught and slept for three days before rising, to swear myself to their defence.’

Tomáš turned to face his brother suddenly. All merriment was gone from his fleshy face. ‘Brother—do please be serious, I beg you! You have never been one for shields and spears; you hardly knew one end from the other when you went into the monastery. And I’m certain they haven’t been training you in their use. Are you sure this is what you want? I love you dearly, my brother, and am eager for the salvation of your soul… but please give it thought. The martyrs are the Church’s glory, but God takes no pleasure in a fool’s death.’

Jakub took no offence at this admonition. ‘I… I know, brother. I’ve never been as strong or as good with a blade as you. And I’d be lying to you if I told you I didn’t like to keep my skin whole, like most men. But the Holy Places have called to me for a long time before this. If the Grandmaster will take me, I will so present myself. He will behold my sincerity.’

Tomáš squeezed Jakub’s shoulder protectively. ‘My dear brother. If even your hegumen would not stand in your way of visiting the Holy Places, then I certainly will not! Only go with God’s blessing, and under His Mother’s protecting embrace.’

Jakub smiled gratefully. The two brothers went together to the king’s lodgings, where Tomáš entertained the monk richly, reminisced happily with him about their childhood, and discussed Jakub’s upcoming journey.

‘I won’t lie to you,’ Tomáš told his younger brother, ‘I have long desired to behold the Levant myself… not just to see Jerusalem, but also to see Damascus and the Street Called Straight; and Antioch where the followers of Our Lord were first called Christians; and Emesa where Holy Julian was martyred; and Sergiopolis where Saints Sergius and Bacchus shed their blood for Christ.’

Jakub, seeing the wistful look in his brother’s eyes, assured him: ‘One day, perhaps, you will.’

Tomáš sighed. ‘Unlikely. Just the idle fancies of a man in his middle age… and one, at that, with duties to hearth and lands to tie him down. Only… promise once you’re there to offer prayers for us both.’

‘That I shall, brother, and gladly!’

~~~​

At last the time came for Kráľ Tomáš and his personal retainer to ride back out—past Adrianopolis and through the Rhodopes to the northwest. He had made plans to rejoin his army around the town of Lapovo, and was gratified to see that Bohodar had held the Moravian Army there as he had requested. He hailed Bohodar at once he saw him.

‘You waited!’

Bohodar nodded. ‘As a dutiful son should. I take it your meeting with His All-Holiness went well?’

‘With over 400 nomismata into the bargain,’ answered Eustach gladly, heaving forward a pair of heavy saddlebags. ‘To help defray expenses.’

Bohodar whistled. ‘Let it never be said that the Patriarch visits the sins of the father upon the son.’

The Moravian Army approached the walled and fortified župa of Vrhbosna, which was then under the control of Rastko. The siege lasted only three months. Even the defenders of Vrhbosna were dubious of their overlord’s claims upon Bulgaria, but they liefer let the Moravians into the town than the king’s, after Tomáš gave his word that the župa would be spared and the defenders allowed to walk out with their lives and honour intact. Unfortunately, Rastko was bearing down upon the Moravians with an army twice their size. The Moravians retreated into the south, with Tomáš taking up his army’s position in the mountains, in the Vojinovići lands around what is now Gacko.

‘Remember,’ Tomáš told the troops as he and Bohodar rode ahead of the line, ‘our goal is to hold. Hold firm, hold fast. We are Moravians; we are brothers. For twenty years Bulgaria has relied upon Moravian steel! That steel is dependable. The man to your left and the man to your right depend upon yours. Your strength can withstand and outlast ten of their number! Make it count. Saint Michael and Saint George, we call upon you to deliver us victory!’

There arose a mighty shout from the army as they gathered in their positions on the hillside.

And they held. Even though there were only some zbrojnošov, a handful of archers, only Bohodar among his retainers, and two thousand Moravian levies against well over three thousand Bosnians. They were surrounded, outnumbered, and the enemy had more knights to their number. Tomáš remained calm and impassive throughout, refusing to allow any trace of fear or hesitancy show upon his face. They held for three days against the Bosnians’ assault. On the dawn of the fourth day, however, a lone Bosnian rider came up beneath a white flag of parley.

‘You have fought admirably, Kráľ Tomáš,’ said the Bosnian, ‘though in the end you would have lost this day. But Lord Rastko has heard an embassy from King Ioakim Struma.’

‘King,’ Tomáš caught the title. ‘Does this mean he acknowledges Ioakim?’

‘He does indeed so acknowledge,’ the messenger reported, ‘and hopes that the God-fearing Ioakim is sensible enough to be forgiving.’

‘Then the war is over,’ Tomáš sighed. ‘We may return home.’

‘Lord Rastko bade me to tell you that the next time he meets with you, it will be on more friendly terms, though he would not be averse to meeting you in the ring to spar for sport.’

‘I welcome that,’ Tomáš saluted the Bosnian messenger, who turned and left for his army’s camp.