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

[Revan86]

When one commissions a family history, the truth sometimes falls behind family prestige. Thank you and I hope that you had a nice Easter.

In the portrait, the king seems to be aging more gracefully than his mate. Dobrohneva may be a star of the future. It is wonderful how you take the same events and give them a fresh slant. Thanks for sharing another voyage.

Any idea in the 1300s, how much would be by sea and how much overland?

Crist arás!

In this case, the family history ends up being one of the primary sources for later studies of Moravian history, so... yeah, there is definitely a slant to later understanding of the way this history unfolded.

Considering that Radomír, true to the Rychnovský form, married a woman several years older than him, it may not be a truly fair comparison: she is further along in terms of aging than he is. And Dobrohneva is gonna be trouble...

It's one of the insistent worries when writing an AAR based on a Paradox game with a set event pool, that one will end up repeating oneself. So thank you very much for that particular compliment, @Midnite Duke; that one really made my day.

Just a note to say I’ve just started reading this, having meant to for some time given various glowing recommendations. I have rarely delved into the CK3 thread (mainly a time thing and that I haven’t played the game yet). But I’ve recently delved into EU IV, saw your new part 2 there, so launched backwards to give this a try. Have read the first five chapters and have found it beautifully written.

Cheers! Glad to have you on board, @Bullfilter.

I get how hard it can be to break into reading AARs from games that you haven't played yet. It's still that way with me and Stellaris. So I definitely appreciate you getting out of your comfort zone and coming here to read my work!

 

[Revan86]

FORTY-FOUR
Absent Friend
26 August 1382 – 15 April 1384

Vojtech Rychnovský was a remarkably serious little six-year-old. The half-Frisian child was already learning the importance of saving money, and he would follow his grandmother everywhere and observe her at her toils—making sure that every affair inside the castle walls was best arranged or organised for thrift of expense and efficiency of service. He also observed how his grandmother managed the royal coffers, always on the lookout for new investments with which to grow her royal husband’s funds. Vojtech also helped at his father’s bedside when his grandmother came in to tend to his wounds. The little boy had a kind and caring heart, clearly—and he did not at all want to lose his father. There was little doubt that the only son of Ostromír and Imma would be a remarkably effective šafár, or that as king little Vojtech would be a more-than-capable administrator, and one with a most God-fearing and humane outlook toward his people.

Such were the thoughts that Katarína—rosy-cheeked, well-lathered twixt the legs, and happily winded—shared with her husband as she lay back on the Damascene silk covers. Radomír ran an appreciative hand over his Russian wife’s naked body. True, that body was wrinkled and mottled, and it sagged in some places and bulged in others. Her hair was rime-white and she had a credible pair of jowls to go with the deep pouches under her eyes and crow’s-feet at the corners. But she was still the most beautiful treasure in Radomír’s eyes. And old age had only made her hornier.

The severan king Ásbjörn had sent another poem to Olomouc—a response to the Pôvod after having been presented with a copy from Moravia. Evidently Ásbjörn had taken the epic as a high compliment to his own work, which he believed had inspired the Pôvod. As a result, he had once again been struck with inspiration. This one was entitled ‘Minnungu konungs’, and it dealt with the accomplishments of Radomír’s life and the deeds for which he would be remembered. This poem, Radomír was much happier to acknowledge and have celebrated than the former, as he could more definitely see the intention behind the words.

~~~​

Still it was not the poetry which gave Radomír peace—rather the work from which all poesy comes. Radomír was still an active and vigorous king even at the age of nine-and-fifty, and he kept himself fit and strong by going for long, brisk walks in the forested areas and riversides which still graced the Morava—and would do as long as he remained king.

It was the only way to stay sane. Radomír had long found that the pressures of ruling were catching up to his ability to deal with them, and taking walks out-of-doors (or going on hunts, when he could afford them) had come to be a necessity.

One particular source of strain on Radomír was ensuring that another uprising like Ctislava’s couldn’t happen again. Although he had already dealt with one errant vojvoda on the Silesian march, he wasn’t about to give opportunity to another. His authority might still not have been what his ancestor Kaloján’s had been… but at the very least he could curb Silesia’s ambitions to expand into central Poland. Declaiming the ambitions of his vassal (a bit, he personally felt, hypocritically), he had stripped Vojvoda Dobroslav Rychnovský-Nisa of his title to Sieradz, and then promptly granted both city and surrounding lands independence from the Moravian realm.

As for Ctislava herself… he continued to retract titles and vassals from her, one by one. Radomír would see to it that the Mojmírovci of Nitra would never again be a rival to the rightful Rychnovský claim to the Moravian throne, even if that meant breaking the Mojmírová in his custody. Ctislava herself had not adjusted well to life under confinement. The guards informed Radomír that she cursed his name constantly, and fumed and raged and spat, and swore vengeance from the confines of her cell for the indignities visited upon her by such treatment. But Radomír had little sympathy for her. He had no doubt that if she had been victorious in her treasonous war, she would have done far worse to him and to his kin.

He had set Ivan, the Hrabě of a small march on the edge of the Viedenský les who had formerly sworn fealty to Nitra, at liberty from Moravian overlordship. Those lands were not traditionally Moravian or Nitran, after all, and most of the people there were rakusy—German-speaking mountain folk who probably belonged with their fellows on that side of the border. The question of the rightful rulership of the Viedenský les, unfortunately, would come back to haunt later Moravian kings—that whole area being a patchwork of different ethnic groups and loyalties. But at the time, of course, Radomír had not even the slightest inkling of this. To him it was a simple matter of justice, and of a proper distance in prestige and power between ruler and vassal.

~~~​

The next hunt took place in the south of Moravia, near Ivančice. It was late autumn, and the smaller game beasts were busy gathering food before they went to ground. The zajacov in particular were out in force, and the hounds were having a field day giving chase. Radomír spotted a particularly long and sleek individual, and gave chase to it together with his friend and sister-in-law, Praksida.

The elderly Praksida also enjoyed bloodsport and the out-of-doors, which was one of the things which had sealed the friendship of sister-in-law and brother-in-law early on. So it was somewhat to Radomír’s chagrin when he found her rather pensive and distant as they rode on together. Indeed, she seemed to be preoccupied with something secret that was bothering her. However, the leporine form they were after had again bounded off after being spotted out of its hiding place, and Radomír pursued it further afield. Preoccupied as she was, Praksida nevertheless did not remain far behind.

As they drew near where the hare had gone again to ground, Praksida approached her friend.

‘I have something to tell you, sire. It’s about my nephew. Your son.’

‘Something that’s not fit for others to hear, I take it.’

Praksida considered. ‘No. It is not.’

‘This is about Kulin?’

Praksida nodded. ‘I have come to wonder if I should speak on the matter at all. My feelings toward Kulin are… ambivalent, particularly after that incident in the courtyard. I would not wish to cause him occasion for greater sin, nor would I wish to sin myself.’

‘But you are wondering,’ Radomír said shrewdly, ‘whether it’s something a father might be able to fix, if I spoke with him in private.’

Praksida nodded again. ‘Please understand that I say this not out of malice or out of a wish to drive a wedge between you. It is only that you ought to know, and you of all men might be able to deal with it in a fitting way.’

‘I understand. Go on.’

The hare would get away. But what was an animal compared to a son? Praksida took in a breath.

‘You know how Kulin was before he married. And then—well, we all saw the change that came over him afterward, even if that change was gradual and piecemeal. Taimi changed him, changed him for the better. Those two truly loved each other: more so than Radko and Vratislava; and more so even than Míra and Imma. It is no secret that he took it hard when she died.’

‘Go on,’ said Radomír.

‘Well… I visited on him in his monastic cell of late, and I found among his possessions a certain book—dealing with forbidden occult knowledge on how to speak with the dead, and how possibly to raise them again to life using unlawful powers. I fear he may do something rash with this book in hand, something that may do great harm to his soul, if he has not done it already. Please intervene, sire!’

It was not how Radomír would have wanted this hunt to go, but still it would have been cruel to his friend not to invite her confidence when she was so clearly bearing this burden. Yes, indeed—Radomír would speak with his son. However much Kulin had loved Taimi, and however much the loss of Taimi might have hurt him, this was not the right way for him to go about cherishing her memory. He would indeed set his son straight.

~~~​

Radomír had done well to listen to Praksida. After that hunt was finished, Praksida lived on less than six months, most of which she spent in her bed. It became clear to her friend and liege that she wanted to have made a clean breast of things with her brother-in-law and her nephew before she went to her grave.

It was Archbishop Elisei who shrove Praksida in her final hours. Radomír and Katarína both were present as Elisei gave her to eat and drink from the Chalice, anointed her, and lay his hand upon her with blessing. Katarína gripped Radomír’s sleeve hard, knowing that this would be the last time she would see her elder sister living, before the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

Katarína did not often think about death. She threw herself either into work or into bed with her husband, as often as not to avoid having to think about it. After all, she too was growing old and white, and her body ached and was sore from tasks she wouldn’t have thought twice about even five years ago. And now she was staring at the end of her sister’s life… and by extension, of her own.

Radomír too did not go unshaken. Kňažná Praksida had been a loyal vassal, a commanding and formidable maršálka, and a dear friend. He tried to imagine what heartening words of encouragement she would give him at a time like this… but he found that even so trying only brought fresh gouts of grief pouring from him as blood out of a gaping wound. He found himself choking on it, and buried his face in his sleeve.

Also present at Praksida’s deathbed, apart from the King and Queen and Archbishop Elisei, were her other kinsfolk from Siget. She had there two youthful grandsons, the elder of whom Radomír recognised as Teodotii (also, familiarly, Fedot or Feďa), and who was heir to her titles. Teodotii was a trifle lax in his prayers, and had little enough to say in answer to Archbishop Elisei, but he was also unfeigned and unreserved in his grief, and wept for his departed grandmother.

There was no one who could truly take Praksida’s place in Radomír’s court or in his life. With great reluctance and grinding of teeth, Radomír had to own the obvious conclusion that Ctislava’s kinsman Budivoj Mikulčický, the Knieža of Užhorod, was the only real choice to succeed as the Kráľ’s maršal.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Nothing better personifies our aging than the aging and death of our siblings. My condolences to the queen. Thanks for the memories.

 

[Revan86]

FORTY-FIVE
Moravia’s Word Is Silver
25 July 1384 – 4 April 1388
​

‘… so you see, it is the Czechs who bear an undue proportion of the demands from Moravia’s corvées, and in times of war, it’s the Czech levies which suffer most,’ Drahomír was saying. ‘Surely even you must admit that a more lenient contract would be, in the long run, even in Moravia’s best interests.’

‘Would it?’ asked Radomír, steepling his fingers and raising his brows.

Drahomír let out a chuckle. ‘Come, Radomír. Be reasonable. The Bohemian principality is one of the oldest gems in the Moravian crown. It has been ruled directly by us Rychnovských since the days of Prisnec. It also happens to be the most populous domain, in need of a lighter touch. Surely, if some special arrangements are asked for, at least the circumstances warrant them?’

Radomír was privately inclined to agree, though the conclusion he drew from the matter was somewhat different. He remembered what his mother had told him about the Češi. They might lay claim to kinship and speak fealty and honour in one’s ears, but in their hearts they were every bit as rebellious as the Nitrans. Even his Rychnovský-Vyšehrad kinsmen were wont to think first of Czech interests and of the interests of the Crown second. If some ‘special arrangements’ were indeed in order, to loosen the yoke, then Kráľ Radomír himself would need some ‘special’ assurances.

‘Your feudal obligations have been fixed in law, by a tradition stretching back to the days of Knieža Daniel,’ Radomír told Drahomír. ‘Do not take me for a simpleton. If there is something you wish to take from me, there must be something you’re willing to give me in return.’

Drahomír considered. ‘I… might… be willing to part with a portion of the lands under my sway.’

Radomír sat back and crossed his arms. ‘One can only surmise,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that by a portion, you mean simply Čáslav and its environs.’

Drahomír almost baulked. ‘You can’t be serious—!’

‘Oh, I assure you I am quite serious,’ Radomír answered the Bohemian knieža. ‘What? Did you think you were going to pawn off Cheb? The Ores? Přemkóv? What would I want with them? How would I administer them? Fine exercise for my šafár, I daresay. No. Only the Čáslav lands border Moravia Proper in any significant way. You want my price for a lighter yoke? The price is Čáslav. There are no other terms to haggle over, Drahomír.’

Drahomír, despite the tight command he had of his face, was nonetheless clearly in the midst of a serious inner struggle. That was how Radomír knew that he had made the right choice. Any other land he could see fit to part with would be too little to ask for the privileges he desired. Ultimately, though—

‘Fine,’ Drahomír bit out. ‘Take Čáslav.’

‘I shall see to it that my clerks draw up the new terms of our agreement,’ Radomír nodded to his vassal, who bowed, turned on his heel and left the room.

The chief reason that the Moravian king desired direct overlordship of Čáslav, was because it was home to the still-rich silver mines at Hory Kutné—later known as Kutná Hora. It was at this place, according to legend, that Bohodar Slovoľubec had re-earned the loyalty of the Bosnian Krstjani mercenaries who had helped him to subjugate the Češi the first time. And it was from this place that much of the silver that went into minting new denárov came.

Unfortunately, the mine was still operating on a very limited basis, and Radomír could already see some areas where expansion could be carried out. He hired some peasants, some carpenters and some stonecutters to scope out and dig two new mine-shafts which would bolster further the mining of silver ore at Hory Kutné.

~~~

Svietlana had conceived once more by Miloslaw von Magdeburg, and she gave birth to a pair of identical twins in October the following year. Her marriage to the son of a Sorbian mercenary captain had been morganatic in nature, and their children thus bore the Rychnovský name (but were not in succession for landed title). They named the twins Svätoslav and Radomír, with the Kráľ’s blessing.

Radomír’s Russophilia, engendered by passionate desire for Katarína and fostered with ardent drive on its own ever since, had brought many changes to Moravia. Russian fashions, which for a time had been considered quaint and rustic (and by some even barbaric), were now fully accepted at court, and it was common now to see fur-lined cloaks, fur hats, and embroidered hems on tunics in Moravian upper society. Even noble girls often let their hair flow loose in imitation of how Katarína had always worn her hair.

Radomír himself continued his long friendship with Posadnik Evstafii Bräčislavič, who was now comfortably ensconced in his position in the Grand Princess’s favour in his native Biela Rus’. The two of them got together regularly for cups of wine and chat. Given how highly Evstafii had spoken of this personage, Radomír was quite eager to meet with, and perhaps open up diplomatic discussions with, Velyka Knyaginya Dobroslava.

Thankfully, Dobroslava was as eager to receive the Moravian embassy as Radomír had been to send it. A Russian princess whose lands were bordered on either side by Galicia and Great Rus’, she was eager to make alliances with powerful realms which could be as useful at bolstering her military support as she was to the smaller Rus’ principalities to the north. The Moravian herald was wined and dined in style at her court in Minsk, and returned to Olomouc in high feather with a positive response to Radomír’s request for an alliance, even without the customary marital tie.

Radomír also continued to favour the Carpatho-Russian presence in Moravia, for his beloved wife’s sake. In that vein, he approached his young great-nephew Teodotii Koceľuk with the same offer of friendship that his grandmother Praksida had enjoyed. Teodotii was not, however, of the same trusting vein that his grandmother had been, and for some time he held himself aloof from Olomouc, and the conversations that he had with the king were often terse, cursory and belonging to the realm of the trivial.

Frustrated, Radomír backed off a trifle. However, he still held a great deal of faith in his own sincerity and in Teodotii’s ultimate goodness of heart and uprightness of character. He was sure that eventually, Teodotii would come around to seeing how similar the two of them were, without the need for artful flattery or other deceitful methods of winning his attention and gaining his sympathy. There was a great deal of pride in Radomír’s forthrightness, that would not permit him to change for the sake of a youngster like Teodotii.

Ultimately the Kráľ was proven right. Teodotii didn’t stay away from Olomouc for long, and once Radomír had eased up on the whip, the tension which had built up between them faded and faded quickly. And then they soon discovered not only that they had very similar personalities but also that they shared certain common interests. The great-nephew peppered his great-uncle with questions about customs and manners in other parts of the world, about his most memorable visits to other courts, and especially about his recent pilgrimage to Antioch. Teodotii had a natural curiosity which, in the presence of a king who knew so much and was so accomplished in the arts of diplomacy, could not be hidden. And Radomír, who was given cause for indulgence, shared his stories with this most appreciative audience without reserve. Between the two of them, Teodotii and Radomír coursed through an entire barrel of wine over the course of several days, and they were never wanting for things to speak about. Katarína grinned with satisfaction to see her husband enjoying himself in the company of her kin.

~~~​

More irksome to the king, however, was his young grandson.

Ostromír’s and Imma’s boy, Vojtech, butted heads and locked horns with his grandfather on more than one occasion. This was rather distressing. Ostromír had bequeathed to his son a mulish streak that caused Radomír to want to tear out the hairs from his head that he no longer had.

On one occasion, the two of them came to loggerheads over the case of a common criminal whom the Kráľ felt had been sentenced unjustly. Vojtech, however, was wont to argue that the man had it coming to him, because he couldn’t control his lusts or his hungers. Radomír had shouted himself hoarse at the boy, telling him that not everyone in the realm was as well off as he was, that he shouldn’t assume that everyone could eat three full meals a day and have a firm fixed roof over their head and warm covers to sleep under at night, and the least he could do would be to show some mercy to the less fortunate.

Vojtech had answered this outburst by taking on an exaggerated, even mocking, deference to his grandfather’s every opinion. Radomír, who couldn’t abide sarcasm at the best of times, stormed away from his grandson every time he saw the lad, and soon Vojtech had to learn to behave in a less demanding way around his grandfather. But raising this child had taken its toll on Radomír’s spirit.

In addition, his daughter Dušana had once more gotten pregnant—despite her husband Ruslav having been dead for years. This as much as anything else gave Radomír’s heart further cause for despair. It seemed now, even at his advanced age, he spent more and more time outside, trying to walk or run off his frustrations.

One of the ways in which Radomír dealt with his frustrations, was by taking the time to ride to Čáslav and survey the progress being made on the expansions he’d planned to the Hory Kutné silver mine. The work was coming along nicely, and the new shafts had been fitted with wooden frames and cart-tracks which would serve to haul ore out within the following few months.

Radomír was so pleased with this that he ordered further expansions to be made, so that Hory Kutné would become an entire mining complex – a project that would likely take another four years to complete. But Radomír would not live to see it.

Radomír kept placing higher and higher demands on his body, at a time when his body was growing less and less capable of meeting them. Ultimately it came to a point where he found it difficult to stand, let alone walk, and where he found even mounting a flight of stairs to be a chore which knocked the wind clean out of him. Katarína was surprisingly sympathetic and understanding. She made sure during their samelies that her sexual satisfaction came second to her husband’s comfort. Thank God he could still perform, but his range and flexibility were significantly hampered by his deterioration.

The one thing that truly gave Radomír comfort in his decline, which he could feel in his bones to be terminal, was that at least he had outlived Ctislava Mikulčicková. Her shrill tongue and vituperations had been stilled forever in the fonsels below Olomouc.

In his final months, Radomír still saw fit to make one crucially-important arrangement.

He found a suitable girl for Vojtech. Vojtech was twelve and Adriana twenty, but upon summoning Adriana for an interview he found the girl patient, calm, sensible and honest—all virtuous qualities which she would need in abundance to deal with Vojtech’s contrariness. The one thing that rather bothered Radomír about Adriana, was that she spoke with a slight verbal tic, a timid stammer that he (quite understandably) attributed to nerves from being in the presence of a king.

Adriana was an arrestingly-handsome brunette, with a broad forehead, a level brow, a short straight nose and a firm, well-defined jawline. Though her features were delicate, when put together they took on a determined look, attesting to an inner strength that went beyond simple beauty. She wore her hair in two long, dark braids, and dressed and spoke after the Greek courtly fashion from having lived so long in the Eastern Roman border territories in the Balkans. However, her ancestry was Slovak—and common. Common ancestry and a slight thickness of the tongue… mild impediments, to be sure, but not insurmountable. And Radomír hoped that Adriana would be a good influence on his grandson.

Radomír died quietly in his sleep, after being shriven and receiving the Gifts one final time. He had already determined that he would be laid to rest in the royal gravesite at Velehrad, rather than in the smaller family plot in Olomouc.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Rest in Peace, my Kral. Kat will soon follow. I will go out on a limb and say that Ostromir will not rule fifty-one years. Vojtech follows the family tradition with an older bride. Thank you for the journey.

 

[Revan86]

Obligatory map post!

EUROPE AT THE END OF THE REIGN OF RADOMÍR 4. RYCHNOVSKÝ

​

Significantly less border-gore now than there had been. Though now Moravia is kind of pinched between several big bad neighbours: Galicia to the north, Moldavia to the south, and East Francia looming to the west...

The Papacy is surprisingly strong right now. England is slowly but surely knitting together; West Francia... still has a ways to go.

And here we have the northern reaches of Europe, with the East Geats clearly shaping up into a regional power, as well as Livonia.​

 

[Midnite Duke]

Border gore, calls Savo and Norway. Gore usually gets worse in CK not better. Thanks for the maps.

 

[Revan86]

INTERLUDE XVI.
Last of the Medieval Moravian Monarchs
25 March 2021

‘Well, class,’ Ed Grebeníček gave a slim little smile, ‘we are coming up hard on the end of our course, here. Only three weeks of class left. We will soon be talking about the very moment when the Moravian Middle Ages ended, and with whom they ended: Kráľ Róbert, or Robin, Rychnovský. He is very much so a transitional figure, so don’t be surprised if he figures large in my colleague Dr Weissfeld’s lectures, if you end up taking his class on the Renaissance period.’

‘Robin Rychnovský,’ Ľubomír Sviták mused. ‘Wasn’t he the one with the hammer?’

Ed Grebeníček chuckled. ‘Yes, Robin did favour the war-hammer as his weapon. He even had a named one that he was particularly fond of—Pazúr. For that reason he was sometimes called Robin-le-Bec in French: “Robin the Beak”. He also had a horse he particularly favoured, named Zúl-Džanáh, after the mount of Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alî.’

‘He gave his horse an Arabic name? Didn’t he fight against a lot of Muslims, though?’ asked Ľubomír.

‘It’s true that under Kráľ Robin, Moravia was allied to the Despotate of Thessaly,’ Grebeníček explained. ‘Thessaly became embroiled in a number of territorial disputes with the Muslim powers that surrounded it to the south and east, and Robin honoured his alliance with Thessaly. However… Robin personally had a high degree of respect for the Bedouin and Levantine Arabs who lived in Mesopotamia.’

‘How do we know this?’ asked Cecilia Bedyrová.

‘Well, he wrote about them himself,’ Grebeníček explained. ‘It’s actually in your readings for this week. Remember, in the early 1400s, most Europeans thought of the Saracens as little better than demons, with few of them even acknowledging them as human. Now, even though Robin makes no bones about referring to Islâm as a Christological heresy, or about referring to the Muslims as deluded, he nevertheless makes several points in their favour. Now… who would like to do the honours? Page 287, in your Late Mediæval Primer.’

It was Jolana Hončová who volunteered to read. She recited:

‘Allow me to tell you a few words about Manúšihr. The first time I met the Grand Emir of Mosul personally was in battle, at Tal Mahrá. The Brothers of the Holy Sepulchre had there engaged the Hagarenes outside the tal, and even from a distance we could tell they were fighting fiercely. The might and main even of the holy defenders of Jerusalem was being hard put-to by the curved blades of the sons of Ishmael. Both armies were bogged down in a deadly clasp. I motioned to my brother. We made to descend upon the field of battle from the north.

‘It was at that time, as we were preparing to join the assault, when we were spotted by Manúšihr’s brother Zakaria. The Grand Emir’s armies were coming unto Tal Mahrá from the west. He had an opportunity, I later learned, to ambush us before we ever reached the battlefield, and take us by surprise. However, he forewent that chance. Zakaria preferred to fight us in the open, man to man, and Manúšihr heeded his brother’s advice that day. At Tal Mahrá I learned not to despise the courage or the honour of the sons of Ishmael.

‘If it was the will of God that the Christians should have carried the field that day, then that is the only reason we did. The Hagarenes had the greater numbers, the knowledge of the terrain, the advantage which is due to the defenders. Most importantly: they fought us fairly, and with great valour at arms. Whatever the errors of their faith, it cannot be denied that they cultivate the natural virtues with care…’

‘And the attribution?’

‘The Príbehy kajúceho pútnika, by Róbert Rychnovský.’

‘Mhm. Possibly the first genuine work of autobiography in the Moravian language. Also an intriguing look into the inner life of one of Moravia’s more illustrious kings.’

‘I have a question,’ said Cecilia Bedyrová.

Grebeníček opened an affirmative palm.

‘Why was Vojtech 3. sainted, and not Robin?’

‘Fair question. Robin Rychnovský was certainly more known for his overt piety than his father was, even though both kings were pilgrims. The question of Robin’s glorification has come up several times before in Moravian Church synods, but it was never resolved on. But as to why Vojtech 3. was glorified—can anyone venture a guess?’

‘Was it because of the way he died?’ asked Dalibor Pelikán.

‘That’s certainly one key factor,’ Grebeníček nodded. ‘The Church has always harboured a soft spot for those who suffer, and in particular for those who suffer wrongfully. But the Church also has something of a distrust of kings who are too powerful, too prestigious. That may explain also why Kráľ Kaloján was never sainted, despite his having been the most storied and legendary of the Moravian kings. At any rate…’

Grebeníček changed the slide on his EnerGrafix presentation, and began the lecture in earnest.

‘First we need to understand how the turn of the fifteenth century went. And for that we need to look to Robin’s grandfather, Ostromír Rychnovský. Many of the political choices made by Robin would be foreshadowed by Ostromír. Indeed, guess who was the one who originally made that alliance with Thessaly—?’

The next slide showed the sealed scroll of the actual treaty, which was forged between Despot Leōn and Kráľ Ostromír in 1388, following the betrothal of Milomíra Rychnovská to Nikodēmos Gerontas.

‘… and guess where the next rebellion came from—?’

‘Bohemia?’

‘Bohemia,’ nodded Grebeníček. ‘Bohemia was a particularly interesting place around this time. Not only did you have the nobles plotting rebellion, but also radical street preachers who inveighed against the nobles on both sides. Free companies formed of disgruntled townsmen in arms began to appear, often bearing the same radical agendas as the street preachers. The Nositelia Viery resurfaced in Bohemia in these years, led by Přemysl z Jílové—a friend and companion of Fr Jan Hus, who was later succeeded by Richard z Lužice and Svätopluk Velehradský. Even though there had always been an undercurrent among the Češi, the actual concept of a separate Bohemian identity, distinct from the Moravian, came into its own around this time. And the failure of the Bohemian rebellions led to another important political development.’

Grebeníček flipped forward one slide. The grounds of the Sámiráđđi appeared on the projector.

‘It’s the Sámi Parliament,’ Živana Biľaková recognised.

‘Precisely,’ said Grebeníček. ‘Now, I’m getting into territory that I don’t know too much about here, so give me a little leeway on this. I’ll refer you to Dr Sohkki on the particulars. But prior to the inheritance of Ruslav Lampsiōtēs of a sizeable herd of reindeer on the shores of Tuoppajärvi in 1269—and all the political complications that came with it—the Sámi lived in loose political confederations called siida. Gradually, a feudal structure began to be imposed on them, and they had little choice but to pay fealty to the Bohemian dukes in Prague. Rather the commute. However, after the failure of the Bohemian rebellion of 1389, Tuoppajärvi came under the direct jurisdiction of the Moravian crown. How do you think that went?’

‘Badly,’ chuckled Ladislav Čič. Živana rolled her eyes.

‘Quite badly. Hoping to bind the Sámi of Tuoppajärvi closer to the Crown in their loyalties, King Ostromír sent one of the Rychnovský dynasts—a Sorb named Vitislav, or Wizlaw, Rychnovský-Žíč—into the north to settle matters with the Sámi siida. Instead, though, Wizlaw—pardon the politically-incorrect phrase here—went native. He married a Sámi girl named Giste. All of the children by that marriage were given Sámi names. Wizlaw adopted Sámi dress and Sámi customs. And despite the enjoinder upon him by Kráľ Ostromír, he forged his own political alliances as he saw fit, in order to benefit not the Crown but the Sámi people among whom he lived. Sometimes that meant joining rebellions against the Crown.’

‘And what do the Sámi people think of him?’

‘Now, that’s a Dr Sohkki question,’ Grebeníček shrugged. ‘Myself, I’ve heard several “takes”: ranging from Wizlaw as a folk hero and a genuine advocate for the Sámi, all the way to him being a coloniser from the south with a “white saviour" complex who never truly understood or valued Sámi ways. What I am comfortable saying, though, is this: if it hadn’t been for Wizlaw Rychnovský-Žíč, the Sámi might not even have political autonomy and home rule today.

‘But we’re getting off-track. Back to Kráľ Ostromír…’

~ END OF BOOK VI ~​

 

[Midnite Duke]

Everyone of note has advocates and antagonists. Wizlaw will be no exception. Thank you

 

[Revan86]

BOOK SEVEN. The Last Knight-Errant

The Reign of Ostromír Rychnovský, Kráľ of Veľká Morava

​

Alright, folks. This is it. Last book of this AAR.

Explicit hat-tip / finger-wag to @filcat for both the title and parts of the content of this chapter.

ONE
Bohemian Rhapsody
4 April 1388 – 18 April 1391

I.
4 April 1388 – 27 September 1389
​

Kráľ Ostromír sank down in his chair in his study and gave a long sigh of exhaustion. He still wore the mourning colours for his father, but there wasn’t really time or space to mourn him. Two very urgent matters required his attention.

The first matter was the rebellion that Drahomír was facing in Hradec and Přemkov. Normally, it would have been considered gauche for Ostromír, who was suzerain in Moravia Proper, to take any interest in matters which affected one of his vassals in their own domain. But this seemed to be of a different nature. The expansions to the mines at Čáslav wrought by Radomír, though they had been done to enrich and adorn the realm, had instead created a surging wave of inflation. All manner of goods, even basic goods like grain, meat and cheese, were now nearly double in price what they had been. And the hardest-struck by that inflation had been the Bohemian peasantry and burghers living in the north.

The popular anger against the rising prices had been mostly directed against Drahomír and his taxation policies, and the local nobility and gentry had been compelled, in this case, to take up arms against Drahomír in pursuit of a lighter tax load. But the anger of the peasantry was not so easily assuaged. The rebellion had sprawled over into Silesia; such that the town of Brassel was now up in arms against the Vojvoda. This fact alone made it a matter which touched on the King’s interests.

And then there was the matter of Teodotii in the east.

Teodotii was Ostromír’s first cousin once removed on his mother’s side. But he had always been a bit aloof from attending court at Olomouc, and this troubled Ostromír. After all, Teodotii was now the most influential knieža in the east, and his contacts with the Russians over the border as well as his notable diplomatic skills made him that much more perilous. If Drahomír and Teodotii joined their forces against Ostromír in rebellion, the result could be devastating to the whole Moravian realm.

Ostromír therefore found himself poring over documents at his study, in an attempt to figure out how best to drive a wedge between them.

Then, all of a sudden, there was someone in the doorway.

Ostromír looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you, Blahomíra. Come in, come in.’

‘Is anything the matter, liege?’ asked the hraběnka.

Ostromír smoothed his face over. ‘Nothing of much importance. What brings you to Olomouc?’

‘Well, it’s about Kalju. I was hoping you would let him go.’

Ostromír leaned back in his chair. ‘He was taken in arms during Ctislava’s rebellion. Why should I?’

‘Please, sire. He’s just a poor boy, from a poor family.’

Ostromír snorted. The Mikulčických were very many things, but they were far from poor. If Blahomíra wanted to see poor, she could go to Hradec and see how the peasants haggled for bread at market, with these prices. His voice was derisive as he answered her. ‘Easy come, easy go, is it? One day you’re riding a little high, and the next you’re sunk a little low.’

‘But will you let him go?’

‘In God’s name, no! I will not let him go. No—no—no—no—no—no—no!’

Blahomíra shrank at this unexpected outburst, but she was not entirely deterred. Indeed, she took on something of a sympathetic look. ‘Sire, are you well? You look a little… strained.’

Ostromír rubbed his eyes with his palms. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just caught in a landslide here.’

A shrewd look came over Blahomíra’s face. The woman wasn’t exactly subtle, was she?

‘Troubles in the west, eh? Well, I’m sure that even a king could use some assistance in these matters. Favour for a favour, what say?’

‘And what sort of favour are you offering?’ asked the king.

‘Pecuniary assistance,’ said Blahomíra bluntly. ‘I’m sure that keeping the other vassals sweet doesn’t come cheaply. I could help ease that expense a bit… in exchange for Kalju.’

Ostromír sighed. She was right about that, of course. And under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have thought twice about releasing a prisoner for ransom. Ahhh, well. Let her have Kalju back. He was just taking up space under house arrest, anyway.

‘Alright. I shall send out Kalju to you.’

Blahomíra bowed low in gratitude. ‘Your Majesty is wise and forgiving.’

~~~​

Assistance was forthcoming from other quarters as well. He soon got some helpful pointers on how to deal with Teodotii from the one person he should have asked in the first place.

‘Mama?’ Ostromír asked.

‘Why didn’t you let me know earlier that you weren’t getting on well with Teodotii?’ asked Katarína. ‘I could have interceded for you with him. But it’s too late now—anything I would say to him on your behalf would be heard as suspect.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Something you should have been doing since you were a little boy!’ Katarína snapped. ‘You ought to have attended to your lessons in Russian! Your father at least applied himself to the subject, and did so quite well. All of your old readers are still here,’ she said, placing several thin bound volumes on the desk in front of her son. ‘You might want to crack them open, and soon.’

Ostromír did so. ‘Thank you, Mother.’

‘Another thing, son,’ she told him. ‘Teodotii and his wife were expecting another child. Perhaps she’s already given birth, in which case you can send him your congratulations and well-wishes… in his own tongue. Might be a nice gesture.’

~~~​

Indeed, when Ostromír did pay a visit to Siget and offered his congratulations to Teodotii Koceľuk and Jároslava Rogvolodovná on the birth of their third child, he was able to manage, mostly, in passible conversational Russian.

‘Vďaku vas, Hospoď,’ answered Teodotii, grinning from ear to ear. ‘She’s just been churched. You know, our Sbyslava might be our fairest one yet. Dark hair, fair skin—easy on the eyes. We’ll have to see to it she doesn’t get too vain. You’ll stay for a while, won’t you?’

In fact, Ostromír hadn’t been expecting such a gesture. ‘Well, I hadn’t—’

Teodotii cut him off by calling back into the hall. ‘Jás! We’re having a guest! Bring out the good stuff!’

‘Already?’ came a voice from inside the house. ‘I barely just get back on my feet after my uncleanliness, and you want me to play the hostess for one of your drinking buddies?’

‘By God, woman!’ Teodotii shouted. ‘This is a special occasion. Get out the really good stuff!’

Ostromír didn’t have time to interject before a woman showed up on the threshold. The one thing that struck Ostromír upon seeing her was that he was seeing a younger doppelgänger of his own mother. Her long red hair was only partially tamed by the kerchief she’d bound it with, and her eyes were the same deep brown. It stood to reason, however: Jároslava Rogvolodovná belonged to the same Koceľuk kin that Katarína and her own husband Teodosii did; a family resemblance was to be expected.

But the similarities ended there. Jároslava had thick, dark brows and somewhat sunken cheeks, which were offset by a deep, heavy jawline and a somewhat too-wide mouth. Her neck was thickly tendoned and her shoulders somewhat over-muscular. Clearly not a woman for every man’s tastes—but then, Jároslava did seem to have a kind of stubborn raw-boned grace that compensated for the starkness of her features. She had come out of the house with her apron billowing around her, armed for bear and ready for a quarrel.

But then Jároslava got a look at the king, dropped a hurried courtesy and a hushed ‘Hospoď’, and then rounded on her husband with a somewhat modified complaint.

‘Why didn’t you tell me it was the King, Feďa?’ she glared at her husband, though the corner of her too-wide mouth was twitching upward. ‘Rather important detail, that. Slipped your pea-brain, did it?’

‘Hold it, Jás! I did say it was a special occasion,’ the Knieža griped good-naturedly. ‘And I told you before I don’t appreciate you taking that tone with me, wench!’

Ostromír suppressed a chuckle. The bickering between these two was clearly a long-standing battle, and one undertaken for the sport and pleasure of it rather than out of any real enmity. Actually, watching how the two of them went into the hall together, it was clear that Teodotii and Jároslava were truly close—not merely the traditional cousin-spouses betrothed from a young age, but also lovers. Ostromír couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of the two of them. He and Imma were never that close—and not for his lack of trying, either.

Teodotii bade Ostromír take the seat of honour in the hall, while Jároslava served him a beverage. The smell was cool and familiar—it was damson wine, and that of a very fine quality. Each region of Moravia had its own version of the stuff; it had been a traditional drink in Moravia Proper as far back as the reign of Slovoľubec.

Teodotii raised his glass. ‘Za dóvguju vlasť,’ he gave the loyal toast to the king.

As soon as Ostromír’s lips touched the beverage, he found that the draught was both smoother and stronger than what he was used to. It went across his lips easily enough, but it burned his throat as it went down. Jároslava refilled the king’s glass as soon as it was empty.

‘No breaks between rounds,’ she grinned.

‘That’s my line, Jás,’ Teodotii growled. ‘As if I need a woman to help me toast.’

‘You need someone to help you to bed after your bout is done, you lightweight,’ Jároslava teased him.

Now it was Ostromír’s turn to offer a toast. He could already feel his ears growing hot and red from the strong liquor. ‘Za vašej dïvkej,’ he said. ‘Naj oná stanet silnoj i dobrodoj; naj eï radosti dóvgimi, i eï trapenii kurtymi.’

Teodotii whistled and let out a laugh. ‘Do you hear that, Jás? Our Kráľ can toast like an old tippler! So many fine and high-minded well-wishes for our baby girl.’

‘Should hardly be surprising. Giving toasts is the better half of a king’s job,’ Jároslava rebutted. But her voice sounded amused and delighted. ‘By the way, Kráľ—what was in that great heavy sealed scroll you brought in with you?’

‘That?’ Ostromír slapped one of his thighs. ‘That—I brought as insurance. I didn’t have any idea what kind of reception I’d meet here, so I thought I’d bring Feďa a little gift, as congratulations on your lovely newborn.’

Ostromír reached over, unsealed the scroll and unfurled it for Knieža and Kňažná both to examine. It had been written in both Moravian and Russian, and it specified an entirely new and more prestigious set of rights and obligations for the Koceľuk’s chief honour. In effect—although Teodotii was allowed to keep the title of Knieža, he was being given all of the rights and honours which the Silesian Vojvoda had enjoyed for centuries.

‘Are you absolutely certain, Hospoď?’ Teodotii asked, with a sudden seriousness. ‘These terms are far more than generous.’

‘Not at all,’ said the Kráľ in earnest. ‘Your grandmother’s support meant a great deal to my father. And if either he or she had lived longer, I’m sure these same terms would have been presented to her. I see no reason why it shouldn’t continue that way between us.’

Teodotii lifted his glass at that. ‘Za tovarišstvo!’

And he and the king drained that glass, and plenty more that evening.

~~~

In that way, Ostromír secured the loyalty of Teodotii Koceľuk. At least he hoped so. Between the personal visit and the gift of a new vojvod’s contract, he hoped that Podkarpatská would be gruntled enough to remain faithful in the event of an open rebellion.

And open rebellion was sadly looking ever more likely. What little Ostromír could do to contain the peasant and townsfolk uprising in the Bohemian north, he had done; but Drahomír was still breathing smoke in the Zhromaždenie. Evidently, Drahomír felt addressing the complaints from his own people about the high prices to be beneath his dignity, and he was beginning to call for tax relief from the Crown to redress the balance. Here he was stepping very firmly out of line.

Ostromír resorted to a measure he had hoped he would not have to contemplate. He approached his eldest daughter, Milomíra. Though she had a tendency to put on airs, she also had a degree of patience and goodwill that her father hoped would stand him in good stead.

‘Milomíra,’ Ostromír told her, ‘it lies in your power to help this family. If I ask you to, would you do it?’

Milomíra looked flattered. That was good. But she was still cautious. ‘As long as it is within the bounds of reason and modesty, Father. But I trust you wouldn’t have me step outside those.’

‘I would not,’ Ostromír told her, ‘though the proposition I have for you may sound a little strange. Would you consent to taking the hand of a boy considerably younger than you are?’

Milomíra’s eyes narrowed. ‘How much younger? As much younger as you are from Mama?’

‘More.’

‘How much more?’

Ostromír sucked in a breath. ‘He is one year old.’

Milomíra pursed her lips in displeasure. ‘This alliance had better be a strong one.’

‘He is the half-brother of the Despot of Thessaly.’

‘Half-brother to a Despot?’ Milomíra crossed her arms and considered. ‘Well. Not a bad catch. As long as the Despot is aware that there wouldn’t be much chance of his brother getting children by me. By the time he is eighteen, I’ll still be twice his years and more.’

‘He is aware.’

Milomíra gave a half-nod of her head, reluctantly. ‘Be it then as you will, Father. I will obey.’

Her assent had come not a moment too soon. The zbrojnoši of Bohemia had already been raised around the vanes, and Drahomír was at their head. The rebellion of the Bohemian nobles against the king, followed quickly on the heels of the rebellion of the Bohemian peasants against the nobles.

So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye?​

 

[Bullfilter]

A long way back in Chapter 6, but this passage was very nicely done.

As his killer approached and drew the seax at his side from its scabbard, the last thing he thought was: My family… what will happen to my family?

~~~

Bohodar Rychnovský knelt over the limp form of the wolf

 

[Revan86]

A long way back in Chapter 6, but this passage was very nicely done.

Glad you approve! That was really one of my favorite chapters to write.

 

[Midnite Duke]

I wonder on a twenty-year-old woman and a one-year-old boy, which gets the worst part of the deal? Did Ostromir lose his negatives from being seriously wounded? Thank you for another chapter

 

[Silverio90]

It's relieving that, even if I was far from the forum for like 6 months, this AAR is still running.
Need to catch up with the story <3

 

[Revan86]

I wonder on a twenty-year-old woman and a one-year-old boy, which gets the worst part of the deal? Did Ostromir lose his negatives from being seriously wounded? Thank you for another chapter

Not that I had anything to do with this, it was just luck of the dice (education track being chosen by the AI at age 6, and personality traits being decided between ages 9 and 13) but I believe Nikodēmos and Milomíra ended up being fairly compatible. Don't think they had any kids though. Also, Despot Leōn probably preferred it that way: less competition down the line of succession.

Wounds in CK3 work a little differently than in CK2, from what I can tell. As I think we talked about before, there's three tiers of wounds (Wounded, Severely Injured, Brutally Mauled). Each tier of wounds has worse penalties as you scale up: you're more likely to die and you're less likely to recover the worse your injury is. Also, in my experience, the worse your injury is, the more likely you are to get the Scarred trait from it when you recover. Each tier also heals to the tier above it. So it looks like Ostromír lucked out: I think he healed from Severely Injured up to Wounded early on, and then didn't even get Scarred by the time he became king.

It's relieving that, even if I was far from the forum for like 6 months, this AAR is still running.
Need to catch up with the story <3

Sorry, @Silverio90, I posted this before I saw your message. Welcome back, and happy catching up!

 

[Revan86]

II.
30 September 1389 – 18 April 1391

Even to the last minute, Kráľ Ostromír had his doubts about whether Teodotii would declare for him or for Drahomír. But when the chips fell at last, the Knieža of Podkarpatská swung readily to the loyalist side. There was never a more welcome sight than that of the Koceľuk achievement (quarterly first and fourth argent, a bident-and-annulet inverted and three roundels sable; second gules, a bull’s head cabossed sable; third gules, a mullet of eight points argent) at the mustering-grounds in Olomouc—unless it was Teodotii Koceľuk himself coming to greet the king, with arms present. Ostromír was never more grateful for the support of any other vassal.

Despot Leōn also promised to send cataphracts and armed men up from Thessaly. But just for added insurance, Ostromír also contracted with the venerable Varangian Host, as well as two of the great plethora of free companies and mercenary bands that had promulgated themselves in the past twenty years alone: the Free Lances of Velehrad under Captain Ctibor, and the Brothers of the Morava Bend under Captain Stefan. The king had no fears about the outcome… but he wanted this rebellion dealt with, with minimum waste of life. He mustered the zbrojnoši in the courtyard, and made ready to march to the proving grounds where the mercenaries would gather.

~~~​

Queen Imma had been greatly irritated at his leaving, had crossed her arms and refused to speak with him before he left. Ostromír was hurt by this. He had never quite rightly understood his wife’s attitude toward his conduct in war. Was it not better that he face danger himself, directly, than sit like a coward secure behind castle walls while other men did the dying for him? It grated on Ostromír’s every fibre of his being, and especially his sense of fair play. When Imma tried to impress on him the importance of his person at the head of the kingdom, as God’s representative on earth, Ostromír answered her that it was all the more reason for him to be at the head of his own armies.

And thus Imma did not speak to him. If he did not understand her now, he never would.

‘Maman,’ chided Eudoxie, ‘why won’t you at least go out and see Father off?’

‘He knows why,’ Imma said coolly. ‘Or rather, he should know why.’

‘He is your husband, Maman!’

‘And he is a Scaramouche and a fool!’ Imma burst out. But her lower lip was quivering. ‘If he would dare the thunderbolts and lightning, without once thinking how verily it frightens me, then he doesn’t deserve that I should go out and see him!’

‘But he matters that much to you,’ Eudoxie chided her mother.

‘He does,’ Imma bit on her knuckles to suppress a sob. ‘These many years he’s meant the world to me—that’s why it’s so hard to forgive him for this. What if he should be killed and leave me behind? What am I to do in this Slavic kingdom whose laws and customs I scarcely understand? No. By law he is entitled to my person. I am happy to entrust that to him. But as long as he insists on playing the bravo and waving his codpiece about in front of his troops, and toying with his own life in battle, then he shall not approach my heart.’

‘Well, at any rate,’ Eudoxie straightened her shoulders, ‘I shall go down to see him ere he leaves.’

‘Go ahead, girl,’ Imma told her. ‘But wait till you have a husband of your own: you’ll feel differently.’

Eudoxie left the room and fled down to the courtyard. There was her father on his mount, beneath the vane of the Moravian realm. Eudoxie could not understand her mother: her father was such a fine and splendid man! And Imma loved him, Eudoxie knew she did. If only she could get the two of them to speak together. She noted the furrow on her father’s brow, and understood the reason for it. Imma was not there, and he felt her absence.

Eudoxie went across the courtyard and came up to the Moravian vane. She courtesied to her father.

‘Papa!’ she exclaimed. ‘I merely wanted to tell you that Mama wishes you well… as do I.’

Ostromír stroked his daughter’s cheek. For a moment—a very brief moment, but one which impressed itself all too firmly upon his consciousness—he could see the very likeness of Imma in his daughter; the woman who had loved him when he was younger. But such thoughts were forbidden to a father. He quickly fought them down.

‘Are we ready to leave, Hospoď?’ asked Teodotii, clapping him on the shoulder.

Ostromír gave his daughter one last embrace and looked over to his loyal vassal. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Davaj, dvižaem sja bystro,’ Teodotii told his liege. ‘I know you want to get this over with quickly.’

And that was true enough. At the time, Ostromír felt it rather uncanny how well Teodotii understood him. He was always one to want to make the bold move, and to take decisive action.

Ostromír had never been anything but bold. As soon as his forces were gathered together, he led them all on a high road through the Sázava Hills, through the territories belonging to Čáslav, all the way to Prague. He would hit Drahomír quickly, and hard, right where it counted, before he was ready. Teodotii seemed to understand these battle plans instinctively, and he used his influence in the camp to make sure that the družinniki were arrayed for speed over land and mobility when they engaged.

In the end, they made good enough time to engage Drahomír just outside of Prague itself. Teodotii had suggested that the advance forces, which made up a bit more than half of the king’s total men at twenty thousand, should take the field first and hold the Bohemian noble rebels there, keep them fighting while the reserve troops moved in from the rear. It was a risky move, and much depended on the abilities of the družinniki in the advance forces to defend and hold a position rather than move in and take it. But with Teodotii’s backing, the advance captains agreed to sortie first and then hold their ground against the Bohemians.

The tactic worked like a charm, although one among the Moravian knights took a nasty fall. Ctiboh, while locked in combat with troops loyal to Drahomír’s brother Ruslav, was unhorsed and had to be carried back into camp to avoid being trampled to death. But even Ctiboh’s injury was a sign that Drahomír’s troops took the bait and kept themselves arrayed in a pitched fight against the loyalist line while the reserve troops moved themselves into position, and flanked them hard. Drahomír’s men were forced to beat a hasty retreat northward in order to avoid being utterly routed and crushed.

‘Is it worth it to stay and take the town, do you think?’ Ostromír asked his maršal, Budivoj Mikulčický. ‘Or should we give chase to Drahomír?’

Budivoj considered. ‘Taking Praha would take a long time—and the territorial losses you might incur on the Silesian front could be significant. But Praha itself falling to the king would deal a great blow to enemy morale. I’d say the trade-off is worth it.’

‘Do you agree, Teodotii?’

‘I know your preference for pursuit, Hospoď,’ said Teodotii. ‘But I also think Budivoj is correct in this case. It may sound counterintuitive because it would take a longer time, but—take Praha, and the rebellion becomes that much easier to end in the short run.’

And thus the strategy was agreed upon. The camp was set up around Praha. It took over a year, beginning in January of 6899 and ending in January of 6900, for the town to fall. And when it finally did, the Bohemian noble rebels had (giving the notoriously anti-noble Brassel a wide berth in the process) taken Nisa and the Opolané in Silesia. Budivoj had been right about the trade-off. It was in Silesia that the contest would be truly decided.

Once again Ostromír leapt into action and boldly led his troops at a double-time march on the Opolané. The battle was joined at a bend on the Oder River northeast of the Ostrovček. The two armies once again squared up against each other.

But this time, the Bohemian noble rebels were firmly outnumbered and outmatched. That was because Leōn’s Thessalonians had come up from the south in force, about twenty-eight thousand strong. And the mercenaries who were with them did more than their fair share of the work, forcing the Bohemians to fight along the banks of an unfamiliar river while the Greeks closed the distance from the west.

Drahomír’s brother Ruslav was the first to run up the vane of parley, and offer himself up to the Kráľ’s mercy. With his own brother having abandoned him, even Drahomír had to open his eyes and see that his rebellion was utterly doomed. The Bohemians threw down arms and were marched to Opole under heavy guard, from whence they were dismissed back to their homes. Only the leaders of the noble rebels were clapped in irons and taken to Olomouc to stand trial for treason.

And of them, all were exonerated save Drahomír.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Betrothing the daughter to the toddler pays off big. At least, he did not have romantic feelings for the betrothed daughter. Duke Fedot is a good lad. Thanks

 

[Revan86]

TWO
Pale Imitations
23 April 1391 – 12 August 1394
​

The key rasped in the lock for a couple of seconds, and Drahomír dully turned his head toward the door as it swung open. There in the doorway stood his kinsman, his enemy, his liege and his tormentor: Kráľ Ostromír—flanked by two guards. Ostromír looked over Drahomír impassively, before giving his head a jerk to the side in command.

‘Bring him.’

The guards hauled Drahomír to his feet.

‘What do you plan to do to me now, Kráľ?’ Drahomír let out a toneless, mirthless chuckle as the guards led him down the hall. ‘You’ve already taken from me Přemkóv. You’ve already taken from me Tuoppajärvi. What, do you plan on having me sign away the Duchy as well? Stomping my circlet beneath your heel while I watch?’

‘Nothing so grandiose,’ Ostromír told his prisoner. ‘But for an act of such treachery as yours, merely for me to strip away from you the titles which were never yours by custom to begin with—doesn’t quite send the proper message, if you get my drift. I beg your pardon if this seems crude, but…’

They had come to the prepared room at last; the heavy door swung open on its iron hinges. Prepared in the room already was a simple žebrík: a wooden beam like a gallows-frame, but instead of a halter there hung from it a pair of restraints for the wrists. Simple, but painful. Pull hard enough? The elbows and shoulders dislocate. But that would just be the end of the fun. Several executioners were already pre-heating various rods and testing the heft of whips for the purposes of the procedure to follow.

A glint of real fear appeared in Drahomír’s eyes.

‘Ohhh. What’s the matter, Drahomír?’ Ostromír’s mouth twitched. ‘I thought this would be a welcome sight to you by now. Quite the hobby with you, from what I hear. My castellan tells me the fonsels under Prague have a dozen of these things—some quite a bit more elaborate.’

‘You can’t,’ Drahomír croaked. ‘On a nobleman? On kin? This is an outrage—!’

Ostromír rounded on Drahomír with a sudden fury, bringing his nose within an inch of his Rychnovský-Vyšehrad kinsman’s. ‘You dare appeal to my nobility? To blood, you pottle-deep beslubbering scut? And how did poor Ruslav entreat to you, whose attered bones moulder in Petrův Dvůr? Nobility or blood! Which spared him your guts-griping grudges when you turned the blade? Here, you won’t pay a tenth the price your bootless limbs owe to our fathers’ line.’[1]

Impressive. Drunkard, murderer, dynastic kinslayer and torturer, huh? Looks like we got ourselves a real winner here, folks.​

Ostromír jerked a hand motion to one of the executioners, who unstrapped the wrist restraints as the two guards hauled the elderly Drahomír forward. The knieža of Bohemia wheezed and cringed as they stripped off his tunic and strapped his hands into the halter, finally shouting out:

‘Ostromír! Please! I know a thing or two that you can use to your advantage!’

Ostromír held up a hand to the executioners. ‘What sort of things?’

‘Dušana. Your sister. I know who fathered her second child!’

Ostromír considered. ‘You would share this information with me? You understand that if you divulge it to anyone else, you will face far worse than this?’

Drahomír nodded.

‘Well, then,’ Ostromír’s brow twitched, ‘let’s move this chat into a more privy and… hospitable venue.’

~~~​

Several days later, Ostromír’s elder sister Dušana took one of the court zbrojnoši, Zubrivoj Kubinský, in a second marriage—in a private ceremony attended only by close family and Archbishop Elisei of Moravia. Ostromír did not threaten Drahomír with torture again after this.

~~~

And ten days after this, a much more public and festive double wedding was held in Olomouc. Vojtech, who had reached marriageable age, was presented with the hand of Adriana z Pamětic – the striking lowborn brunette to whom he had been engaged as one of Radomír 4.’s final arrangements in life. At the same occasion, a certain Sorbian nobleman had arrived in state from Lužice. He was to be married to a Sámi girl whose name was Giste.

Though the bridal festivities for the new king’s son and heir made a certain degree of sense to the throng of guests in attendance, the rather mismatched couple beside them was a much greater mystery. The dark-avised, rather forbidding-looking Sorb in his open-fronted tunic and hose, together with the blue-capped, red-shawled, purse-mouthed northern lady with frempt, round, Asiatic features—what business did they have here?

As it would turn out, both of them had been invited there on the express invitation of the king himself, who had a very specific purpose in mind for his Sorbian kinsman, Wizlaw Rychnovský-Žíč. Wizlaw’s marriage to Giste, who belonged to a prominent clan of Koutajoki fishermen with a considerable fleet at their command, was meant to cement a new set of political ties between the Moravian crown and the Sámi to the north. Tuoppajärvi was now directly answerable to the Kráľ, rather than being vassal to Bohemia. Ostromír had decided he needed a delegate there upon whose debts he could call at need.

Vojtech and Adriana, and Wizlaw and Giste, were blessed together by the Archbishop, crowned, and led through the ‘gauntlet’ as they took their first steps into married life.

And as for Vojtech’s twin, Vyšemíra, she too was preparing for nuptials of her own… though they would not take place in Moravia. She was off to Kiev, and the match she’d landed was the Veliky Knyaz’ of Great Rus’ himself—Kirill Enikeev. Young, dark, strapping and a powerful lord—everything a teenage girl could want in a beau. Needless to say, Vyšemíra was giddy with excitement as she prepared with her bridal train and dowry in tow to ride eastward to her groom.

‘They’re growing up, aren’t they?’ Ostromír asked thoughtfully.

Imma brushed aside a tear. ‘Too quickly.’

Ostromír turned to his wife. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

‘Wonder? Wonder how?’

‘These moments we have are precious,’ Ostromír said, daring to touch her hands. ‘We can’t afford to waste them either.’

To his surprise and delight, Imma didn’t recoil from him or turn a cold shoulder to him, as she had been doing all along these past months since his return from Silesia. Instead, she clasped his hands in hers.

‘You’re coming to see things my way,’ she said. ‘I appreciate that.’

~~~

Imma’s forgiveness of him was… at once both more and less than Ostromír had hoped.

On the one hand, she certainly hadn’t cooled to him in bed. Their physical passion that night had outstripped by far anything they’d enjoyed together since their first wedded years.

But on the other hand, Imma still seemed quite distant from him. Ostromír struggled with this. The one-time Adamite princess held her body lightly, and she easily shared her flesh and skin with him. But anything deeper than mere physical contact, she simply brushed aside as if it were of no importance. Imma slid smoothly out of bed, used the nočník, and then stepped across to her table and mirror, where she took her time brushing her loose hair and doing it back up into its proper place. It made Ostromír feel like… well, merely a convenient piece of furniture for her to use at leisure. He wanted to be so much more than that to her—but she took every precautionary measure to prevent him from it.

And then he thought again about Eudoxie. How sweet and open and confiding his younger daughter was! If only Imma could be more like her…!

Ostromír shook his head vigorously, as though trying to fling that thought bodily away from him.

His mother had finally sunk into the grave. Katarína had gone to join her Radomír. His children were growing up and moving away from him. Though he couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t been a good age for her to leave, still he felt more alone than ever.

What he needed was a distraction.

~~~​

The very last thing you should do when you need a distraction, is to attempt to write.

Writing demands focus.

If Ostromír had been thinking straight, he would not have attempted to recreate what his father had accomplished with the Pôvod. But sexual and emotional frustration do express themselves in strange and unaccountable ways.

Ostromír did hire an accomplished storyteller, Horislav z Modré, to help him write this work. But unfortunately that did not seem to help the quality. Ostromír took every opportunity to augment and embellish the tale in the process, with the result that the Moderský letopis of 1394 was generally considered by later critics of Moravian literature to be in every way an inferior work to the Pôvod—a derivative and pale imitation of his father’s poesy.

Horislav z Modré, understandably, didn’t stick around long after his work was complete.

The Moderský letopis was not, however, entirely devoid of artistic or scholarly merit. Even the fragments of it which we still have today show that Ostromír and Horislav did have a certain poetic sensibility. And the verse portions of the Moderský letopis which we still have are considered to be more authentically representative of late medieval Moravian conventions than the heavily Norse-inflected Pôvod was.

---

[1] Why Ostromír chose this particular occasion to break into full-on blank verse mystifies the authAAR.

 

[Revan86]

Betrothing the daughter to the toddler pays off big. At least, he did not have romantic feelings for the betrothed daughter. Duke Fedot is a good lad. Thanks

True, that alliance pays off for me right now. But Thessaly gets more than their due out of it in time.

I gotta say, I am really not a big fan of how common incest events / options are in CK3. I mean, I'll run with it for RP purposes, but still...

And yeah, Fedot is one of the better things to happen to Siget in quite a while. Certainly knows how to win friends and influence people.

(AuthAAR's note: the reason I use variant forms of Russian names like Katarína for Ekaterina, or Teodotii for Fedot, is because I want to honour the usage of Carpathian Rusin people who live in that region of Slovakia, Poland and the Ukraine. I'm using a Rusin glossary in order to supplement this part of my AAR.)

 

[Midnite Duke]

True, that alliance pays off for me right now. But Thessaly gets more than their due out of it in time.

I gotta say, I am really not a big fan of how common incest events / options are in CK3. I mean, I'll run with it for RP purposes, but still...

And yeah, Fedot is one of the better things to happen to Siget in quite a while. Certainly knows how to win friends and influence people.

(AuthAAR's note: the reason I use variant forms of Russian names like Katarína for Ekaterina, or Teodotii for Fedot, is because I want to honour the usage of Carpathian Rusin people who live in that region of Slovakia, Poland and the Ukraine. I'm using a Rusin glossary in order to supplement this part of my AAR.)

I think that the close incest is even worse in CK3 than in CK2. 2 has plenty cousin relationships and father/daughter-in-law and even some aunt/nephew but I do not know if I have seen parent/child in 2.