THIRTY-NINE
Fight for the Honour
2 June 1368 – 21 November 1369
The Sisters
‘Here’s the rattle I promised you, and the ragdoll,’ Taimi handed the baby things to her Frisian sister-in-law. ‘Your Milomíra will need them soon enough, believe me!’
‘Thank you,’ Imma replied warmly.
‘And here’s a book of prayers for you both,’ Vratislava pressed the hand-bound vellum firmly into Imma’s hands. ‘That God may watch over and protect you!’
‘You’re both very kind,’ Imma answered her. ‘I’m just still… aching all over.’
‘It gets easier,’ said Taimi knowledgeably. ‘Where are you feeling sore?’
Imma showed her older sister-in-law. ‘Here, for starters.’
‘Ahh. There. Yes, that went away for me in about a couple of weeks. It also gets easier to pass water within that time, too. Are you sweating a lot at night?’
‘Drenching myself,’ said Imma, embarrassed.
‘That’s your humours rebalancing,’ Taimi told her. ‘Nothing to fear. And how is feeding her going?’
The Frisian princess winced. ‘That hurts too. My breasts ache
all the time, and my nipples get unbearably sore, especially right after she drinks.’
‘You need to make sure to feed her
regularly,’ said Taimi decisively. ‘Thrice during the day and once at night, if your flow is anything like mine. Also, use olive oil on your nipples if they chaff or hurt too much—that main helped me when I was nursing.’
Vratislava was uncharacteristically quiet during this new mother-talk between Taimi and Imma. She looked—as she no doubt felt—quite left out. Taimi, sensing this, laid her hand on Vratislava’s, and spoke gently to the younger girl:
‘Don’t worry, your time will come soon, I’m sure.’
‘Of course it will!’ snapped Vratislava. ‘And I’ll make sure I have the first
boy of us three!’
‘No doubt,’ Taimi smiled.
‘I’ve already redoubled my prayers to the Panagia,’ Vratislava said hotly. ‘And I’m making sure that Radko is reading
two kathismata
every day until I conceive. God willing, it won’t be long!’
‘There’s no need to rush yourself,’ Imma told her. ‘You’re the youngest of us three by several years. We’re further along in our season; you have yet to blossom fully. It’s bound to take a little longer for you than for us!’
Vratislava looked for a moment as though she was going to make a biting retort, but then bit it back with effort. ‘You’re right, sister. All things will come in God’s time. I must trust in the Lord, and not my own wisdom.’
Taimi exchanged a slim smile with Imma. There was no doubt of Vratislava’s purity or fervour of faith, but her zeal occasionally betrayed a significant lack of experience. True enough, the years were the best teacher, and would correct her as they saw fit. In the meantime, Imma was happy to have both her younger and her older sister-in-law at her side as she recovered from the birth. Taimi’s easygoing, gentle humour and Vratislava’s eagerness both helped in their own way.
The Brothers
‘Hey, it’s Kulin!
Ahoj, brother!’
‘Is anything the matter? You look like you’ve been breathing fire!’
‘You haven’t been fighting
again, have you?’
‘Maybe he’s been talking with Aunt Gruša,’ chuckled Míra to the disapproving Radko. ‘Old lady blows her stack at everyone these days—even Father.’
Kulin rested a hand on the pommel of his blade as he stormed closer to his brothers. ‘That saucy knave in town was asking for a clobbering; I merely obliged him. Don’t worry, I didn’t draw any blood. Didn’t have to, not against that coward.’
‘Just take care Father doesn’t get wind of your newfound predilection for street brawls,’ Radko cautioned his older brother. ‘And you should know as well as anyone else that there are ways to get around fights like that. Some less scrupulous men might avail themselves of such means.’
‘Never fear,’ Kulin clapped Radko on the shoulder. ‘I’ve got a hawk’s eye for treachery. No one’s going to pull a fast one on
me.’
‘… and the heir’s wife, of course…’
‘I completely agree, sir. Most ill-bred, and much too
round…’
Kulin swung his head around to see one of the visiting dignitaries speaking with an older man, a burgomaster from (he believed) the south of the Morava Valley. The older man was the one who had accused Taimi of being
ill-bred and
round. It was his misfortune to have made such a comment within earshot of said heir himself, when he was in as belligerent a mood as he was.
‘Now, Kulin—’ Radko began to caution him.
But the grating ring of steel from the hem of its scabbard had already sounded out, and the gleaming malm was flashing in Kulin’s strong hand. He advanced on the southern burgomaster.
‘You’d best be willing to back up your words with steel, scum,’ Kulin shouted as he approached the two.
‘I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding—’
But the town headman’s words were cut short as Kulin’s steel drew level and pointed straight at his throat.
‘Nothing of the sort. Either recant your villainy against my wife,’ Kulin snarled, ‘or draw your sword. Else, you shall deserve the coward’s mark with which I will brand you.’
‘Impudent child!’ the burgomaster drew his own weapon. ‘King’s son or no, I’ll soon teach you some manners!’
Kulin drew off a couple of paces, while the burgomaster did the same. The dignitary he was with offered his arm. Behind Kulin, Radko gripped his shield-arm to the shoulder, to let him know his second was at hand. Then the two combatants began to circle each other, carefully placing their feet as they gauged each other’s reach and speed. Kulin made a lunge, which was matched by a fine parry. Clearly this townsman was no fool—and also no mean swordsman. However, he didn’t have age on his side; and Kulin pressed his advantage at speed.
Kulin made three swift cuts at a significant lunge, which came at significant risk to himself if he lost his footing. But he scored a definite touch. A slender ribbon of fabric flew loose from the sleeve of the burgomaster’s cotte, and a thin trickle of blood followed. The burgomaster gave a cry of pain and stumbled backward himself. Kulin followed through, and a second later was holding his blade at the burgomaster’s throat.
‘I yield—I yield, damn you!’ called out the burgomaster, dropping his weapon to the earth.
‘I think my wife’s honour has been satisfied by the proof,’ Kulin answered, returning his malm to its scabbard.
‘But mark my words,’ the burgomaster called out as he and the dignitary left, ‘your father shall hear of your impudence!’
The Ambassador’s Request
This southern Moravian burgomaster, it turned out, was named Ostrivoj Detvanský, and he was the headman of the town of Ivančice. He belonged to
a cadet branch of the Árpádok, and his family’s star was already on the ascent, though it had not reached its zenith. His cousins were men of considerable means and title in the Kingdom of Moldavia to the southeast. He was not about to let the slight and injury he’d suffered at the hands of the king’s son go unanswered.
‘He has truly gone too far!’ Ostrivoj raged, still clutching his wounded arm.
‘And did he have cause?’ asked the king mildly.
Ostrivoj scowled, then grumbled. ‘I… may have said some… injudicious things about his wife within his hearing that were likely best left unsaid. But surely his response sorely exceeded any rational bounds!’
Radomír fought, valiantly, to hide the smile that was threatening to form. So—Kulin was
that jealous of his wife’s good name! A regular romantic, it seemed. That boded well indeed for their future life—Katarína had chosen well for him! The
Kráľ might even have to invest some time into finding his son and heir a suitable teacher in the arts of swordsmanship. Still, it was not becoming to let such a thought show to a man he had wronged in the process. ‘Rest assured, Burgomaster Ostrivoj, that I will handle the matter appropriately.’
‘Sire,’ Ostrivoj bowed. Though he was evidently not satisfied with this response, still he knew better than to press his advantage.
Radomír, after all, was hard up against two other matters that required his urgent attention.
First: Latin priests were at large in the county of Nisa, evidently with the blessing of the
Vojvoda of Sliezsko. Several ‘white priests’ had shown up at his court in tatters to complain about their treatment at the hands of the Latins, who were seizing temples and evicting the faithful, claiming that they had the sanction of the nobility to ‘correct’ and ‘chastise’ the Silesians.
The tales with which they came to court were troubling indeed. They spoke of bodily seizures,
impromptu inquisitions, heresy trials and burnings of those convicted, in which the agents of
Vojvoda Oleg Rychnovský-Nisa had actively colluded. They spoke of how the nobility had forcibly evicted turned white priests out of their parishes and replaced them with celibates from East Francia or Austria. They spoke of how monastic libraries had been emptied and used for kindling by the new ‘correcting’ and ‘chastising’ Latin Rite proprietors. They spoke of how free peasants who lived around the parishes were being conscripted as
corvée labour by new Cluniac and Cistercian houses of prayer, with no regard for their prior rights and privileges. They spoke of how even the bodies of the dead were disrespected by the new Latin clergy—right-believing parishioners were no longer allowed to bury their loved ones in consecrated ground under the new regime. Peasants were gathering in secret meetings, these Orthodox priests warned darkly, and might well be preparing a kind of ‘justice from below’ for these oppressors.
Kráľ Radomír had already invited Oleg, in a warm spirit of brotherhood, to Olomouc to come celebrate the Liturgy together with him, and partake of Holy Communion from the hand of the Orthodox Archbishop Prisnec.
Distressingly, Oleg had refused. Although it was couched in a fine and even flattering diplomatic language, Radomír was versed enough in such speech to tell that Oleg had turned his back decisively upon the faith of his fathers, in preference for the Latins.
This matter needed to be dealt with swiftly. And it seemed unlikely that an ‘above-board’ response would be effective. Radomír would have to deploy cunning against his kinsman.
The second matter was also one which required a certain… delicacy.
The foreign envoy from the lands of Galicia had come to
Kráľ Radomír with what promised to be a lucrative and mutually-beneficial proposition. A minor functionary of the Grand Principality of Galicia was due to arrive in Olomouc in several days.
‘If Your Majesty could… contrive it… such that this rogue and criminal personage were
waylaid during his stay here, and then delivered up to
Veliki Knez’ Juri, the advantages accruing to yourself from his most munificent hand would be considerable.’
The oily tongue of the Červen messenger had been enough to give Radomír pause. Although it was true that this fellow would indeed be fully within Moravia’s power during his stay, there seemed to be something just
a bit too convenient about this offer.
‘What can you tell me about this… personage?’ the
Kráľ had asked.
‘I assure Your Majesty,’ the Červen messenger had answered smoothly, ‘that he will offer little trouble to apprehend. His name is Evstafii Bräčislavič. His family is of little account. But this man is a traitor and a villain, whose very liberty is an affront to the God-ordained tranquillity and integrity of the Galician realm. You would be performing a most patriotic, brotherly and Godly service, were you to deliver him up to us—but naturally, we would be more than happy to compensate you for your trouble.’
Radomír had nodded. ‘Very well. I shall see what can be done in this matter.’
With that answer the Červen messenger had to leave satisfied. But Radomír had turned to his kinsman and spymaster,
Knieža Drahomír Rychnovský-Vyšehrád of the Češi, and whispered to him:
‘Find out for me all you can about this Evstafii Bräčislavič.’
Several days later, Drahomír returned to Radomír, and reported:
‘Evstafii Bräčislavič is indeed a minor official in Galicia. He has been several times elected as the burgomaster of a northern village, called Aľkéniki.’
‘Is he indeed a traitor to the Galician
Knez’, as his messenger alleged?’
Drahomír gave an eloquent shrug. ‘Evstafii certainly disagrees with a number of his liege’s policies. Sometimes quite vocally. He can be almost bardic in his eloquence. However, as far as I can tell, he has never failed to provide his levies to the Galician
Knez’ when called, nor withheld any taxes either for his personal benefit or out of treasonous motives.’
‘So why should Juri be so vengeful upon him?’
‘There is the small matter of his lineage,’ Drahomír steepled his fingers. ‘For by ancestry Evstafii does not belong to the Červen or Volhynian tribes which comprise the nobility of Galicia, but instead to the Dregoviči—who are an
ancestral people of Biela Rus’.’
‘He’s Belarusian?’ asked the king, his eyebrows raised.
‘Bred and born, apparently. That’s enough reason for Juri to regard him with suspicion… but this level of vengeful hatred seemed rather over-the-top to me. So I did a bit
more digging.’
Radomír smiled. Drahomír certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
‘And what did you find?’
‘Evstafii has said publicly that he will save his reverence only for the Prince of Peace, whom alone he worships. He is evidently quite sincere in his Orthodox faith, and keeps all the fasting seasons with the rigour of a monk. He is also quite well-liked, being a host who likes to serve his guests with the hospitality of Abraham. The one thing he seems to have said that most angered Juri, is that when he was pressed on the issue, he burst out that if God wills it that the White Rus’ should again rule Aľkéniki one day, he would perform for them the same faithful duties that he currently does to the Galician lord—and no more. Juri seems to have taken this as a treasonous sentiment, and moved to have him detained.’
‘But it is only proper!’ Radomír had objected. ‘I would expect no greater faithfulness than that from a man of Višehrád, or of Užhorod, if—God forbid—the sway of our own realm should shrink!’
‘Your Majesty is beneficent and wise,’ Drahomír bowed perfunctorily.
‘Evstafii…’ Radomír mused, stroking his clean-shaven chin in thought. ‘A name like that was borne by one of our great ancestors, Drahomír:
Kráľ Eustach. They may have the same patron.’
‘That is more than likely, sire.’
Radomír came to a decision, and drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Send back a positive reply to the Červen ambassador. I want him to leave thinking we will do Juri’s dirty work as he desires. However, I want to take steps to ensure that while he is under Moravian sway, this Evstafii is given every protection we can afford him, and safe passage back to his home village.’
‘Milord,’ Drahomír bowed again.
The Moravian and the White Rus’
‘I don’t know why Juri wants you in his custody so badly,’ Radomír concluded, ‘but he was willing to part with over four hundred
denár of fine gold
as a down payment, for us to deliver you to him personally. I can’t imagine his intentions for you are of a friendly kind.’
‘Indeed not!’ Evstafii Bräčislavič—a tall, spare Rus’ with high cheekbones, a long nose, and a rather gaunt appearance—was visibly troubled by this news. He lifted his joined fingers to his forehead, then down to his heart, then touched them to his right and left shoulders. ‘
Gospodi pomiluj. I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but… I never imagined the
Knez’ to be capable of such vindictiveness. May God soothe his anger and forgive him!’
‘Well—in any case, I have already made arrangements for your safe passage back home via Pomerania.’
‘I can see you are a whole-hearted man, Radomír Vojtechovič,’ Evstafii gripped the king’s elbow firmly. ‘Truly you do have a soul. I know not how I can hope to repay you.’
‘Send word when you are home safe,’ Radomír assured him, clasping him with equal warmth by the arm. ‘That will be thanks enough. I only wish there was more I could do.’
Evstafii hesitated, but then decided it would be safe to speak. ‘There is… one thing, Your Majesty.’
‘Name it!’
‘You have freed me from certain captivity, and very likely from death. God no doubt is smiling upon this favour you have done for me, though little I deserve it myself. If I may be so bold—there is another such prisoner who is here in Olomouc. Would you see fit to forgive Svietlana her trespasses against you, and to set her at liberty?’
Radomír bethought him for a time. He knew of whom Evstafii spoke: Svietlana had indeed stayed in confinement under guard in Olomouc for several long years. He didn’t even rightly remember what crime she’d committed. Whatever wrong she had done, it would seem she’d more than paid for it.
‘Consider it done,’ Radomír told Evstafii. ‘May God speed you safely on your journey. Please do keep in touch with me; I’d consider it a personal favour.’
‘I shall. May God richly reward your Majesty’s kindness,’ Evstafii answered.
~~~
On the other issues facing him, Radomír found both reasons for hope and reasons for concern.
His now white-haired wife, relaxed and refreshed and beaming after a night of pleasant samelies with a likewise-aging but still-ardent husband, stretched luxuriantly, stood up in her chemise and sauntered to the window overlooking the courtyard. She peered down, and suddenly became much more animated. Katarína beckoned to the
Kráľ.
‘Mírek! Mírek!’ she cried. ‘
Ľubóv môj, come here, quickly!’
Radomír arose from the bed and followed his wife to the window. She pointed down into the courtyard.
‘Is that young swordsman not our Kulin?’
‘So it is!’
‘And is he—fighting with my sister?’
Radomír exploded. ‘That whelp! When I said he could train, I didn’t mean—!’
Radomír flung on a cotte, hose and belt and rushed down to the courtyard. He would put a stop to this. Picking a fight with
his own aunt—it was not to be borne! Unfortuately, Radomír arrived too late on the scene. Kulin had already forced
Kňažná Praksida to yield. A fight which he shouldn’t have picked in the first place, and he had already won it!
‘
Kulin—!’ barked the
Kráľ.
‘Father!’ Kulin, understanding
now what he’d done wrong, flung himself down on one knee beside Praksida and made haste to ask forgiveness of the king.
‘
I’m not the one you should make restitution to, you ungrateful, wretched boy! Beg forgiveness of your aunt
this instant!’
So Kulin did, and Praksida grudgingly gave it. It was clear to see that she held her eldest living nephew in a bit less high favour than she once did, however. The quartermaster who had accompanied Kulin into the courtyard, however, took the
Kráľ aside.
‘Don’t be too harsh on the lad,’ he told the king. ‘He’s actually a fine pupil: obedient, hard-working, never makes the same mistake twice. He will do excellent service in your
družnosť, I am sure.’
‘First of all we need to curb his… private combative habits,’ the
Kráľ growled.
Kulin wasn’t the only wayward kinsman whom Radomír needed to keep in check, either.
Vojvoda Oleg had gotten bolder. Not only did he refuse to come to Communion in Olomouc, to partake of Christ’s body and blood with the Orthodox—but now he was
openly flaunting his Western ties in his liege’s face. He had taken to dressing himself pompously, in fine Frankish clothes, disdaining the local Silesian fashions.
Radomír had responded to this calculated insult on his vassal’s part by pointedly ignoring him in public. Whenever Oleg raised his voice in the
Zhromaždenie,
Kráľ Radomír would yawn and begin loudly talking over him. This tactic seemed to work… for the present. But a more permanent solution to his rebellious vassal had to be found… and soon.
Given these family troubles, the
Kráľ found it a pleasant surprise when he received a letter from Evstafii Bräčislavič, who had invited him to attend a dance in the town of Kobryn. He accepted the invitation with pleasure, and was soon riding to meet the Belarusian burgomaster on his ‘home field’.
Kobryn was a charming town—not nearly as large as Kiev, but still possessed of its own beauty. The
Kráľ’s eye was trained well enough to spot not only the marks of the White Rus’ style of architecture in the domes of the town’s churches, but also the impress of history under Yotvingian and later Polish rule. The people, the
Kráľ heard in the streets, spoke a mixture of Polish and East Slavic. There were even quite a few Jews among them, too, with their prayer shawls at their belts and the characteristic blue felt hats which their menfolk wore, speaking in a
patois of Yiddish and Bulghar.
When Evstafii met the king at the gate to his own enclosure, Radomír could already hear the strains of a lively
chorovód in the courtyard. Men and women were both dancing in their circles with sprightly steps to the upbeat tempo of a four-piece band with
gusli,
buben,
rog and
cymbály. The refreshments there were ample: roast fowl, dumplings,
mačanka, sausages, soups with sorrel and mushrooms, and various kinds of berry compotes and pastries for the delectation of the palate, as well as great vats of ale and mead to quench the thirsty work of the dancers!
‘Come, come!’ said the hospitable burgomaster. ‘Have a bowl of mead, O
Kráľ!’
Radomír thoroughly enjoyed the festivities which Evstafii had prepared. He readily talked with the burgomaster, and quickly discovered that Evstafii had been on pilgrimage to Jerusalem—indeed, having passed through Olomouc on that occasion as well! He listened for hours as Evstafii regaled him with stories from his travels, and to the reverent hush that fell on him when he described encountering Gethsemane, the Mount of Olives, the Holy Sepulchre and the other holy places in that land.
By the time the festivities were over, Radomír had earned a fast friend in Evstafii Bräčislavič.
