Managing to show his piety (with apt remuneration) in the happily last war for Ioakim, I'd take a few cues as to what awaits Tomáš' reign:
A pious soul, yes, but also willing to make good use of the advantages the church offers. And a man who doesn't want to use more resources than necessary to finish the given task.
Those are qualities that make for a good ruler, yet also carries some risks. Let us see how well he takes and makes it through the nearly inevitable succession war.
Your guesses,
@alscon, have so far been blessed by heaven--or at least, by whatever powers which govern the random outcomes of d20 rolls in the number generator CK3 uses to throw events at me. Not to spoil too much here, but the trend continues in this direction.
Sht. Running out of time, again. Should post a quick one.
Apologies for the short comment for a slightly-old-one, making the post a-bit-necro. It was too good to miss due to time constraints.
Ja genau.
Wait. That Vratislav bloke. IS that...?
...Mac
(a. Rob McElhenney)??
Woow. Now
Backpfeifengesicht gains a much more truthful meaning.
Yeeeeeah, this show only lasts for 7 books, not for 15 seasons.
I hope it at least has some funny moments, though.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Horn and Cauldron
6 February 1072 – 5 February 1074
Tomáš almost didn’t have time to react.
The first he heard was a woman’s piercing shrill rending the February air. Then, wheeling around, he suddenly beheld what Burgomistress Zdislava was screaming about. An angry blur of white and grey, a snorting muzzle lowered,
a dozen keratin spear-ends honed and shiny from a frustrating season of fighting for a mate—those were all Tomáš saw bursting out of the black brambles as he began to brace his hunting-spear. Too late.
It was knocked flying out of his hands with one enraged swing of the animal’s broad muscular neck, and then the muzzle lowered again. With sudden violence the world lurched and spun around Tomáš, as hard antler connected with—and pierced, with a searing pain—the soft flesh of his belly. His hip struck the ground, then his shoulder, then the dumbstruck head which normally wore a crown. The buck snorted and bellowed as it lowered its head for another vicious strike.
But then somewhere in his peripheral vision Tomáš saw Zdislava swinging her spear at the animal like a quarterstaff. The buck huffed in annoyance as it shrugged off her strikes. Its rage and its frustrated lust had not abated, but it wasn’t fool enough to pick a fight with
two armed humans, and God only knew just how many more—such predators always came in packs. Evidently the buck decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and left the fleshy, prone, groaning, bleeding king where he lay, in the soft, packy snow. He leapt free of Zdislava’s reach and bounded off back into the brush. The servitors who accompanied him and Ricciarda on this hunt at once rushed to his side.
‘
Odíďte! Odíďte!’ the king groaned gruffly as he tried to struggle back to his feet, without success.
Eventually, Ricciarda herself came along and placed her hands on her hips as she saw her husband, tutting impatiently. ‘Really, Tomáš! You lead men in battle and face down cunning knights and dukes abroad, but can’t handle a single, simple animal?!’
‘Like to have seen you do better,’ Tomáš grumped, taking a proffered strip of linen from one of his servitors and attempting to bind it about the several bloody punctures about his paunch.
‘Best let Anna do that,
mio caro,’ Ricciarda went to her husband’s side and supported him by the elbow. ‘She’s her mother’s daughter, after all.’
‘And I am my mother’s son,’ Tomáš grumbled at his wife. He patiently tried several more times to bind up his wounds, but when he saw the futility of the efforts he was making, he gave it up with a sigh. ‘Oh, very well. I’ll let Anna see to it.’
Ricciarda patted him on the back. ‘You know, Tomáš, it really could have been worse.’
Tomáš grunted.
‘So…’ Ricciarda cleared her throat and wisely changed the subject, ‘with regard to the amnesty. You understand, I think, that not all of the relations of your prisoners can afford to pay the full amount. Certainly Doux Dragan can’t, and neither can Doux Svetislav. Are you sure you still want to go through with it? We can wait, if it suits you better.’
Tomáš considered for awhile as he limped onward, supported at the elbow by his loyal wife. ‘The silver is important, wife, but not
as important as the timing. A single grand gesture can do more for the people and for my perceptions abroad than one which is marred by the suspicion of moneygrubbing. Those that can’t pay their full way will still get their dear ones back from me. And those who have no one to ransom them, we’ll release without condition.’
Ricciarda nodded approvingly, and continued talking with Tomáš about various things—the snowfall, the trees, the Christmas feast just past, the relations with Austria—in order to keep his mind off the pain from having been gored, at least until they reached Anna.
Anna took her hefty brother from her sister-in-law and friend with businesslike confidence, and cleaned and bandaged his wounds as one with long practice. Anna knew her mother’s
Animadversiones from front to back, practically by heart, and although Tomáš winced as some of the applications stung deeply, once she was done with him, he had to own that he felt much better.
‘There,’ said Anna. ‘Now, let that be a warning to you, brother! Keep a couple of wary eyes about you when you’re approaching young harts this late in mating season.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Tomáš straightened his shoulders gruffly. ‘Thank you. And… thank you, wife.’
Anna and Ricciarda exchanged a knowing glance with each other as Tomáš between them warily placed his feet on the ground and stood unsupported.
With their help, the new
Kráľ made an admirable recovery over the next months. Lent passed into Pascha, and as Pentecost drew near, it became clear that Tomáš’s flesh had fully recovered from being gored by the hart in the forest. And then came the news that would truly help Tomáš recover.
‘Father,’ Winefride told Tomáš as she entered the room, ‘
Vojvoda Mstivoj of Nether Silesia has issued us an invitation to attend a grand feast in Lehnice.’ The bookish girl sniffed a bit, disapprovingly. ‘What shall I tell the envoy from the Silesians in reply?’
‘Of course we shall be delighted to attend!’ Tomáš told his daughter. ‘Mstivoj Rychnovský is family, after all. We mustn’t be so rude as to decline!’
‘As you wish, Father,’ Winefride answered him demurely, though the smatch of suspicion still lingered in her voice. ‘But kin aren’t always kind, I’ll hasten to remind you. Not that I know of anything untoward from Mstivoj… yet. But
do watch your back, Father.’
Tomáš lay a reassuring hand on his daughter’s slender shoulder. ‘Never fear, Winefride. If an angry hart couldn’t kill me, I’m sure there isn’t anything Mstivoj could throw at me that I couldn’t survive.’
~~~
Tomáš found Lehnice (which the locals called Lignica) to be a well-to-do, comfortably-situated fortified town, built in the traditional Slavic style with a high wooden stockade and a hilltop promontory at the centre with hall and watchtowers, seated in the midst of the forest at the confluence of the rivers Kačava and Čierna Voda, which flowed from thence down to the Oder. Both a strategically- and economically-important centre for Silesia, it was immediately apparent to Tomáš why Mstivoj (who had received the entire vojvodeship in his infancy) had chosen to make Lehnice his seat of power.
Tomáš’s entourage, which included himself and Ricciarda as well as his daughters Almodis, Winefride and Maria and his sons Bohodar and Ivan, made its way in through the gate and up through the town to the hall, where he was greeted by a trimly-built, clean-shaven youngster with blond hair who could be none other than
Vojvoda Mstivoj Rychnovský.
‘My Lord
Kráľ,’ the youth greeted his liege confidently, ‘you are most welcome!’
‘Well-met, cousin!’ Tomáš lit down from his mount and gave the youngster a firm hug. ‘It is good to see you in person, and I thank you for the kind invitation.’
‘I fear we have little that might compare, in these rustic settings, with what you are used to in Olomouc,’ Mstivoj said with a bit over-eloquent modesty, ‘but my home is your home for as long as you wish to stay! And I see you have brought my other cousins with you—splendid! Shall I see you too your rooms? You have had quite a long journey.’
Once Tomáš, Ricciarda and their children had taken their leisure for a half-hour or so, Mstivoj welcomed them into the hall, where a roast-pig centrepiece and several varieties of game beasts, fowl and fish formed the main part of the meal. There were also dumplings and pickled cabbage, as was right and proper, and vegetables of several kinds, with the small, glossy, buttery-tasting turnips holding the pride of place among them. But where Mstivoj excelled was in providing libations.
In addition to several excellent barrels of ale, Mstivoj broke out a store of spiced mead which went down smooth and sweet. Tomáš found himself imbibing much deeper than was his usual wont.
‘Excellent!’ he exclaimed after his fourth or fifth horn of the stuff. ‘Truly excellent! And you brew this here in Lehnice?’
‘It’s something of a local art,’ Mstivoj acknowledged. ‘And—I don’t mean to sound immodest—I have got a fairly good nose for the local artistic talent!’
‘I am much obliged to you!
Much obliged to you, cousin!’ Tomáš slapped Mstivoj on the back. ‘You truly do know how to make a king feel welcome. Now—what can I do for you? Ask me as your lord, or ask me as kin—if I can do it for you, I will!’
‘Truly?’
Tomáš realised a bit too late what he’d said. Evidently, the mead had gone to his head. However, he could not now take it back. ‘Truly.’
Mstivoj raised his horn to the
Kráľ. ‘I’ll, uh… let you know.’
Tomáš cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. ‘We saw a lot of apiculture in Milčané when I was
doing the survey there with Father. Some Sorbs kept as many as ten or twelve skeps of bees on their farms. The kettle-brewed mead thereabouts was also of high quality. Didn’t sneak up on you the way this stuff does, though. Or maybe I just didn’t drink enough of it to notice.’
‘You did a survey in Milčané, my liege?’ asked a colossal, black-haired ettin of a woman sitting off to his right. Although Tomáš had been startled at Hanna Rychnovský’s gargantuan appearance when first he saw her, as well as at her immense appetite, he soon found that she had a fine tongue and was a pleasant conversationalist. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right! Of course you did! I wasn’t yet born at the time, but Uncle Mihail did tell me about it.’
‘To be fair, I was only a boy of ten at the time, myself,’ Tomáš reflected wistfully. ‘I still remember going fishing along the lakes, and seeing the women and children at work in the fields on the second sowing.’
‘Hmmm…’ Hanna stroked her massive chin. ‘The farming practices up that way aren’t the most efficient that I’ve seen. Uncle would get more tax money out of his lands if he insisted on broader clearances, I say. But they know how to keep bees up there, do they? Tell me, did you notice the honey and wax collection? You were there early in autumn, weren’t you?’
Hanna Rychnovský listened raptly as
Kráľ Tomáš recalled for her what he remembered of his journey into those regions, and what he remembered of what he’d seen of the Sorbian peasants and how they had made their living. He found a most appreciative audience for his observations and insights—it was clear that Hanna was of a similar turn of mind to his father Eustach, in that she had a ready mind for, and a keen interest in, the art of administering lands and their produce. Stewardship wasn’t Tomáš’s own
forte—he preferred talking about spiritual and academic matters, or swordplay—but he found he remembered enough, and could extrapolate enough from what he remembered, to hold forth on the topic with some degree of authority.
‘It is truly a pleasure to speak with you, liege!’ Hanna gave him a toothy grin. ‘Even among the high nobility, it’s rare to hear someone speak with the depth of knowledge and care on such a broad array of things as you do. Imagine a
vojvoda or a
hrabě who knows as much about beekeeping, brewing and candlemaking!’
Tomáš raised a horn of the sweet drink in her direction. ‘Not every
vojvoda or
hrabě would take that as a compliment—but I do! Thank you, cousin!’
‘Well, Hanna certainly knows quality when she sees it!’ Ricciarda beamed proudly at her husband after they’d left for home. ‘It certainly hasn’t been a disappointment to me, to be married to such an interesting and intelligent man.’
‘Thank you as well, my dear,’ Tomáš gave her an indulgent nod and kissed her hand.
‘… though I still wish you’d lose a little weight,’ she smirked. ‘It can’t be healthy for your humoural balance to carry that full barrel around you all the time!’
‘Nonsense, woman,’ Tomáš scoffed, with a certain fond, comfortable tolerance.
Tomáš’s thoughts had already gone to how they might organise a similar feast in Olomouc. Mstivoj might have been modest about his ability to provide a feast for the king’s liking, but said king had thoroughly enjoyed himself there—hasty promises and all. He began putting thought into how best to arrange it, and a pensive mood overtook him on the ride back home.
He certainly had enough money to lavish on the expenses for such an event. The hostages he’d managed to take in the recent action in the Balkans was neither few nor unimportant; the silver he’d taken in exchange was more than enough to provide for a full ten days or even a fortnight of feasting and drinking and music and merrymaking.
‘Did you enjoy the feast, children?’ asked Ricciarda.
‘It was quite nice,’ Maria spoke carefully. ‘There was certainly enough to eat and enough to drink. Everything was well-managed and well-appointed. Our hostess certainly arranged everything well.’
‘And our bold Maria here hardly even touched her food, of course,’ Almodis whispered wickedly to Bohodar. ‘Her eyes were too busy feasting on
Paní Irena to bother with her plate.’
Poor Maria blushed with mortification and hung her head. She didn’t deny it, though.
‘I agree with Maria,’ Ivan said, perhaps a trifle loudly, eager as he was to defend his sapphically-inclined sister. ‘The feast
was well-prepared. Although speaking for myself, I would liefer have spent my time in the chapel, at prayer and in wakeful vigil for the state of all our souls—far better than attending to empty entertainments and earthly trifles.’
‘Now, now, Ivan,’ Winefride chided her younger brother with a raised brow. ‘Being godly requires being gracious, even as a guest at a feast.’
Such was the discussion of his children as they made their way back to Olomouc. But Ricciarda soon accosted her husband with the obvious question.
‘What has you in such deep thoughts? You hardly spoke to us on the way home!’
‘Ricca,’ Tomáš held his wife’s narrow shoulders tenderly, ‘I was thinking of returning the favour, and hosting a feast of our own for my vassals. Would you help me plan for it and see to it?’
Ricciarda broke into a broad, sunny grin. Nothing made the hardworking
emiglièna’s soul truly happier than a new project, an undertaking to benefit the ones she loved. ‘
Would I?
Mio caro, you ought to have told me sooner! Which guests were you planning to invite? How many days were you planning for? What entertainments were you planning to hire—sacred or profane? Were you planning to hold it around one of the Church feasts, or just
impromptu…?’
Tomáš understood, and happily approved, that his wife wasn’t all talk when it came to such preparations. As soon as she understood what her husband had in mind, she began moving heaven and earth to bring about the desired event, and to ensure that every one of the formal niceties were observed as well as the more prosaic creature-comforts of the guests. Formidably she took charge of the household servants and organised them with the cool, confident poise of a battlefield commander. Not for the first time and not for the last, Tomáš was thankful to his father for matching him with such a capable and level-headed weaver of peace and pourer of ale at his table. But when he made his thanks known to Ricciarda, she merely laughed:
‘And what else is the wife of a king
supposed to do, if not support her husband and attend to his image before his vassals and before the world? What? You’re not looking to go to bed this early yet, are you, sweet-talking me like that?’
Tomáš laughed at that, although he was a little dismayed at how Ricciarda threw herself into the work without a thought for at least
this diplomatic nicety. Ah, well. There would be other ways and other times in which to show her his appreciation.
CLANG!
‘
Aaaaaahhh!’ Winefride cried piteously, shaking her hands in agony and panic before she began to beat furiously at the front of her gown. ‘
Hot! Hot! It burns! Help! Help, someone!’
Dazed and dismayed, the clubfooted
Hrabě Heník Abovský began muttering profuse apologies to the princess, uncertain as to whether it would be welcome for a man to aid a woman in wiping the hot grease and gravy from the breasts and lap of her gown. ‘I’m sorry—so sorry, I didn’t—’
The overturned cast-iron cauldron, in the meanwhile, had emptied nearly all its contents over the floor of the hall, causing Heník also to cry out in pain and to stumble backwards out of the way as the burning stew splashed over his shoes and ankle-wraps.
Knieža Zvonimír Mikulčický, the lord of Nitra, was seated across the hall, but even he was forced to stand and move to the rear of the hall to avoid the spreading pool of hot broth and chunks of meat. On the other hand, Brother Jakub of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre let out a cry of dismay and leapt
into the same pool, falling to his knees and, in a fashion most undignified and unsuitable for his knightly honour, lapping up what he could of the spilt food.
Tomáš gaped in horror and held his hand to his mouth, speechless at the disaster that had unfolded in the space of only a few seconds before his eyes. Then he turned to his sister.
‘Anna—go and help Winnie out of her clothes. Get her tended to—quickly!’
The likewise stupefied sister of the king went to her teary, suffering niece and steered her gently out of the hall and into the nearest and most handy privacy to get the clothes away from her blistering skin and get her cleaned up and anointed the best she knew how. Ricciarda was the next to leap into action with a rag and a bucket and orders for the servants to join her, as she herself went to clean up what she could of the mess.
All their careful plans and entertainments—ruined before his eyes by Heník’s clumsiness! Not that it was his fault, of course… Tomáš felt strongly for his vassal having to deal with such an infirmity, and it giving him such trouble. He and Ricciarda would have much to discuss if they were going to plan another such feast. And clearly the king himself had a great deal of learning to do about the placement of cauldrons at such gatherings as this. Entertainments like hunts and feasts were, after all, serious business.
