ELEVEN
A Son for a Kingdom
6 June 1250 – 9 June 1252
great darkness fell over the kingdom of Moravia in the thirtieth year of the reign of Kaloján. For the sake of his soul, Kaloján undertook another journey to the contemplative silence of Sinai and the deserts of Scetis, with the faithful Nabíjačník beneath him all the while. But in the absence of the bold
Kráľ of Moravia from his own kingdom, three fatal disasters befell.
The first concerned Vjačeslava Vasilevna’s brother, Spitihnev Vasilevič. The lord of the Červený, Dobrynia—a wicked tyrant in a long line of wicked tyrants—suspected Spitihnev of disloyalty, and gave the order to have him killed by stealth. Riled to action, Spitihnev rose up in revolt against the Červen
Knyaz, and called for aid from Moravia. Calling to his side the faithless, serpent-faced
[1] Queen Käbi of the Estonians, Dobrynia made to encircle Spitihnev.
Kancelár Kurík was not overly eager to involve the realm in a conflict between the Červený and the inland Moldavian Slavs under Červen rule. But it was his younger brother Vratislav who approached him in open court.
‘For the oaths sworn before God, for your own wife’s good name, for the sake of the family—we must ride to Spitihnev’s help!’ cried aloud the king’s second son. ‘Dobrynia makes great show of his honour, and loves to be lauded beneath his vanes of blue and yellow, and shout glory to his heroes. But you and I both know that the heart of the Červen is darkened with a thousand hatreds and atters and murderous grudges. The Červen loves to act the hero as a stage-player would, but he would murder his brother in the dark for half a silver
obol. For pity’s sake, we cannot leave Spitihnev to Dobrynia’s mercies!’
And thus Vratislav prevailed upon his elder brother to commit Moravia’s
zbrojnoši to Spitihnev’s cause. Vjačeslava saw, and she took note, that it was Vratislav who stood fast for her brother—and Kurík who had placed the realm ahead of her family’s honour. No shadow yet fell upon her, for she was still true. But it may be here that the first inkling of a disloyal thought occurred to her.
The second disaster occurred when the belly of Svetluša, the third daughter of the king, began to swell. She was not wed, but a man’s seed had taken root in her womb. Her brothers tried to get her to speak the name of the man who had impregnated her, but she would not. Though Svetluša had tossed her maidenhead aside with reckless abandon, nonetheless she was loyal beyond measure to the father of her unborn child and she would not speak his name—not to her brothers and not to any other man.
Of course the father of Svetluša’s unborn child was the elderly knight, Vojtech Silverhelm. But none would yet suspect that the honourable and seasoned
družinnik of fifty-four years had deflowered a maiden of sixteen—let alone that his seed had quickened within her! For now, the babe’s true parentage remained secret between Vojtech and Svetluša.
And the third disaster came from the north. The
Vojvodkyňa Zlatoróda
[2] of the Pomorania saw that the Moravian armies were marching upon the Červený. She knew that Kaloján was afar off in the Egyptian lands. And she took the opportunity to claim the whole of the Great Moravian kingdom for her own. Zlatoróda lay siege to the nether Silesian outpost of Premkóv, and sent a missive to the nobles of Moravia that they would receive great glory if they abandoned Kaloján in Egypt and came to her side instead.
Betray Kaloján for a coward such as this? The Moravians, to a man, cried fie upon Pomerania. Although Tichomil of Sliezsko had raised the vane of war at Andrejóv in the east to march upon the Červený, he turned a
volte-face upon hearing this news, and moved toward Premkóv to defend the Silesian March from Zlatoróda and her Pomorané.
At once upon hearing that the Estonians, who had embraced the foul doctrines of the Adamites, were attacking Moravia, the Brotherhood of the Holy Sepulchre as well turned their face to the north, and marched upon Silesia to defend the faith. The fearsome defenders of the Holy Places in and around Jerusalem, marked with the red crosses upon their tabards and the letters ТФ, could be seen upon all the paths heading north from each wayhouse upon the pilgrims’ road! And the fierce Brother Hartneid was at their head. Too, the head of the church in Constantinople, Gennadios 2., sent a large sum of money to
Kancelár Kurík upon hearing of the war that had befallen Moravia. The Orthodox of the Imperial City would not allow Moravia to fall.
Kaloján came within his own borders to the news of these three disasters, just as Zlatoróda was besieging Premkóv. He spurred Nabíjačník to a gallop, and rode from south to north, from Danube to Oder. And he was joined upon the way by his elder son, who would not sit idle within the capital while his realm’s fate was decided far to the north.
‘Forgive me, Father,’ Kurík bade him sadly. ‘I have proven unworthy to rule this kingdom—even within our own household, disorder reigns. I find it hard to face you again.’
But Kaloján lifted up his son and embraced him. ‘Kurík, you cannot be held answerable for the caprice and greed of other rulers, or for the wantonness of your sister. Indeed—see how quickly the Brotherhood and the Church came to our aid? If you were unworthy, would they have done so? My son, your worth is proven already.’
The king and the king’s son arrived at Premkóv just as the Brotherhood did, and Tichomil faced off against the Pomorané with all his host. He wielded in one arm his mighty spear and laid about him with such ferocity that Zlatoróda received word that there were five of him upon the battlefield. The
družnosť of Moravia shed cascades and rivers of the invaders’ blood, upon those fields at Premkóv. Moravia would not yield herself to such misrule, nor would she bend the knee to such an unworthy pretendrix: Moravia fought, each
družinnik and each
zbrojnoš and each common soldier beside the others, for the sake of those who could not fight, and lay down their lives for each other as Moravians.
When the red cross of the Brothers of the Holy Sepulchre appeared upon the horizon, the defenders of Premkóv took heart. Brother Hartneid rode out front with his straight mace and his staff, and he smote the
Hrabja Helias upon the crown of his head, and the Pomorán fell from his horse to the Moravian earth and was trampled to death. And when the banner of the king and of the king’s son appeared at last upon the horizon, the Moravians knew in their hearts that victory was at hand.
At Premkóv the forces of Zlatoróda were driven back, and Tichomil turned to the east once more… all the way back to the eastern end of the Moravian land, in Podkarpatská. There, the forces of Dobrynia were mounting, and Tichomil was determined to strike them before they had a chance to gather.
Upon the road thither, the news came that Svetluša Rychnovská, the daughter of the king, had borne a boy, whom she had named Ján. When this news reached Vojtech Silverhelm, who was now daily in the presence of the king whose daughter he had dishonoured, the knight could no longer keep silence. He flung himself down at the feet of his liege, and confessed himself to be the father of little Ján.
At first, the
Kráľ was incensed, and had the
zbrojnoši lay hold of Vojtech by the arms, and had determined to flog the wrongdoing
družinnik to within an inch of his life. But once his anger subsided, he began to listen to the voice of mercy. Could Vojtech have simply gone on and given no one the notice of his
affaire with Svetluša? Indeed he could—and no one, Kaloján included, would have been any the wiser. Yet he had come forward of his own will and confessed to being the father. He had offered no resistance to Kaloján, but had given himself up for punishment.
And Kaloján found he did not have the heart to deal out that punishment, to a man who had served him with such steadfastness for over thirty years. But he did instruct the elderly knight, upon pain of death, to marry his daughter and to raise the son as his own. And he ordered his daughter to change the name of her child from Ján to the more German Hans.
When at last the Moravian forces arrived at Gheorgheni, and there met the Červený, Kaloján upon the back of Nabíjačník, and Kurík at one side, and Vojtech Silverhelm at the other, and Tichomil at the head of the army—they fell upon them with fury. Kaloján had forgiven Vojtech, and Vojtech’s loyalty now was that much stronger. He fought with the strength of fifteen men at Gheorgheni, despite his age. This show of strength at the border with the Červens gave further strength and heart to Spitihnev Vasilevič and those who stood with them.
But once again the Moravians were made to march to the west. For Zlatoróda had taken not only Premkóv, but now also Boleslav, and was threatening Litoměřice. The Bohemians could only watch with dismay as the Pomeranians laid waste to the countryside, and they held out in the few fastnesses that lay within that eastern stretch of the Ores. Hearing the tales that were coming from before them, Kurík went to
Kráľ Kaloján and pleaded:
‘Father, allow me to take Tichomil and eight thousand men forward into Bohemia. I know how to march them at speed. We can meet Zlatoróda in the field, and stymie her advance until you arrive—we may even be able to keep Litoměřice from falling.’
‘Eight thousand—that isn’t enough,’ the king said.
‘It will have to be,’ the king’s son answered. ‘Any more would slow us down, and we would not reach Zlatoróda’s main force in time.’
‘O
Kráľ,’ Vojtech Silverhelm offered upon hearing this exchange, ‘your son is too important to us. Allow me to go in his place. His reasoning is sound, and he is right about the stakes, but the plan is a plighty one—it is better that I should take the risk upon my own head, which is forfeit upon account of my sins against you.’
But in the end, it was Kurík who had his way, for Kurík was the more stubborn of the two, and the more used to getting his way. Not gladly did Vojtech Silverhelm yield the command of the Andrejóv muster, but Kurík was the one who went alongside Tichomil of Sliezsko on the advance.
‘God go with you,’ Kaloján bade his son before he rode out.
‘He shall,’ Kurík assured the king.
The men who mustered at Andrejóv encountered the armies of the Pomeranians at the fork of the Labe and the Vltava, in the lowland plain near where Mělník stands. They were outnumbered, my children, outnumbered sore: the Moravians numbered eight thousand, and the Pomeranians fourteen thousand. The Pomeranians had fourteen knights and nobles among them, all arrayed under their vanes—the Moravians had only Tichomil and Kurík. The Pomeranians had lines and lines of champions at their command, and the Moravians had not even one
zbrojnoš in that army. The Pomeranians had been living fat off of plunder they’d taken from Bohemian homes, while the Andrejóv army had been exhausted from a march that had taken them twice the length of their own realm from west to east and back again. And the Pomeranians had Lady Zlatoróda herself at their head.
‘Go back whence you came!’ shouted Kurík from across the length of the field. ‘Else, if it’s Moravian earth you desire, we shall give you six feet of it!’
‘This realm belongs by right to me,’ Zlatoróda answered him proudly, ‘and no infant who has hung lifelong upon his father’s robes shall deprive me of it!’
The battle was joined, that black day. The Moravians put up a brave fight, but against the well-trained, well-led and well-fed Pomeranian army, the men who had mustered at Andrejóv began to weaken and buckle—and Kurík and Tichomil, no matter how bravely the two of them fought, were facing foes upon every side, stronger and with a harder will.
‘We must hold,’ Kurík shouted to Tichomil. ‘We must hold until Father arrives!’
‘Then hold we shall,’ Tichomil answered grimly. ‘Though it will not be many of us.’
One vane made speed at their flank, and Kurík moved to head off whichever nobleman was riding beneath it. That nobleman—accursed be his name among Moravians till Judgement Day!—was Andronikos, a Greek who had the overlordship of the town of Přemyslav to his name.
Kurík met Andronikos, and they fought with each other for twenty passes, then thirty, then forty. Both men were men of skill at arms and upon horseback, and neither man could overmaster the other. But Kurík, weary from the road and fearful that his father might not arrive in time, made a single wild lunge. Andronikos fell shy of it, and then answered with a strike of his own. The point of the Greek’s spear passed Kurík’s shield, breached his armour—and pierced his heart.
And it was then and only then, that Kaloján arrived upon the field, with Vojtech Silverhelm and the rest of his retinue. He watched his own son fall.
Grief and rage went up in a howl from the Moravian armies which had gathered there. With loud cries of ‘
Out! Out!’, they drove the Pomeranians back upon the points of their spears and beneath the hooves of their horses, and they surrounded Zlatoróda. That day upon the plain at Mělník, they broke and drove back the Pomeranian invasion, and took their chief foe captive. The Moravian kingdom had been saved from invasion. But the king had lost his elder son.
The vanes which flew as the Moravian armies returned home were those of mourning. Tears in endless streams flowed down the noble cheeks of Kaloján, and his voice was heavy with lamentation as he followed the cart bearing Kurík’s body home.
[1] It is unknown if this is in reference to Queen Käbi’s character, or if she suffered some deformity of the skin.
[2] Known in other sources as
Chrysogonē. Zlatoróda is a Slavic calque of the Greek name.