The Thin Wedge of Europe

[Revan86]

Well, @Von Acturus, it's been known to happen upon occasion! I don't think Father Vyšebor is a typical priest, though. Certainly not if he's also a diplomat! And yes, Ruthenia will be solidly inside the Moravian sphere of influence soon... in a sense. Sadly it won't stay there.

TWELVE.
Consolidation
7 March 1499 – 24 December 1502

Moving up in the world...​

‘Father,’ Jozef begged, ‘Cousin Svätopluk is here. Can we go and play with him?’

Prokop smiled indulgently. ‘Of course,’ he told Jozef. ‘Only be careful—we don’t want another incident in the church like last time.’

Jozef grinned, then he sped off together with Jakub to join their cousin. Prokop chuckled. Svätopluk Rychnovský, the Budyšín-born son of Prokop’s uncle Vyšebor Rychnovský and his wife Perchta, was a blue-eyed imp with a particular knack for getting into scrapes and then talking his way out of them. He was two years younger than Jozef and one year younger than Jakub, but the three of them got along remarkably well. Unfortunately, as last year’s incident in the church had proven, Svätopluk had a worrying sacrilegious streak… but he had also a sporting sense of fair play that endeared him to both of his cousins.

More to the point from Prokop’s perspective, Svätopluk’s arrival meant that his maternal uncle Hrabiše Obroditen was in town—and they had some rather important business to discuss.

‘It really is good to see you,’ the Sorb rumbled as he grasped the Moravian king’s hand. ‘Drježdźany thanks you for the guarantees that Moravia has made these past years… they’re the only reason why Father isn’t bowing the knee to a Frankish overlord.’

‘Our interests there are mutual,’ Prokop assured Hrabiše warmly. ‘How is Jaromir these days?’

‘He is rather feeling his age,’ Hrabiše said with a slight hint of worry. ‘And given the recent renewed unpleasantness between Nordgau and Bayern, I know his mind would be greatly put at ease if certain… formalities could be observed before he passes on.’

Prokop patted Hrabiše comfortingly on the elbow. ‘Well. In that case, let’s drink to your father’s health, and to his ease of mind.’

‘And to friendship,’ Hrabiše boomed, putting his arm around Prokop. ‘And to faith.’

‘Sounds like a promising start,’ Prokop grinned. ‘I’ve got several barrels of exquisite lager in the cellar with your name on them, my friend—one of the perks of being married to a Budějovice woman…’

‘Not the only perk, I’m sure,’ the Sorb chortled. He wasn’t wrong there.

‘There the two of you are,’ Queen Helene exclaimed as she rounded the corner—almost as though summoned at the mention of her. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I saw our sons gallivanting off to town with Svätopluk and knew that you two wouldn’t be long in meeting. You weren’t planning on sneaking off to the cellars before signing the treaty!’

‘Of course not!’ exclaimed Hrabiše.

‘Business before pleasure,’ Prokop said virtuously.

‘Is that so?’ the queen gave a delicate harrumph, her eyes twinkling naughtily. ‘Well. I know I shouldn’t have to tell you this about your own castle, my love, but the audience chamber is… that way.’

There was nothing for it. Prokop and Hrabiše’s own revelry would have to wait until the main business was concluded. Queen Helene accompanied the two men in the king’s private audience chamber where two large sheets of parchment were awaiting them. The treaties, which had been written up by monks from both Zhorelec and Litoměřice, were already in ink upon parchment awaiting the signatures of their primaries. Prokop had been waiting for Hrabiše Obroditen to arrive before putting quill and ink to the treaties, and wanted to make sure that his signature was fairly witnessed to both. The full military alliance between Drježdźany and Moravia was now signed and sealed.

‘Now that we have an alliance secured,’ Helene changed the subject—though the naughty twinkle wasn’t quite gone from her eyes, ‘I believe you had a proposal that you wanted to make to the Stavovské Zhromaždenie at the upcoming session. Have you worked through all the details?’

‘Yes,’ Prokop nodded, stroking his sandy-brown goatee. ‘I plan to propose that the administrative offices are open not only to the prominent noble families of the realm, but also to commoners who have acquired sufficient education and demonstrated the necessary excellences of character. I’ve worked through the process and standards for the civil service with the Chancellery and the office of the Šafár, and both of them support the proposal as it stands.’

‘Good,’ Helene nodded, laying a hand on her husband’s chest. ‘I don’t think a lot of noble families in Moravia will be too happy with this reform, but it’s a wise idea to ensure that the reins of government are held by the virtuous and thoughtful rather than merely by the sons of the powerful… and now you may go along with Hrabiše if you wish. I know I couldn’t keep the two of you beer-moths out of the cellars if I tried. Just don’t get too drunk. I want you able to… perform tonight.’

She needn’t have worried. He was.

Helene and Prokop made for a rather interesting couple. The contrasts were stark. Being fifteen years his elder, a serving-woman to a former generation of Rychnovských, hand-selected for her virtuous traits, Queen Helene was of a much more stolid, conventional and conservative temperament than her husband. Prokop, by contrast, was bold. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He lived for the daring strike, the grand gesture. And he was sympathetic, far more so than his wife was, to new ideas and new methods. Certain among the nobles might have expected such a marriage to run aground or founder, but the two of them not only understood each other well in spite of their disagreements, but found that their occasional differences of opinion added a certain spice to their lives. Prokop couldn’t have chosen a more loyal helpmeet than Helene, and Helene had long ago found that her husband would never leave her bored.

The monarch had thus endeavoured with considerable success, into fashioning Moravia into a powerful, centralised autocracy. Having curbed the more outrageous noble privileges and gathered greater powers into the hands of the bureaucracy, the Moravian state was more stable and more forward-looking than many of its neighbours. This move to orient the bureaucracy toward the deserving, even among the commoners, was but the latest of Prokop’s efforts.

One particular thing that helped—and this was largely owing to Prokop’s love of grand gestures—was his policy of holding sumptuous and elaborate banquets in Olomouc. This provided not only an opportunity for the Moravian army to present itself and intimidate any nobles that might dare object to Prokop’s centralising policies; it also gave the diplomatic corps a ready excuse to flex its muscles and show off Moravia’s splendour to neighbouring realms. Helene did not entirely approve of the lavish expenditure… but she did appreciate the opportunity to display her household in the best possible light.

This bureaucratisation came hard upon a movement of people from the countryside into the cities. As Olomouc, Ostrava, Plzeň, Budějovice and Bratislava became wealthier and wealthier, more and more bowers sought to try their luck in urban workshops. Upon the outskirts of these towns, there had grown up vast shanty-towns of such former bowers, rural craftsmen and their families. The traditional craft guilds had complained bitterly to the Crown about the new competition, the lower pricing and lower quality of goods that had resulted.

And so, Prokop directed the guilds themselves to take charge of organising the newcomers and providing them with decent accommodations. The guilds managed to do this with remarkable effectiveness. In concert with support from the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, the craft guild associations of Olomouc and Ostrava managed to integrate upwards of eighty per cent of the migrants into regular workshops under guild supervision. The effects were seen nearly at once upon the state’s coffers, which were soon overflowing with silver and gold on account of the surplus.

​

Kráľ Prokop Posmrtný proved to be a popular monarch among the Moravian commons. In the wake of the rebellions of Ján Zajič, Cyril Stibor and the lords of Lake Tuoppajärvi, Prokop ruled with a firm hand and strong laws, which he used to keep prices low and rein in the excesses of the nobles. Although he ruled as an autocrat, his policies made him a friend in the eyes of both the bowers and to the townsfolk. And he was particularly beloved among the Carpatho-Russian minority of Podkarpatská and Maramoroš on account of the laws he had passed which made all government proclamations and services available in their own language as well as standard Moravian and the Bohemian dialect.

Prokop was popular among the military as well, being a fair-minded general, not afraid to place himself in the line of fire and direct troops from the front, similar to Kaloján or Róbert. Prokop was also a bold fighter and possessed of considerable personal prowess in arms. It helped further that he had a keen eye for talent and was more than willing to welcome it from any quarter: the unconventional career of Ivan Žerotínov had taught him that talent could indeed come from anywhere.

And so: (usually common-born) mercenary captains, soldiers-for-hire, and even former brigands were allowed a chance at command within the Moravian Army—provided they cleaned up their acts and showed themselves willing to obey orders and respect their subordinates. Several such stratiotes, as these mercenaries were called after the Carpathian usage, rose to considerable rank and prestige under Kráľ Prokop.

The winds of reform were reaching even into the Church. First of all, a certain bishop in Nový Sadec named Maksim, who had been a simple, soft-spoken and pious monk in one of Sadec’s small monastic houses, began studying the Liturgical forms that were being used in Jerusalem, in Antioch and in Alexandria. Upon seeing that a number of irregular uses had crept into the Old Moravian Liturgy through the centuries, Maksim began authoring a new Moravian Liturgy in a more contemporary language, that conformed more closely to the Greek Liturgical types that were present in those great historical sees. Although his Queen was sceptical, Prokop enthusiastically lent his endorsement to this project.

A small segment of the monastic fathers, inspired by the ideas of clergymen such as the last century’s Bohemian scholar Ján Hus and the Russian abbot Nil Sorskij, began advocating that the monasteries divest themselves of their large landholdings and return themselves to the business of prayer in a state of holy poverty. Although Prokop readily saw the advantages of helping the monasteries—which did not pay taxes—to divest themselves of property into the hands of noble families who did pay taxes… here he was prevailed upon not to support the reformers. Queen Helene argued passionately from the Church’s traditional view: that in the hands of the monasteries, the benefit of these properties would accrue to the poorest and most vulnerable, who were recipients of the Church’s philanthropy. Appealing thus to his better nature, the Queen was able to forestall this particular Church reform.

It was in this time, as well, that Prokop approached the painter Pravoslav Komenský, who had been restoring the frescoes in the churches in Olomouc when he was younger, in order to commission a portrait of the royal family in the contemporary style. Komenský, who was trained according to the iconographic rubrics, was slightly loath to take this job.

‘I confess I do not entirely approve of the contemporary style,’ Komenský said.

‘But you are the most qualified of artists for this task,’ Prokop told him. ‘I give you my word as king, that I would make it well worth your while!’

​

Although the state had to borrow against a significant bank loan for the portrait, it was a worthwhile investment. The portrait that Komenský ended up painting of the royal family, ended up featuring: Prokop standing in a very sharp and smart posture indeed, toward the back in a fur-trimmed cloak and a military tunic; Helene seated wisely and serenely in front of him in an elaborate chapeau and a simple but elegant v-necked court gown with a stiff collar; and young Jozef in hunting-clothes in front of his father, holding his mother’s hand, with a rather mischievous look on his face—looking as though he would rather be doing something other than posing for a painting. This painting of King Prokop and his family still hangs in the palace at Olomouc. Many later critics agreed that, despite it not being Komenský’s preferred style, it was still one of his more impressive works, and gave a strong sense of the personalities of the principals painted.

In the autumn of 1502, however, there occurred in Olomouc a massive outbreak of ‘English sweat’… a highly virulent and deadly disease that struck at will throughout the city, killing as many as half of the people it infected within a day of infection. Prokop at once called up a team of leeches and doctors to patrol the town, establish quarantines and curfews, and generally treat the outbreak as though it were a military enemy to be combatted. Although this did possibly spare a significant number of lives, it put a tremendous strain upon the state’s resources, and the domestic bureaus found themselves hamstrung for months after the caseload of English sweat had dissipated.

 

[Revan86]

THIRTEEN.
A Branch Takes Root
5 February 1503 – 1 August 1507​

‘No, don’t get up just yet. Polévka?’ Prokop handed the bowl to his wife. She breathed in the hearty scent of the hot, creamy vegetable broth inside.

‘Thank you,’ Queen Helene said. Lips pursed against the heat, she sampled a couple spoonfuls of her husband’s offering.

‘How do you feel?’ Prokop asked her solicitously.

‘Better today. Less pain.’

‘And… how is Dobroslava?’

‘Sleeping, finally. Thank God.’ Helene crossed herself. There was, however, a trace of worry on her brow.

Prokop started to open his mouth again, but Helene shot him a sharp glance from her blue-green eyes. ‘No. Don’t start, Kopi. I made a choice with you eighteen years ago, and I haven’t regretted it once. Though… I admit, if you’d told me, a virgin at twenty-nine, that I would be the king’s consort and happily mothering as many children as Queen Bohumila, I’d have said you were barking.’

This birth had been a difficult one, though. Helene’s pregnancy had been normal, albeit with the usual morning sickness in the first trimester and the usual compulsive cravings in the second. But by the time the third arrived, she was having some rather odd dizzy spells and had to sit for long periods of time. And then when labour had come… she’d spent far longer in it than she’d bargained for, she’d had to be given a calming draught to give birth normally, and her body had taken proportionally longer to recover.

‘I suppose age is catching up with me,’ said the 48-year-old queen.

‘Nonsense,’ Prokop leaned over his wife, thoughtfully set the bowl of polévka on a side table, and kissed her soundly. Helene answered with as much strength as she presently dared.

‘It hasn’t been a walk in the park for you either recently, has it?’ his wife asked. ‘And I don’t mean looking after me.’

Prokop winced.

Moravia had enjoyed, under Prokop’s rule, a remarkable—some might even say miraculous—ascent to glory and splendour in Europe. As the natural point of contact between the Catholic West and the Orthodox East, it had plucked freely from both and enjoyed the fruits at leisure. The churchly architecture in Olomouc was a mixture of Frankish-German arches, Greek domes, Russian onion bulbs, and had even imported some influences from strands more exotic. In addition to this, Moravia was defended by state-of-the-art weaponry. The húfnice manufacturers of Queen Helene’s hometown of Budějovice were the most sought-after siege equipment and decisive factor in the line of battle among the kings of the whole continent.

But with such privilege and refinement—come other, less savoury visitors.

Prokop was rather shocked and disquieted to discover that certain of Moravia’s civil servants were regularly on the take, and that basic services that many townsmen relied upon had to be paid for twice over… with the kickbacks largely disappearing into the private residences and strongboxes of the burgher-extracted functionaries. This was certainly not the sort of meritocratic structure that the king had envisioned for Moravia! And yet it was indeed one of the repercussions of his reforms.

Still worse, to Prokop’s view, the expanded diplomatic corps had allowed certain persons—not one, or two, which might be excusable, but more than several—to rise through the ranks who were clearly not qualified for the posts they held! Prokop had more than once had to journey in person to a foreign court to assuage some statesman or royal that a representative of the Moravian Crown had grievously insulted or neglected. Yet no one within the diplomatic corps was willing to take responsibility, at first, for these failures!

And although the nobles had been chastened by Prokop’s centralising statist reforms, in some remote rural sections of his realm they still held sway which bordered on absolute. The King’s justice, in such cases, was highly sought-after. He began to have his doubts after hearing one particularly sordid case in which one of the minor Mojmírovci was abusing his power over his tenants in Nitra in a rather grievous way, involving the virginity of one simple bower’s daughter. Not enjoyable hearing—but if the King could not be appealed to in such cases, where could the wronged turn to for redress?

Helene ran a hand over her tired husband’s cheek, calling him back to the present—her thumb stroking fondly backwards along the edge of his moustache. He looked into her face. It was rare that he got to see her with her hair down—she normally wore most of it, apart from her framing curls, up in a bun pinned tight to her head. But even though there were streaks of white in with the honey-gold of her long tresses, it was hard to imagine anything to Prokop finer or more resplendent. Helene’s handsome, square-jawed face was of the sort that wore its years with grace—even if the crows’ feet and smile-lines were rather deeper now than they had been when he’d first fallen in love with her.

‘There is a happier event for you to look forward to,’ she said to him. ‘I hear that the Margrave of Drježdźany himself has scheduled yet another visit here.’

‘Not for several long months,’ Prokop told her. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with my clumsy care for at least that long.’

Helene gave him a mock grimace that told him her sense of humour was recovering. A good sign.

Prokop did set to work first on setting up a permanent courthouse in Bratislava. The King did have judges who enforced his justice throughout the kingdom… but perhaps in a place like Bratislava where the noblemen were still effectively a law unto themselves, his judge would require a bit more physical support: lodgings, personal staff, gendarmes. Unfortunately, when he returned to Olomouc from Bratislava, he found his whole household dressed in black.

Prokop’s fears intensified as his steps quickened on his path to the chapel. It couldn’t be that Helene was gone—it couldn’t be! She was getting better!

But when he entered the chapel, he saw the unmistakeable, and dearly longed-for, visage of his beloved queen-consort in profile… though she too was clad in black, and her handsome jaw was tipped down toward a tiny coffin which had been placed in the middle. It hadn’t been Helene… it had been their infant daughter Dobroslava who had gone to Christ’s embrace, after a mere handful of months of life. Relief at finding his wife alive, mingled with the fresh grief over the death of a daughter he had met altogether too briefly.

Helene tipped her head up toward him as she heard him approach. There were no tears—only the puffy red shadow of where tears had been. His wife’s face, however, still bore the pallor of grief and loss. Prokop embraced her without words. Although she grieved the loss of their daughter, Helene did not push Prokop away from her. She curled into his warmth.

Prokop breathed into her hair. ‘I’ll stay, Helene,’ he told her. ‘I won’t go back to Bratislava. I’ll stay in Olomouc with you. You won’t be alone.’

Helene nestled more firmly against him. ‘Thank you, husband.’

Helene’s periods returned. Knowing and feeling the last of her fertility, Queen Helene dealt with her grief by embracing her consort with open arms. She revelled in Prokop’s strong, smooth, vigorous body, and the peak of his sensuous powers as a man. Receiving his kisses and touches made her feel young again. At an intellectual level, knew she was risking still more heartbreak, and perhaps more than that, by trying to conceive a child at fifty. But in her heart of hearts, she was happy beyond measure when she discovered that God had blessed her womb again at her unlikely age.

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Prokop. ‘The last one was hard enough for us.’

‘What do you mean, “am I sure about this”?’ Helene bristled. ‘I’ve already given birth to nine children by you, and I don’t care what manner of hardships I go through for this one. And don’t tell me you regret it!’

‘I don’t! I don’t regret it at all!’ said the king, backtracking on his mistake. ‘I’m concerned for your health. For both of your health.’

‘Well… you being here is a start,’ Helene acknowledged. ‘And you can get more soup for me.’

Prokop was good to his word; he stayed in Olomouc all nine months of his wife’s late-age pregnancy. Even when the heralds came up from Bratislava to tell Prokop that the courthouse and judge’s residence there had been completed on schedule, Prokop told them he would come out to inspect it personally after a period of some months—after both the birth, and Helene’s sitting-days of recovery.

Although Helene bore herself, or tried to, with her usual stolid poise, this pregnancy was clearly taking its toll on her. The headaches and dizzy spells returned, as they had for her pregnancy with poor Dobroslava. She also gained quite a bit of weight herself: she began to look remarkably rotund even without the roundness of her waxing womb. She complained about her powers of sight – her vision swam and faded, no doubt adding to her dizziness. And it seemed that she was both intensely thirsty and also constantly over the nočník complaining of the need to pass water.

‘Polyuria resulting from irritation of the kidneys,’ the court physician diagnosed. ‘A condition similar to diabetes: not uncommon in older women who conceive. Make sure she gets outside and walks for half an hour at least once a day after passing water. Make sure that she eats more chicken and fish.’

Helene gagged, and nearly lost her lunch, at hearing this. ‘I hate fish,’ she muttered.

Prokop held his wife’s hand until her nauseous spell passed, then turned back to the physician. ‘Anything else?’

‘More prayers to the Theotokos would never come amiss,’ the physician inclined his head. ‘And personal devotions to her mother Saint Anna, or to Righteous Sarah the wife of Abraham, might not come amiss either. Both of those women too became pregnant in old age.’

‘I’m not old,’ Helene grumbled. ‘But I will certainly offer my prayers and venerations to all three.’

‘Very good, ma’am,’ the physician bowed.

Prokop made sure that the physician’s advice was followed, and even accompanied his wife on her walks so that they could take them arm-in-arm. This had the effect of improving Helene’s spirits as well as her health.

Eventually the day came when young Svätopluk Rychnovský rode into the courtyard, lit down and approached the king and queen on one of their walks.

‘God greet you, Ó Kráľ a Kráľovná,’ the brown-haired teenager swept a bow. ‘Have you seen Jozef and Jakub anywhere? They promised to meet me here.’

‘Well, first, young man,’ Helene reproved him mildly, ‘I think some proper exchange is due first between us! I hear we are to congratulate you.’

Svätopluk swelled proudly. ‘Thank you, ma’am. Yes—Uncle Hrabiše, being without male issue himself, has declared me his heir to the Margraviate of the Drježdźanian Lands. I’d say that my late father married quite well indeed. Of course, they’re probably going to insist I marry a local and sorbify my name to Swjatopołk when I become Margrave.’

‘Now, don’t be too churlish on that point,’ Prokop smiled. ‘Your mother was an Obroditen, after all.’

‘Oh, don’t think I’m complaining,’ Svätopluk put his hands behind his back in a very complacent manner. ‘There are some uncommonly pretty girls in Budyšín. I imagine as the Margrave’s heir I’d have my pick of the run. And I’m enough used to local peasants trying to stumble all over my name that I wouldn’t care one way or the other what they call me at court.’

It was at that moment that the two older boys of Prokop and Helene, Josef and Jakub, happened to cross their path. Tall, blond, every bit his father’s heir and certain of it… though with a certain slyness that he seemed to have inherited from neither of his parents, Jozef appeared leading his horse. Jakub, darker of colouration in hair and eye and slenderer of build, was already mounted, and had two handsome-looking hooded falcons perched on a glove with a spare in his hand.

‘Hail to the Heir of Budyšín!’ Jozef called out, a shade flippantly. ‘Rád ťa vidím, bratranec!’

‘We’ve got a hawk ready for you,’ Jakub added, holding up the spare gauntlet and the two perched birds.

Svätopluk grinned back. ‘Good to see you two as well, cousins!’

‘Just try not to ride into any kirk naves this time,’ Jakub smirked a tad.

‘Should I be worried?’ asked Svätopluk of Jozef. ‘Why’s he always the responsible one?’

As Svätopluk remounted his steed and went off with his cousins, laughing and jibing all the while, Helene gripped her husband’s elbow firmly and leaned on it. ‘Do you think Moravia and Drježdźany will be alright with them in charge?’

Prokop followed them out of the courtyard with his eyes. ‘If we’ve done our jobs well.’

Later that April, Helene gave birth to Nadežda. Little ‘Hope’, taking the spot in her heart that Dobroslava had left when she died, came in for a double portion of her mother’s affection and care[1]. This time, both mother and daughter were healthy in the end. Nadežda lived past her first twelvemonth and was ‘out of the woods’ healthwise, though she couldn’t help but be a bit spoiled by the attention she got.

---

[1] The children of Prokop and Helene are as follows:

1.) Jozef, b. 1487;
2.) Jakub, b. 1488;
3.) Anna, b. 1491;
4.) Magdaléna, b. 1493;
5.) Eustach, b. 1494;
6.) Predslava, b. 1498;
7.) Vladimir, b. 1499;
8.) Lev, b. 1501;
9.) Dobroslava, b. 1503, d. 1504;
10.) Nadežda, b. 1505.

 

[Von Acturus]

Some pains are felt equally wether one is a king or a peasant, and the loss of a child is one of those. Both the King and Queen seem to be steering Moravia through this more peaceful period well, with social progress enduring the attacks by greed and petty tyrants. If there's one thing the royal couple doesn't lack it's certainly determination!

 

[Revan86]

FOURTEEN.
The Sale of the Thaya
27 September 1507 – 3 February 1509

One persistent problem for Moravia in its dealings with the Carpathian Empire was the latter’s control of the Thaya Valley. As Prokop had seen first-hand in the Third Ruthenian-Carpathian War, that whole area was a strategic headache and a half. It provided Moravia’s foes with easy access to the Morava Valley—to the very heartland of the Crown Lands and the base of Moravia’s strength going back to the days of Bohodar slovoľubec. And so in 1507 Prokop undertook to correct this little problem. Personally.

Immediately upon declaring war on the Birodalma, Kráľ Prokop sent the First Army of Moravia straight toward Kremža, while he himself led the Third Army to head off the inevitable counterattack on the Moravian East. Sharing a long land border with a longstanding foe meant splitting one’s forces, though Prokop had studied well under the now-deceased Boleslav Stibor. He understood his opponent: the young Bulgarian general Trifon Shuvalov would prefer a quick blow to divide Nitra from Maramoroš, and would attempt first to breach and then hold the fastness at Nové Zámky.

Prokop rode at the head of the Third Army, and marched them hard. They chased Shuvalov’s forces away from Zámky and into Galicia-Volhynia—where they pinned them down at last near Sandomierz.

The battle at Sandomierz was over quickly, in part because of the ferocity of the Moravian attack, but also in part because of the arrival of ten thousand reinforcements coming from Biela Rus’. Prokop had grinned as he’d seen the red banners emblazoned with their white Greek-style cross appear over the hill. It was true: blood did run thicker than water, and Prokop’s own maternal-side White Russian heritage had proven a valuable diplomatic asset before. It was a considerable military asset now.

In the meantime, of course, the Third Army had been left free to advance into the Viedenský Les, where there lived several large communities of Slovak woodsmen. These forest Slovaks greeted Kráľ Prokop with loud cheers and the sounds of musket-fire in the air, for they had long wished to be ruled by the Moravian king rather than by a Carpathian Emperor who shared neither their tongue nor their ways.

Once this short edge of the Carpathian territories had been taken, with the enthusiastic blessing of the locals, it had been easy to wrest away control over Lake Balaton—and with Lake Balaton their fell open to the Kráľ’s armies a straight path leading to the crown cities of Pest and, beyond it, Bihar.

~~~

On the home front, the artist who had been at court since the earliest days of Prokop’s reign, Pravoslav Komenský, took a grievous fall from a ladder from which he had been adorning his latest fresco, and broken his neck. In this ominous and sudden way passed the best-beloved Moravian artist from the world.

But the portraitist’s death had not been the only happening in Olomouc in Prokop’s absence. Helene had been left to provide hospitality to a number of new guests—and the deeply religious woman was irked, quite deeply, by some of the hubbub she heard amongst them. Olomouc had long been a hub for various pilgrims west to east. But these newer arrivals had motivations that seemed more amenable to blasphemy than to reverence. New ‘spiritualists’ and enthusiasts of various sorts paraded their mystical musings and assorted baubles from India or Abyssinia or wherever their exotic religious fancies had taken them. Queen Helene redoubled her prayers both for her large brood of children and for her nation as a whole.

What was more, the newest notable who had arrived from West Francia was fleeing from rather than toward—and his motives, too, were far from religious.

‘Ma reine,’ said the Frenchman as he swept the cap off his head and made a remarkably polite obeisance to the Lady of Moravia, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Raynaud de Dampierre, hitherto an honest and hardworking shop owner in Paris. I must beg of you, most good and well-favoured lady, to spare a thought and a room for a poor man who has had to endure the most grievous of injustices at home…’

‘I see,’ Helene answered him. She took an instant dislike to him. The man looked decidedly shifty, and she didn’t at all like his manners—which, despite being correct and punctilious in each particular, nonetheless had an oily and unctuous feel to them. Chances were that this ‘poor man’ wasn’t in fact so poor at all, and that ‘the most grievous of injustices’ he had to endure probably had some justification. ‘Well, Monsieur de Dampierre, I’m afraid that I cannot make any such decisions on my own power while my husband is away on campaign, so…’

‘But, ma reine,’ Raynaud interrupted her. There was a faint trace of panic in his eyes before he composed himself and went on: ‘s’il vous plaît, if you would but hear me out! I cannot bring myself to believe that a lady as well-respected as yourself would have it outside of her power to do me this favour. And I would make it worth your while! I bring knowledge from the French kingdom, knowledge which is as yet unknown here. I would be willing to exchange this knowledge for room and board here, even if for only a few months. Please, reconsider!’

Helene did reconsider.

She didn’t doubt that Raynaud de Dampierre did, in fact, have the knowledge he claimed to. But that he was willing to sell her the secrets of his own nation, in exchange for keeping his hide intact, still repulsed Helene’s own honourable impulses in the strongest possible way. However, perhaps her husband would think differently. At length, narrowing her eyes at the delinquent French shopkeeper, she said:

‘You may bide here for a fortnight. I shall send a missive to the Kráľ, to confer upon what is to be done with you. That is the most I can, or am willing, to do for you.’

Raynaud bowed. ‘Ma reine is gracious.’

~~~

The missive reached Prokop in early October of 1508. The Moravian army had swept with relative ease across the Pannonian plains over the past year after that first string of deciding battles against Trifon Shuvalov… but now the difficulties of the long campaign were setting in.

Specifically: the fall weather was coming in earlier than expected this year around Bihar, with chilly winds blowing in off of the Carpathian Mountains, turning the normally-pleasant conditions of the Transylvanian forestland unpleasantly nippy. And the Kráľ found to his displeasure that the uniforms that his army had been provided were of decidedly poor quality. The woollens that had been packed were moth-eaten, and the linens were threadbare. His soldiers, already in a state of siege around the last main Carpathian fastness, began to shiver and grumble, and huddle around the fires in front of their tents. This was no fit way to provision an army! But the logistics sergeants and quartermasters all stubbornly refused to take responsibility or assign blame for the shabby state of his army’s attire. And in the meantime, as the rains came, his soldiers began to burn up with fevers, coughs and headaches. It seemed only a matter of time before the Kráľ became ill as well.

‘Milord?’

‘What is it?’ snapped Prokop irritably.

‘A letter for you, from the Kráľovná,’ the hapless watch officer handed the envelope to the king.

‘Thank you,’ said the king, a bit chastened and calmed. He missed Helene deeply, and any word from her would be welcome, even in this wretched cold.

He opened the letter and perused it. His features softened as he did so, and one corner of the mouth beneath his immaculate moustache bent upward in a half-smile. He spoke to the letter as though speaking to his wife directly.

‘Oh, dear Helene. Yes, I can see why such a man would be irksome to you. But even turncoats have their uses, however much we may despise them. Temporary room and board, I think, in exchange for what he knows.’

Blessedly, the ill weather and general gloom had been taking their toll on Bihar’s defenders as well as her besiegers. The town ran up the white vane of parley not three weeks after Prokop sent a return message home to his wife. Effectively, the war was over. Carpathia conceded its rule over the Lesný Slovaks to Moravia, as well as the land which had before belonged to Kremža.

~~~​

Raynaud de Dampierre’s information, though it was indeed unknown to the Moravian lands, was nevertheless of limited practical use. As a merchant and tradesman, he had brought with him the knowledge of the French kingdom’s most advanced ships and their construction: the caraque and the caravelle.

And Moravia was, of course, landlocked.

However, Prokop sighed as he pored over the schematics in his study in Olomouc, they might not be entirely useless. He would have the designs sent northward to Julevädno. He had no idea how applicable these designs might be to the Lule Sámi shippers who operated on the Julevädno, but perhaps they could make adjustments so that these ships could be built and made seaworthy in the Gulf of Bothnia.

Then there was the small matter of the war loans that Prokop had been forced to take out.

The Lesný Slovaks lived primarily in several villages in the southern part of the forested area they had conquered from the Carpathians. The area which lay just south of the Dyje—that is, in German, the Thaya—was mostly German-speaking, and they would be just as likely to resent Moravian rule as they had resented Carpathian rule. Prokop formulated a plan that would assist him in repaying the bonds that the government had floated during the war in specie, as well as potentially heading off a troublesome revolt sometime down the line.

Prokop approached Königin Eufemia Bloch of the new ‘Eastern Kingdom’ or Öster-Reich, which had until recently been the separate Herzogtümer of Tirol and Salzburg. He would sell to her the titles to the German-speaking lands between the Dyje in the north and the Viedenský Les in the south, in exchange for a suitable sum in gold, equal to two hundred and eight denár, while he retained rule over the Slovaks in the Les. He would then put up this gold as a gage to the Moravian mints to revalue the kingdom’s currency, which had suffered from several inflationary ‘clippings’ since the time of Kráľ Ostromír.

Eufemia Bloch had received the offer coldly, as she had little affection at all for her ‘heretical’ Slavic northern neighbours. But she wasn’t about to turn down rule over lands which she viewed as being rightly hers in the first place. At the time, this plan made sense. But unfortunately, his irresponsible son Jozef would later, when he became king, take all of the wrong lessons from this transaction.

In the meanwhile, the Lule Sámi seemed to have taken full advantage of the technical details of ship construction that Raynaud de Dampierre had offered the king. The new ships were plying a regular business now down the gulf, and the next delegation from Julevädno eagerly asked Kráľ Prokop for an additional sum of seed capital for further shipbuilding projects.

And then—

‘Husband, I implore you,’ Helene came to him one night. ‘I beseech you, as your wife and as your queen, heed what I have to say!’

Seeing the serious look on her face, Prokop took both her hands in his. ‘I shall always heed what you have to say, dearest one.’

‘Please, please…’ Helene begged him, ‘do not place further burdens upon the Holy Church!’

‘What made you think—?’

But Helene shook her head angrily.

‘Don’t patronise me, Kopi! I know that you are planning to incorporate Church offices and lands under the Crown, as you think it is your right to do. I’m begging you to stop. The Church, the very Body of Christ—is all that stands between this realm and the gates of hell! Think on the state of your soul! Think on the state of your kingdom’s souls! They follow false teachers and delusions and strange visions, they seek after signs and miracles from foreign lands, in part because they can sense, or because the devils suggest to them, that the Church doesn’t enjoy your full support as king! I am asking you to do as the righteous Emperors Constantine and Justinian did, as your own rightly-guided ancestors Bohodar Slovoľubec and Radomír 4. did! Preserve the authority and good standing of the Church!’

After this impassioned plea, Prokop couldn’t help but be moved.

‘Very well, if it please you,’ Prokop told her, ‘I shall ensure that the Church stays independent and its lands untouched.’

Helene embraced her husband, and clasped his face in her hands. ‘My love—you give the people spiritual bread this way, and not only the bread of the world.’

 

[Von Acturus]

A textbook example of a quick and decisive war, though the adjustment of borders by ethnic lines can bring trouble further ahead.

Helene's plea on the Church's independence is very vivid, I can almost feel her desperation on the continuous weakening of the church and advancement of new forms of "strange" and "ungodly" spirituality!

 

[Revan86]

Some pains are felt equally wether one is a king or a peasant, and the loss of a child is one of those. Both the King and Queen seem to be steering Moravia through this more peaceful period well, with social progress enduring the attacks by greed and petty tyrants. If there's one thing the royal couple doesn't lack it's certainly determination!

I tend to agree! Prokop got both the Just and Bold Fighter traits in the EU4 save-games that I backloaded with RoM (Helene got Fertile). Given how the game shaped up, I'd say the two of them tended to do fairly well for themselves.

A textbook example of a quick and decisive war, though the adjustment of borders by ethnic lines can bring trouble further ahead.

Helene's plea on the Church's independence is very vivid, I can almost feel her desperation on the continuous weakening of the church and advancement of new forms of "strange" and "ungodly" spirituality!

Regarding the ethnic borders: ohhhhh yes.

The Renaissance/Reformation period was a bewildering time in our real history for the Orthodox countries. Constantinople fell to the Turks in 1453. Bulgaria was quick to follow. Many Orthodox patriarchs signed treaties of union with Rome both before and after the fall. Many Russians felt that God had abandoned them. They had the Tatars pressing in on one side and the Commonwealth on the other. I tried to capture some of that angst in this timeline, even though the political pressures on the Orthodox world weren't quite all there.

 

[Revan86]

FIFTEEN.
Bolts in the Baltic
28 February 1509 – 18 March 1513

On the last day of February in 1509, Pomerania declared war against Sweden, in an attempt to regain some of its lost territory. ‘Sweden’, it must be understood, no longer referred only to the area which had been inhabited by the tribe of the Svíar in late antiquity—no, the Swedish state now also occupied the southern coast of the Baltic Sea. However, the cultural and linguistic character of the place was very much so Norse-derived. ‘Pomerania’, on the other hand, was a mishmash of Greek and West Slavic elements which combined Byzantine governance and titles with a loose sort of noble democracy.

Pomerania was also counting on Moravian backing against Sweden, despite the rather patchy history Moravia shared with its northern neighbour. Moravia still hadn’t forgotten when Pomerania had made a bid for the crown and killed the crown prince, the eldest son of Kaloján chrabrý!

‘Sire,’ advised Bedřich Pospisil, ‘understand what this means for Moravia! Before, your lordly great-grandfather needed to make a careful house of cards of diplomatic alliances in order to secure a northward route to the sea. Now, you need only make one! If we help Pomerania to retake even one of its lost territories from Sweden, we will have a secure route north to the sea, requiring the maintenance of only one alliance!’

Prokop nodded. ‘It does seem like a golden opportunity to advance our severnípolitika.’

‘Such that it would be folly not to grasp it,’ intoned Bedřich seriously.

~~~​

Kráľ Prokop led the Moravian armies out into the field that March. He moved on the province of Ermland, where for resistance he met only a single Swedish regiment of foot soldiers who had been but recently trained. It was less of a battle and more of a round-up; the Swedes were simply instructed to turn over their weapons at the Moravian camp and then return peaceably to their homes.

Along the Baltic coast at least, the Swedes similarly offered little resistance. By the end of October that year, the Moravian forces in conjunction with their Pomeranian allies had captured not only Ermland but also Dobrin, Königsberg, Ortelsburg, Kulm and Marienburg. Once they were firmly within his grasp Prokop happily turned all of these towns over to Pomeranian control.

Despite her husband being away on campaign, Queen Helene was dealing with far more interesting happenings on the home front.

The clerical faction in the Stavovské Zhromaždenie had recently succeeded in pushing for an expansion to the tax base in the Ore Mountains on the border with East Francia. This was necessary, they had argued, as a defence against the machinations of the West and the military build-up along the East Frankish border. However, another source of conflict soon arose, this time between the clerics and the nobility. It was, in fact, the classic conflict between secular landholders and monastic ones.

‘Those lands were given for the Stauropegial Monastery of Saint Sjätopolk in 1306! Over 350 monks live on those lands now, in their own huts or cells, living on only what their hands can work for. The rights of the monks to live and pray on those lands cannot simply be rescinded any time a Kopčianský sneezes!’ complained Bishop Gerasim of Berehovo, his booming voice resounding in the hall such that not one member of the full Stavovské Zhromaždenie could fail to hear it. But at that, Pavel Kopčianský let out a guffaw.

‘The “monks” living on that land are some of the fattest and rosiest-cheeked I’ve seen in all my days,’ the Kopčianský nobleman scoffed. The blond, walrus-moustached East Slovak landowner was far from being scrawny himself—the chin that wagged beneath that smirking lip was double, and he had a thick paunch overhanging his belt. ‘They could stand to be taken down a peg or two. As Nil of Sora said—’

‘We’re not in Sora, we’re in Moravia,’ Bishop Gerasim interrupted Pavel Kopčianský. ‘And the teachings of that landless renegade are far from being accepted broadly within the Church. You place yourself at grave risk of your soul with your blatant abrogation of the Church’s time-honoured rights!’

Queen Helene was not—to put it mildly—entirely impartial in the matter. The sympathies of her pious soul lay instinctively with the interests of the Church. But she’d been assisting her husband long enough to understand that it was no small matter to antagonise a Mojmírov… even one from a low-ranking cadet branch like the Kopčianských. She had to give at least the impression of impartiality.

‘We shall consider the arguments of both sides,’ said Helene, ‘but understand that the purpose of the Crown is not merely to find balances and compromises, but to ensure that justice is done. The claims of both the Church and of Pavel Kopčianský to the questioned holdings shall be duly examined, and I shall reach a decision on behalf of His Majesty within a fortnight. Is there any further business?’

Those who knew Queen Helene well could already tell from these remarks which side she was going to favour. Upon leaving the Zhromaždenie, Pavel Kopčianský’s brow was decidedly darker, and he was no longer smirking or scoffing at all. And for some time before King Prokop returned, there were some stirrings and whispers of a noble rising among the Mojmírovci of eastern Slovakia—though this would never actually come to pass.

Once again the question of state-appointed lay administrators within the Church came up… and it was again roundly rejected. Queen Helene’s determination to put a stop to such practices had not changed one bit.

Queen Helene’s influence on Prokop had been deep enough, indeed, that the Moravian realm was quickly becoming known under his rule as a religious sanctuary—a haven for the Church and its devout followers in an uncertain world. Long had the Brothers of the Holy Sepulchre, a venerable knightly order under long Moravian patronage, protected pilgrims and men of faith along the Jerusalem Road. Moravia was also the land of Saint Dorotea the Great-Martyr as well as Saint Bohumil Lukinič: great confessors of the Orthodox faith who peaceably witnessed to the Lord.

~~~​

‘Of course we must keep up our trade with the East Francians and the Austrians,’ said Janek Mansfeld. ‘But it shouldn’t be done at the expense of Moravian crafts and trade goods. By God—look at what Bratislava has done so far! The burgomaster has been levying a two percent duty on imported goods for the past three years on my advice, and earmarking that money for improvements to the town Tržnica. The merchants in Bratislava have never been as prosperous before! They can move greater volume of trade goods in and out now than before they levied the duty.’

Father Vyšebor z Kunštátu whistled at Janek. ‘That’s drawing nigh on to heresy in some circles,’ he noted lightly. ‘Duties are supposed to drive away trade, not encourage it.’

Janek Mansfeld laughed. ‘So I have been told often enough to my face. But there’s still enough of the rebel within me to hold to what I can observe. Taxation for taxation’s own sake, merely to fill the coffers of town or crown? Sure, that will strangle trade readily enough. But taxation for the sake of reinvestment… that can be a powerful tool to bring greater prosperity.’

‘Do you think the Queen will listen to you?’ asked Father Vyšebor.

Janek shrugged. ‘It’s odds-on. About half of the people who hear me think I’m onto something; the other half want to tar and feather me.’

‘Well,’ Father Vyšebor sighed. ‘Allow me to wish you luck. I don’t think I’m quite on the side of wanting you tarred and feathered just yet.’

‘Give it time,’ Janek laughed again.

Janek Mansfeld, with his controversial ideas about trade and taxation, was in many ways a sign of the changing times. The Moravian crown had gone on something of an investment spree of late, sponsoring new guild-halls, workshops and farm estates throughout the country. Also, Prokop’s expanded diplomatic corps had given the Crown options when it came to choosing diplomats for specific assignments. The care and caution that the new diplomats had exercised in their posts had come as a definite boon to the state’s foreign relations.

Nor was Janek the only courtier present in Olomouc to advance a given objective. A wealthy and prominent Sámi reindeer herder of Tuoppajärvi, Vulle Gáski, had recently arrived in the Moravian capital to present a list of petitions from the Kíllt siida. Vulle Gáski was well-known and well-liked among the Moravian court. Indeed, among the Kíllt Sámi Vulle was respected for his ďoallosan (his ability to build consensus and cooperate with many different parties) and for his seaddji (his ability to extemporise, argue and speak with conviction). His affability and his clever oratory made him adaptable to many situations. Many Moravians who could not pronounce his name had taken to calling him ‘Oleg Jiskra’ (that is to say, ‘Oleg the Quick’): a flattering appellation which he did not object to.

Vulle was in Olomouc mostly in order to clarify fishing and grazing rights for his people and to affirm the customary self-rule of the Sámi under Moravian suzerainty. But when he appeared in court and sent his colourfully-bordered blue felt cap from his head into his hands, the most urgent question facing the crown was how best to use his manifest talents and the clear respect he commanded among the Kíllt.

After hearing out Janek Mansfeld, Queen Helene granted an audience to Vulle Gáski.

‘Would you consent,’ she asked him bluntly, ‘to take a position in His Majesty’s cabinet?’

‘My Queen,’ Vulle replied smoothly, ‘you flatter me with such an offer. However, my place is together with my people. In such a city as this, I would be at rather a disadvantage.’

‘That hasn’t been my general impression,’ Helene answered him. ‘You have been a very capable and effective spokesman for your people here in Olomouc. As an advisor to the King, you would be expected only to provide the same perspective and advice here, to the Zhromaždenie. And you would have the benefit of a position as an officer of the Crown, with all the clout that provides.’

‘You would make a fine Sámi, my Queen—if you would grant me the boldness of such a conceit.’

‘If you are any indication of Sámi excellences, sir,’ Helene replied, ‘I wouldn’t take the slightest offence.’

Vulle fiddled a bit with the hem of his blue cap. ‘By your leave, my Queen, would you give me some time to think on your offer? Were it a matter of debate on some issue of public import I should be quick enough to give you an answer. But as it affects me personally…’

‘I promise,’ the Queen told him, ‘your herds would be well cared-for. As would your family.’

In the end, Vulle won his brief amount of breathing space, though he did ultimately accept a position in King Prokop’s cabinet at Queen Helene’s recommendation.

~~~

The war against Sweden continued with Pomeranian victory after Pomeranian victory. Kráľ Prokop advanced his armies across the Øresund and laid siege to the fortifications at Malmö and Helsingborg, moving up the coast to take Halmstad. Once Prokop had control of these three important port towns, he moved inland—through Växjö and Nybro to Kalmar on the opposite coast.

Pomerania had all the naval power to speak of. Moravia had command of a tiny Sámi fishing fleet consisting of seven umiak, none of which were battle-ready. In addition, the recent training that Prokop had put his armies through preparing them for battles on land was absolutely useless when it came to preparing for the amphibious warfare and seizure of sea ports he was now engaged in. Prokop bit his nails when it came to fearing a Swedish attack during this part of the campaign—if the Moravian army were surprised during one of these sieges, it would be a disaster.

However, no such calamity befell them at Kalmar. The Moravian army proceeded northward up the coast to Stockholm. The taking of Stockholm sealed the Pomeranian victory, and the Swedish king was forced to concede defeat.

Territorially, Pomerania expanded by nearly double its former size. However, the Pomeranians were unable to provide the single land route to the sea that Bedřich Pospisil had promised. Moravia did not gain anything by this war to their north.

 

[Von Acturus]

The Moravians have successfully treaded the thin line of favouring the church without upsetting the nobility too much or fall into progress-stifling and fear-inducing fanaticism. Let's hope they can keep it that way. In a way, this balance of religion and state sponsored progress reflects a bit the balance before king and queen, I think, so it will depend on their relationship and lives.

And geopolitically, Moravia continues to advance, now a solid regional power on it's own right.

 

[Revan86]

SIXTEEN.
Bážá Ruigi
2 July 1513 – 6 March 1515
​

On account of the rule over Tuoppajärvi by the Kniežatá of Česko, there was in fact a small and close-knit community of ‘city Sámi’ in Prague. Vulle Gáski tried not to spend too much of his time here—he was, after all, a reindeer herder, still deeply attached to the community he’d left. But he found it nigh impossible to keep from spending at least some of his time there.

After all, it was really only in the Sámi quarter that Vulle could go to speak his own tongue, to see familiar faces, to keep contact with his kin and with his wife’s kin. If his gákti became torn or soiled, for example, and he needed a tailor, he didn’t want to visit a Czech or a Slovak one. He wanted to go to a woman who could thread tin wire through a bone needle by touch, and fasten it into a traditional embroidered pattern quicker than you could spit. You could only go to the Sámi quarter for such services. But all the same, there were things which deeply troubled Vulle about the place.

He saw first-hand how Czechs treated Sámit. Bohemian townsmen spoke slowly and loudly to Sámit they dealt with, as though they were slow. Bohemian ladies often made a show of waving their hands in front of their faces whenever a Sámi walked by, as though they smelled foul. And if the Sámi in question was hurt by this, they would laugh cruelly. And God help the Sámi who was out by himself at night past curfew. They would be lucky to come home bloodied… if indeed they came home at all.

Such discrimination was far from the only danger that the Sámit faced in the city. For Sámi who had tasted of nothing stronger than guompa—creamy, light and angelica-infused—living in Prague made it easy to succumb to the unaccustomed temptations. Cheap wine was readily available, as was the worse devil of distilled liquor flavoured with sloe. Drunkenness among the Sámit did little to dispel the cruel and bigoted stereotypes that the Bohemians already held about them. In addition, wine weakened the heart of the Sámi, and made him die early. Sweet foods and pastries were also available to Sámi who could buy them. Many Sámit who lived in the city therefore became fat and fleshy, and unfit for the work they would have been expected to do at home. Such temptations likewise shortened the Sámi life.

Too many Sámit, driven to despair by the cruel sneers and taunts of their neighbours and the ready lures of alcohol and sugar, found themselves snared by an even worse temptation. The Vltava was right there, running right alongside the Sámi quarter. And occasionally a Sámi soul would be drawn in, only to float to the bank somewhere downriver.

Still, Vulle did occasionally go to the Sámi quarter and spend time in the Church of Saint Kochan, where he could hear the Liturgy given in his native tongue. It was through this parish that he had become acquainted with a young fellow, Bážá Ruigi, who lived in the Sámi quarter—a youngster of promising talent and drive, as well as an observant character and a sharp mind. Unlikely in the highest degree that this young fellow would succumb to the malaise that so many city Sámi did! He had high ambitions in the Moravian diplomatic corps, and for the purpose of furthering those ambitions, he often went by his Slavic appellation, ‘Bohodar z Rožmberka’.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, Bážá Ruigi was jubilant. Vulle Gáski found young Bážá at the parish hall. He could barely contain his excitement.

‘Vulle! Vulle!’ Bážá cried. ‘I’ve finally done it!’

‘Done what?’ asked Vulle Gáski.

‘I’ve been promoted! Chief Clerk to the Steward of Moravia.’

‘Chief Clerk to the Steward!’ Vulle raised his eyebrows. Never before had a Sámi held such exalted position in the Moravian exchequer, second only to the Šafár himself. Yet there was the badge of office that Bážá was showing off, and there was the Steward’s seal itself—and the rescript bore Bážá’s adopted Slavic name, plain as day. Clearly the Steward was playing the field and dipping his ladle deep into the Chancellor’s diplomatic talent pool. Vulle laughed and embraced the young man.

‘I’m proud of you!’ he said happily, ruffling the young man’s hair. ‘I would only caution you—not to dampen your enthusiasm, but merely to put you on your guard—not all men in Olomouc would welcome a man from among our people in such an exalted position.’

‘Pah! That’s all talk,’ said Bážá happily. Vulle clearly needn’t have worried about dampening his enthusiasm! ‘Kráľ Prokop is a great man, who decides these things on a basis of merit and achievement, not on a basis of blood. There is much in the Kráľ that we Sámit can appreciate—he knows as we do that men should be chosen for leadership based on the eloquence of their words and the goodness of their deeds.’

‘It’s not well for a Sámi to admire a king,’ the older man shook his head. ‘It’s not our way. Those decisions which affect us, should be made by all of us together, by common agreement—not by the dictates of the wealthy and powerful.’

‘So you say,’ Bážá said shrewdly. ‘Yet the herds the Gáski tend back home are not small, and the Gáski reindeer are not known for being ill-fed. And here you are.’

‘Yes,’ Vulle agreed, stifling a sigh. ‘Here I am.’

Not for the first time, the traditional Sámi herdsman thought about doing something as yet unheard-of within the Sámi community north or south, but the need for which seemed to be growing daily. The Sámi who stayed in the city were losing their connexion to the land, to their home. And as a result, they seemed to be losing their vyrr’k—their good habits, their propriety, their respect and reverence for God’s creation. Bážá was by no means the worst example of this. Indeed, the fact that he was here, and doing something worthwhile, told Vulle that he was mostly on the right track. And it was precisely because there was so much good in Bážá Ruigi that Vulle could see, that he found himself needing to write a book on the matter for him, and for other Sámi youngsters like him.

~~~​

Bážá Ruigi, who had been working diligently in the Prague city administration for the past several years before his promotion to the exchequer, got his first taste of political activity at realm level on the second of July, when the Stavovské Zhromaždenie held session in Olomouc to debate and determine the laws.

Bážá at once found the Zhromaždenie to be far more orderly, but also far more poisoned in the air than a Sámi siida. Even though Sámi orators could go on for hours back and forth, complete with heckling or cheering as the case allowed, it was clear that all who were assembled there would ultimately come to a unanimous agreement with no hard feelings from those holding to a minority view. Here, it was clear that men nursed grudges against each other, and factions vied for power at each other’s expense.

The best he could understand it, there were three broad coalitions each attempting to advance a particular agenda. The first one, consisting of Bohemians on the northern march with East Francia, wished to bolster local growth and make a show of a united front against their adversarial neighbours, by building an Orthodox hram in a location not too far from the border. Another coalition, which seemed to be more conservative in temperament than the former, seemed most insistent on the need to balance the budget and to diminish the deficit to the state coffers.

The third coalition, which seemed to be made up largely of rural landowners from Silesia and Nitra, was the most alarming to Bážá. They were discussing the outright takeover of the Lule Sámi, and the acquisition of their lands! Although he knew that it wasn’t yet his place to speak up, but merely to record and to follow the Steward’s lead, Bážá was still deeply appalled. They were discussing parcelling off the lands along the Luleå, as though no one was living there! As though the fish weren’t swimming through it! As though animals didn’t graze along it, wandering here and there as they needed! Bážá thought it madness and folly, if not a case of demonic possession—he couldn’t bring himself quite to believe it. But here it was, the outright conquest of the Lule Sámi being talked about in the open and met with serious looks, as though the landowners speaking weren’t seriously ill and in need of medical and pastoral guidance!

Bážá looked to the Kráľ. Surely a fair-minded and great man like him would do something for these sick!

But the moment passed. The Kráľ said nothing, and did nothing. Bážá was left with a sinking in his breast, as the image of Kráľ Prokop written on his heart began to fray a little.

On the other hand, Bážá quickly observed that his boss, the Steward, favoured the conservative party which wanted to balance the budget. Emboldened by this observation, Bážá began to work behind the scenes to help further the agenda of the townsfolk, against the nobility who were contemplating this devilish insanity against Bážá’s distant kin. Unfortunately, Bážá’s efforts did not go unnoticed among the nobles. And they quickly inquired into his background and motivations.

~~~​

Events and malice were able to combine after a certain incident in which a pair of Northern Sámi men had been caught red-handed and apprehended in the Sámi quarter of Prague, on a mission of espionage. They had been expelled from the country and forced to return home with empty hands. There was also something of a panic about the potential that Sámi spies had infiltrated the national government. (Never mind that agents of the Moravian government had also been caught spying in the north…) That was when the landowners made their move against Bážá Ruigi.

‘My liege,’ one Nitran nobleman spoke up in the Zhromaždenie later that month, whom Bážá recognised as Mojmír z Veleslavína, ‘it has come to our attention that, even after your wise decision to expel the Sámi spies from Bohemia, there are still Sámi agents among us who are working on behalf of our enemies.’

‘Well?’ asked Prokop. ‘If you have names, name them.’

Bážá Ruigi was thunderstruck when he heard his own name fall from Mojmír z Veleslavína’s lips.

‘This “Bohodar z Rožmberka”, as he calls himself, has been assiduously and callously assisting his traitorous countrymen, against Your Majesty’s interests and benign rule. I call for a full investigation of this man, followed by his expulsion from the government!’

The Kráľ turned toward his Šafár. ‘Well?’

The Steward stammered for a moment, and then spoke: ‘I… I had no knowledge of this man’s ancestry. This comes as a complete surprise to me.’

That’s a lie, Bážá glowered at his employer. I’ve never made any secret of my Sámi ancestry, even if I did adopt a Moravian name for myself! And what’s more, you knew perfectly well of my heritage when you selected me for this position, because I told you of it. He could see now what this Steward was made out of. In order to save his own skin from charges of disloyalty and harbouring spies, he was willing to throw Bážá to the wolves. What’s more—after the king’s behaviour in the previous session of the Zhromaždenie, Bážá no longer had confidence that the king would be just enough to decide in his favour.

He felt the king’s eyes scrutinise him, evaluate him, size him up. And then the Kráľ spoke once more.

‘I will not begin finding fault with my realm’s Sámi subjects, not on the basis of one case in which two men were apprehended in the act. It is my judgement that this Rožmberka should continue in his employment in the Exchequer.’

~~~​

‘I’m not sure I’m better off than if he’d outright gone and tossed me out,’ Bážá, humbled and disillusioned, confided to Vulle Gáski. ‘No one there trusts me now, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. They judge me because I am Sámi. I think you were right, Vulle. Forgive my thoughtlessness.’

Vulle shook his head and draped a gentle arm around the younger man’s shoulder. ‘There is nothing to forgive. This is one of those things that each man must learn. Experience can be stern and bitter, but she is the very best and most thorough of teachers.’

‘I think I shall return to Prague.’

Vulle paused a moment. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

Bážá sighed. ‘I set my aim too high. I shall not be accepted in Olomouc.’

Vulle chose his next words with great care. ‘I wouldn’t go quite that far just yet. True, we Sámi face difficulties. The more so because this is not our ancestral land, and the ways of the five Slavic nations are not our ways. But I would caution you not to go too wild in fleeing them. Perhaps… take a step or two back from your responsibilities. Do as you must to retain your position, of course, but don’t go out of your way trying to court men’s favour. And then—do what is proper.’

‘How will I know what is proper?’ asked Bážá.

‘Do not lay too much trust in your own wisdom. Seek help from God and from our Lord Jesus Christ. And remember the teachings of your parents, your grandparents, your elders,’ Vulle told him. ‘Between them, they will not lead you astray.’

Again when Vulle parted from Bážá, his conscience pricked him. That book needed to be written. And soon. Bážá had run up against difficulties. Thank God Vulle had been able to speak to him before Bážá had let the experience embitter him or drive him to despair. But there would be many more Bážás in the years to come.

 

[Revan86]

The Moravians have successfully treaded the thin line of favouring the church without upsetting the nobility too much or fall into progress-stifling and fear-inducing fanaticism. Let's hope they can keep it that way. In a way, this balance of religion and state sponsored progress reflects a bit the balance before king and queen, I think, so it will depend on their relationship and lives.

And geopolitically, Moravia continues to advance, now a solid regional power on it's own right.

As an author, that's kind of what I intended; naturally, it helps that Prokop and Helene have these complementary personalities that reflect and recapitulate these two aspects of Moravia's development.

Thanks for the comments, @Von Acturus! Though the sailing is not always going to be this smooth for Moravia...

 

[Von Acturus]

Beautiful portrayal of the struggles of the Sami, who face the twin issues of being a despised minority inside a feudal realm and living through an abrupt transition from a nomadic society to a fully settled one.

Although, fortunately, the King is a wise man, I dread what could happen to the Sami if the more bigoted and land-hungry lords had their way.

I think Vulle is right and the Sami way of collective decision making is best. It's interesting to see how such a system is present in many nomadic societies, yet looses ground when societies turn sedentary and more dependent on agriculture.

 

[HistoryDude]

I missed the beginning of this, but I'm following now.

It looks like relations with the Church will be an issue. Will that affect foreign relations positively or negatively?

Is Moravia communist in the modern day? The interlude heavily implied that.

Moravia has defeated their relatives in Galicia, but many enemies remain... notably Carpathia. It's nice to see that the loyalists from the border with that nation were rewarded. It probably helps keep them loyal.

I enjoyed the interpersonal relations around Prokop. I didn't see the marriage with Helene coming, despite all of the foreshadowing...

The Reformation has not had a great impact in Moravia. What was its effect on Europe as a whole? Or has it not officially fired as an event yet?

Poor Sami. Outright discrimination bodes ill for the northern alliance and for the territory on the border in Scandinavia.

 

[Revan86]

Beautiful portrayal of the struggles of the Sami, who face the twin issues of being a despised minority inside a feudal realm and living through an abrupt transition from a nomadic society to a fully settled one.

Although, fortunately, the King is a wise man, I dread what could happen to the Sami if the more bigoted and land-hungry lords had their way.

I think Vulle is right and the Sami way of collective decision making is best. It's interesting to see how such a system is present in many nomadic societies, yet looses ground when societies turn sedentary and more dependent on agriculture.

It's somewhat unfortunate that primary source material on the traditional lifeways and folkways of the Sámi are fairly scant in English. Online there are a lot of resources, but in terms of books most of what's available is in Norwegian or Finnish. But yes, the Sámi traditions of collective decision-making and rule by consensus are quite attractive to me as well.

I missed the beginning of this, but I'm following now.

It looks like relations with the Church will be an issue. Will that affect foreign relations positively or negatively?

Is Moravia communist in the modern day? The interlude heavily implied that.

Moravia has defeated their relatives in Galicia, but many enemies remain... notably Carpathia. It's nice to see that the loyalists from the border with that nation were rewarded. It probably helps keep them loyal.

I enjoyed the interpersonal relations around Prokop. I didn't see the marriage with Helene coming, despite all of the foreshadowing...

The Reformation has not had a great impact in Moravia. What was its effect on Europe as a whole? Or has it not officially fired as an event yet?

Poor Sami. Outright discrimination bodes ill for the northern alliance and for the territory on the border in Scandinavia.

Welcome aboard, @HistoryDude! Great to have you here!

The Church's involvement so far has been fairly low-level. There are some important events later on involving Church and foreign affairs, but for the moment they're kind of on the back burner.

Is Moravia communist in the modern day? I tried to leave that slightly ambiguous, though it's clear that Viktor Weissfeld is a (former?) Communist Party apparatchik who has a rather interesting past. I think what should be said is that Moravia went through a communist period in the 20th century. Whether they are still communist is something I haven't really explored yet, and don't want to paint myself into a corner with before I play through the Vicky 3 gameplay (which I haven't done yet).

Prokop and Helene were surprisingly functional as a couple. Not everyone can be so lucky!

The Reformation event hasn't triggered yet, and won't for some time in this game.

And yes, the unfortunate position of the Sámi is going to cause some rather troubled times for them in the near future.

SEVENTEEN.
Northern Expansion
24 March 1515 – 1 April 1519

​

Although not as glamourous or charismatic as his forebears Kaloján and Róbert, Prokop Posmrtný was broadly considered by historians to have been one of Moravia’s most dynamic, successful and effective kings. Under his and Bedřich Pospisil’s careful watch, the Moravian military had become one of Europe’s most formidable, most modern, most disciplined and best-equipped forces, a true power on the continent. In addition, the last years of Prokop’s rule saw Moravia’s civil wealth expand by leaps and bounds. He poured that wealth back into the development of Olomouc. Olomouc flourished under his rule into a centre of fine Central European art and architecture; the slums on the outskirts were incorporated and updated into more respectable working-class housing; and the tax code within the city was streamlined for greater transparency and efficiency.

In short, Moravia’s star was still firmly on the rise.

However, Moravia’s internal development and growth of wealth sparked an increased degree of interest among the Moravian nobility and clergy in the ‘Severná otázka’—that is to say, the question of the conflicts between the independent Sámi tribes to the north, and the continued political divide between the Lule Sámi (still more or less an independent people) and the Kíllt Sámi (who were more or less direct subjects of the Moravian Crown).

To his credit among later historians (and certainly among Sámi historians!), Prokop himself never took a firm stance on the ‘Northern Question’. He was for the most part content to allow the status quo to continue. He expressed no objections to the continued independence of the Lule Sámi. However, like most politically-minded men in early sixteenth-century Moravia, he took an increasing degree of interest in Sámi affairs in his later years.

The decisive factor that opened up Moravian severnípolitika once again was Pomerania’s declaration of war on the Lotharing Kingdom in April of 1516. Moravia did not become directly involved in the war, but it couldn’t be said they weren’t interested in the outcome! If their allies succeeded in taking even one Polish province from the Franks, it would mean a single direct route to the sea for Moravia.

This possibility had occurred to numerous other states than just Moravia. The manoeuvre of the Pomeranians in central Poland attracted the attention of Garderike and also of the minor Rus’ principality of Vladimir. Garderike, upon seeing the potential for a Moravian maritime action to split its Scandinavian holdings via the Baltic, at once moved to conquer Bjarmaland to the east, in an attempt to encircle Tuoppajärvi from the south. And Vladimir at once began sending covert agents into Moravia through its diplomatic channels. The spy ring set up by Vladimir would come to be a major headache for Moravia’s spymasters for several decades.

Within Moravia, the war between Pomerania and Lotharingia spurred a heavy flurry of action on the part of the civil service as well as the military. The Spieß and shot formations among the infantry had prompted a rather thoroughgoing reassessment of the role of the traditional družinnik in the Moravian military. Instead of having heavily-armoured knights, the Moravians adopted a Schwarze Reiter style cavalry armoured with cuirasses and helms and armed with pistols as well as swords, placed on smaller and more manoeuvrable mounts. As well as improving the performance of cavalry units in the field, this innovation also made the resulting cavalry units much easier to accommodate on seafaring vessels, when compared to the heavy armour and massive amounts of feed needed to ship the much larger destrier horses to and fro.

Also, after a thoroughgoing overhaul of the Moravian diplomatic corps, said diplomats also adopted a much more flexible range of legal tactics when it came to approaching and negotiating peace treaties. This was a necessity, it was felt, when it came to the Severná otázka. Moravia would not be fighting or defending for herself, her own lands, her own honours—at least, there was not yet that potential to be searched. Instead, Moravia would be negotiating on behalf of its clients among the Lule and Kíllt Sámi.

And finally, there was a considerable amount of thought put into agricultural production. Resuming shipments of men and equipment across the Baltic meant a greater need for grain. And a greater need for grain encouraged the adoption of certain more efficient techniques for harvesting it. The Moravian bowers and serfs by this time were given long-handled scythes to use instead of the much-shorter hand sickles—this considerably reduced the amount of time needed to bring in harvests, and reduced the degree of waste.

And then, at long last—

‘They’ve done it,’ Helene told her husband triumphantly upon receiving the letter from Pomerania.

‘They haven’t!’ Prokop could scarcely believe his eyes. But there it was, plain as day.

‘Dervan Anchabadze-Vskhoveli has some rather impressive gumption,’ Helene half-smiled at Prokop. ‘He managed to force the Lotharingians to cede their rights to the entire Noteć Basin. Pomerania is now fully contiguous. That easy route to the Baltic is ours for the asking.’

‘Would it were always so easy!’ Prokop kissed Helene.

Dervan Anchabadze-Vskhoveli, Despotēs of Pomerania, formally granted military access and fleet basing rights to Moravia on the second of October, 1517. The reaction from Garderike and Vladimir was predictable—both of them at once cried foul at the prospect of an expanded Moravian presence in the Baltic. From that point, it was nearly impossible to avert a diplomatic crisis. Garderike’s network of alliances in the north was directly threatened by Moravia’s presence at Tuoppajärvi and its patronal relationship with the Lule Sámi.

What happened next has been contested of late by several Indigenous Sámi historians who have traced the oral histories of the Lule and Northern Sámit.

Officially, the Moravian government responded to a legal claim by the Lule Sámit over their rights to the upper reaches of their own river, which supported their livelihood. The Lule, who had long suffered the encroachments of the Northern Sámi on their traditional fishing- and trading-waters, called upon their Moravian protectors to enforce tribal law and restore order by sending a punitive expedition against the Northern Sámi. This was the incident which triggered the War of the Northern Expansion.

The Sámi historians who sought to recover the oral histories, however, dispute this account of events. They do not deny that there was a use-rights dispute over the river between the Julevsáme and their neighbours to the north. However, such conflicts, which accompanied relatively low-scale warfare and skirmishes, were endemic to the Sámi cultures of the north, and had never prompted any sort of full-scale invasion of one Sámi tribe by another. The Lule Sámi history states that the Moravians who came north through Julevädno acted on their own initiative, and used the Lule-Northerner use-rights dispute as a pretext for conquest of the north. Later they would use similar pretexts to rob the Lule Sámi of their independence.

~~~

The opening shots of the War of the Northern Expansion were fired along several miles of the Lule River between an array of Sámi encampments, with the Moravians among them fording the river to attack Northern Sámi positions. The Northern Sámi were quickly overrun, and soon the Moravians under Kráľ Prokop were moving to control the entirety of their grazing-territory and fishing-waters. Garderike responded by sending an entire regiment into Koutajoki, and seizing it from the local siida in the name of Prince Andreas 2. Gedda.

The stage was set for the two great armies, those of Moravia and Garderike, to clash. And clash indeed they did, at Rovaniemi.

The battle was an utter disaster for the Moravian Army. In spite of all the technical improvements to the cavalry that they’d undertaken, the Scandinavians of Garderike—who operated with only foot soldiers and a handful of cannon—easily managed to overpower and overrun the Moravian positions. And it was the misfortune of Kráľ Prokop that he happened to be present in that battle.

It was unclear if the fifty-year-old Prokop had been shot during the final charge, or whether he had taken the bullet as he was attempting to sound the retreat. But he fell from his horse, his breast breached by the lead ball fired from a Garderikean musket. There was nothing at all that the Moravian leeches or Sámi healers could do for him. His body was borne back to Julevädno for the speedy burial that Orthodox tradition demanded; he became one of the only Moravian kings not to be buried in the traditional grounds at Velehrad or in the family plot at Olomouc.

When Queen Helene heard the news of Prokop’s fall, she went in haste to see his grave. It is said that when the already-distraught queen arrived in Julevädno she was stricken with pneumonia, from which her elderly body never recovered. When she died, not one month after Prokop departed this life for the next, the faithful Helene, whose entire life had been spent in service to the Moravian royal family, went into the same grave as her husband. The resting-place of Kráľ Prokop and Kráľovná Helene at Luleju is still tended by the Sámi Orthodox Church.

~~~

The eldest of Prokop and Helene’s ten children, Jozef Rychnovský, went to Velehrad to receive the anointing and the vestments of office as Moravia’s new king. In the absence of male issue (so far), their second son Jakub was affirmed by traditional Slavic law as well as by the Stavovské Zhromaždenie as heir to the Moravian throne.

The War of the Northern Expansion, however, had to be placed on the back burner. A pretender to the throne had appeared in Silesia, and the Moravian Army—which had been fighting in Julevädno—had to beat a hasty retreat from the northern front in order to deal with the rebel army that had arisen around this Rostislav z Otradovič.

 

[HistoryDude]

Well, that's a setback if the goal is to conquer more Sami lands.

A new ruler emerges. Let's hope that he can keep his dynasty on the throne...

 

[Revan86]

INTERLUDE TWO.
A Matter of Perspective
12 October 2021

‘Apricot, my eye. More like “Lemon” if you ask me…’ Professor Viktor Doubnich Weissfeld was grumbling as he leaned over his computer. ‘History department should have taken my advice, kept the old Mikro-80s. Apricot, hah. Pathetic crash-happy British heap of—’

He slammed a thick-fingered fist against the side of the laptop. The flash of the projector behind his back caused him to look up and turn his head. The EnerGrafix presentation he’d been fighting with on his school-issued Apricot laptop had decided to start projecting.

‘Percussive maintenance,’ he told the class with a grim sort of half-chuckle. ‘Seems to work most of the time. Well, here he is: Kráľ Jozef.’

The image of a honey-blond young man gazed out at the class from the projected screen. He was dressed in the full Moravian regalia, striking a rather jaunty pose, and his expression had a slightly superior hint to it, as though he knew something you didn’t. This was a particularly famous portrait that hung in an art museum in Velehrad.

‘Interesting figure, Jozef,’ Weissfeld went on. ‘Rychnovských weren’t exactly known for clandestine dealings. Most of them were either bookworms or press-the-flesh types, with the occasional general thrown in for flavour. Jozef, though—! If his dad was the one who founded the secret police, Jozef was the one who gave them teeth. Put ‘em to good use, too.’

‘Wasn’t Jozef teplý?’ blurted Ľutobor Sviták.

‘Rather… modern way to think about it,’ Weissfeld deadpanned. ‘Did he have a male court favourite? Yes. Was said favourite also his lover? Uh-huh. Did he delay having children with his wife until late in his reign? You get the picture. He wasn’t straight, but to call him “teplý” is to put a very… Late Imperial-period lens on him.’

‘But still, to have—’

‘No. No, no, no. I am not,’ Weissfeld grumped, ‘going to discuss the Hidden Sex Lives of the Rychnovských in this class. You’re all still… toddlers, anyway. Really, as if medievalists don’t have anything better to do than go around peeking behind the proverbial bed-curtains.’

Softening his tone to a slightly-less forbidding grumble, Weissfeld went on: ‘Well… I mean… if you’re really interested in that sort of thing, we have… uh… references[1] that go into… details. But they’re at most a secondary concern here. All Late-Imperial moralising about “sodomy” aside, Jozef’s… cavorts were merely an amusing quirk compared to his ancestor Radomír hrozný’s very heterosexual neuroses. Besides, there were… bigger issues.’

Petronila Šimkovičová raised her hand.

‘Yes, alright,’ Weissfeld waved a fleshy hand in her direction.

‘He betrayed the Lesní Slováci,’ Petra said darkly.

Weissfeld nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Sure. Kings do that, when the money’s good enough. Debt crisis made the situation a bit more pressing. Funny enough, the Sámi have very similar complaints about Jozef, who oversaw the first and only experiment in Moravian colonialism.’

Another slide went up. This one showed a 500-year-old map of Sápmi on it, stretching from Kilpisjärvi in the west all the way to the eastern tip of Kola, and then south to Uikujärvi. The region was clearly named: Моравске Лапонско.

‘That little project didn’t last too long,’ Weissfeld said. ‘Eventually got to be too much hassle. After about 25 years Jozef’s son Tomáš 2. basically just handed the whole thing over to a local governor and told him to keep the money flowing. Still, the Sámit aren’t likely to let us live that era down.’

‘Doesn’t sound like he was a very good king,’ Živana remarked.

‘Tomáš? No, Jozef? Either way, you’re wrong. Both men were brilliant—brilliant—kings. They did what kings were supposed to do back then—use the tax coffers to expand the state’s power and influence. And both of them were remarkably good at it.’

As if waiting for this queue, Weissfeld nudged the presentation forward one slide. At once there was shown a detailed map of Moravia Proper, complete with the red-and-white chequered-eagle coat-of-arms of the country in the corner.

‘Moravia flourished under Prokop, Jozef and Tomáš. Prokop’s rule was felt by most common people in Moravia to be just, fair and stable—that impression lasted throughout Jozef’s rule. Townsfolk expanded their influence. The Moravian diplomatic corps expanded the state’s good reputation abroad. Mansfeld’s interventionist reforms—not particularly popular among the haute bourgeoisie—built on the welfare-conservatism of Kráľ Róbert. People weren’t as likely to go hungry during this time.’

‘But the Sámi and the Lesní Slovaks certainly didn’t think of them that way,’ said Petra.

Weissfeld chuckled. ‘Of course they didn’t. The Sámit didn’t want to be under Moravia’s thumb; the Slovaks in the Wienerwald did; neither of them got what they wanted. On the other hand, one of the greatest early works of Sámi literature emerged from this period.’

Forward one more slide. An antique-looking book with a broad Cyrillic printed typeface appeared.

‘Ducha zákona,’ breathed Jolana Hončová.

‘Well,’ Weissfeld’s chins doubled in a gesture of partial acknowledgement, ‘that’s the Moravian name for it. Hardly adequate. Points if you can tell me who wrote it, though.’

‘It was Vulle Gáski’s magnum opus,’ Jolana said.

‘More like a cri de cœur to his people to remember Jesus, their ancestral ways and their ancient laws. Part Orthodox devotional literature; part Sámi political philosophy. Sparked a wave of interest—much later—among Moravian radicals to whom the democratic and consensus-based models of traditional Sámi government held a natural appeal.’

The slideshow went forward once more. This time there was shown an elderly man with a wispy white beard, deep crow’s-feet and a pair of narrow, brown eyes. His weather-beaten face bore with it a kind of inexpressible sadness.

‘Vulle Gáski was not a happy man. Despite the success of his book, he lived long enough to see his people’s autonomy trampled on, their traditional way of life replaced by large-scale shipping reliant on flutes and barges running up and down the Baltic Sea. His vindication would come only much later—a hundred years after his death. But—that’s a discussion for another time. Books out. Page 143. Who was our discussant for today—?’

The class got out their books. As it turned out, Dalibor Pelikán was to be the discussant for the chapters on Prokop, Jozef and Tomáš—the ‘successful’ kings of Moravia’s sixteenth century.

---

[1] OBLIGATORY WARNING: all links to TLoC in this paragraph are Not Safe For Work. As if that needed to be said.

 

[HistoryDude]

Ah, computer issues. I suppose even going to an alternate universe wouldn't let me escape them.

Also, Victorian moralizing. Some things never change. Late Imperial is the term for this universe's Victorian Period, right? That implies interesting things to come in HoI4 and late V3...

 

[Midnite Duke]

I am now caught up. Thank you for continuing this wonderful work. If it is not too personal, how/why did you choose Moravia? Does vanilla Moravia have an unique mission tree?

 

[Revan86]

EIGHTEEN.
The Ascent of Kráľ Jozef
27 April 1519 – 1 August 1521​

‘Volte-face! Shoulder up! Ready arms!’

The assembled men in the courtyard, dressed in their cuirasses and helms and bearing long-stocked muskets, moved as one unit, following orders with prompt decision and grace. Jozef admired the work that his staff sergeants and land captains had done with the new blood. To think, but two months ago all these boys had been the greenest of recruits! Of course, Jozef hadn’t dreamed he’d be needing to send them into the field at all so soon—nor so close to home. The news of his father’s death in the chilly north had hit him, as it had hit everyone in Olomouc, like a lead ball from one of these long guns. Mother most of all had been stricken. She had left in a hurry, almost as though one possessed, bereft of hope… and of course, that had been the last Jozef had seen of her alive.

And now there was this Rostislav z Otradovič character. A rather flamboyant Silesian nobleman who fancied himself a bold husár, and dressed in flamboyant tailored suits to fit, Rostislav had the mercurial and unstable temper as well as the delusions of grandeur necessary to pull off such a stunt. With his main base of support in Vratislav, clearly he’d been hoping that, with the Moravian armies engaged in the north, a little palace coup against the Rychnovských would be an easy stunt to pull off. Jozef was determined to prove him wrong. Painfully wrong.

‘They’re as ready as they’ll ever be,’ Jakub told his older brother.

‘Good. Let’s give Otradovič what-for, then,’ the newly-crowned Kráľ answered.

Easier said than done. The Moravian Second Army did not move at once against the rebels. The hastily-assembled crew of recruits, youngsters and old men who composed it were no match for Otradovič’s husáry, and they knew it all too well. The Silesian rebels numbered over 20,000, well-armoured and well-equipped; and Jozef had barely scrounged together 16,000. Jozef did not command them to make a suicidal frontal assault, therefore, but awaited the descent of the Third Army south through Pomerania.

Even that was a roll of the dice, though. The Third Army had not only suffered a crippling defeat against the Gardarikeans in Rovaniemi, but they had witnessed the fateful loss of their former king. Jozef and Jakub expected that their morale would still be at rock-bottom as they reached Vratislav. The hope was that a two-pronged attack, with the advantage of numbers, would clip the feathers from Otradovič’s busby.

The wait proved costly. The rebels swiftly took over not only Vratislav, but also moved into the Opolané. There was nothing for it but to simply watch through the summer months as they marched through most of Moravian Silesia completely unopposed and unchecked. But the Third Army finally arrived on the Pomeranian plain, however, and quickly established a line of communication with Olomouc. The plan was draughted to move in a pincer against the Silesian rebels at Opole itself.

The battle of Opole took place just after the turn of the New Year, on the eleventh of September, 7029 (or 1519 on the Latin calendar). As expected, unfortunately, the dragging morale of the Moravian loyalists was met with the insufferable bravado of the Silesian nobles—thankfully, however, that same bravado was turned to the Moravians’ advantage as the riders made too-bold a charge at the centre. The Moravians were able to flank the husáry on both sides and catch them in a heavy crossfire before Otradovič was even aware of his tactical error. The Moravian infantry with their well-drilled volleys of musket fire decimated the Silesian cavalry.

Otradovič had enough presence of mind to order a retreat before his armies foundered and were swept into a total rout. Unfortunately for him, the only road open to him lay not back toward Vratislav and safety, but instead directly toward Olomouc. His doom was sealed as the Second and Third Armies together pursued him back toward the capital.

The Silesian rebel army was thoroughly defeated outside the city gates of the Moravian capital. Rostislav z Otradovič himself was shot attempting to flee capture on horseback; his body was brought back and posthumously beheaded as befit a treasonous nobleman’s crimes, before being committed to a grave beyond the church pale.

Although most of the nobility in Moravia had remained loyal to the new king, as a class they suffered a further blow to their prestige and clout in the capital as a result of the Silesian rebellion. It had been an army of upstarts and ragtag peasants which had stopped a noble rebellion dead in its tracks and saved the country as a whole. Many of the noblemen who had been the props and mainstays of Moravia’s defences now found themselves further displaced and discredited in the eyes of the state, as a trained professional army had made further moves to supplant them.

But—with Otradovič’s rebellion taken care of, Kráľ Jozef could turn to other matters.

Thankfully from Moravia’s point-of-view, the age-old problems in the Kárpátok Birodalma to their south had once again resurfaced. A realm divided ethnically between Pannonian Slavs, Hungarians, Bulgarians, Serbs and Macedonians was always going to be difficult to manage… but those problems were multiplied by a ruling family which was often at dagger-points with itself. In addition, growing dissatisfaction with Detvanský rule was placing even the fractious ruling family onto a defensive footing, as several assassination plots and palace coup attempts were discovered and harshly punished. Carpathia was not going to be much of a threat going forward, at least not for the next ten years or so.

As well, the famed Byzantine trader and cartographer Eflogios Chatzis had produced a detailed map of the lands east, including one which depicted the semi-legendary realm of Taugats. The Chartis Eflogiou made rather a splash when a copy of it was presented to the new king in Olomouc—of particular interest was the depiction of the capital of Taugats, a walled city on a square plan called Pekin. Eflogios Chatzis had described the realm of Taugats as being ruled by the Ta-Ming Huang-Ti, an absolute ruler who governed Taugats according to a kind of enlightened paganism, the teachings of a Majster Kchung Fu-C’. As yet there was little that could be done with this information, but it still caused something of a minor stir among the Moravian nobility.

The major issue at hand, however, was the war that Prokop had started against Gardarike using the encroachments of Sápmi as a pretext. At present, thanks to the withdrawal of the Moravian armies from the front of that war, Koutajoki and Julevädno were defenceless against the Garderikean advance, and the brunt of the fighting was being borne by Moravia’s Rus’ allies.

The rolling tides of war had devastated Great Ruthenia’s northern marches. The Gardarikeans had pillaged and burned their way across a broad swathe of the lands which had formerly belonged to the Princes of Tver and Smolensk, and unfortunately the Ruthenians were a tad slow on the response. The Ruthenian boyary were given heart, though, when the Moravians rejoined the fight from the south in the middle of the year, and laid siege to the Gardarikean capital at Holmgard (which occasionally went by its Slavic name of Veliky Novgorod). The Moravian Second Army was now under the command of Bohumil z Rožmberka, a seasoned Bohemian veteran who took charge of the operations in the Ruthenian northlands with the assurance of long experience.

The Moravians were the deciding factor that allowed the Ruthenians to rally their impressive land forces for a renewed push against the Gardarikean incursion. The marauding Scandinavians were evicted from the northern Slavic lands in several battles. With that having been settled, the Ruthenians set to avenging themselves on their Germanic oppressors with gusto. One by one the gords of the north fell to the Rus’ advance: Pskov, Tver, Rostov. The Slavs did not take these towns ‘on the shield’, but neither did they make any particular effort to spare the Norse overlords of these towns from the comeuppance of their victorious troops.

Seeing these advances, Rožmberka was confident enough to split off half of his army to go and besiege Garderike’s ‘second town’—the town of Moskva.

By this time, Garderike’s military power had been utterly broken, and the Ruthenians—including the White Rus’—and the Moravians were making quick work of the rest of Garderike’s Slavic territories. Surprisingly enough, Julevädno had managed not only to free themselves but also to liberate Koutajoki, and lay siege to the core territories of Sápmi (the Northern Sámi armies having been put to flight along with their Garderikean allies).

~~~​

‘The situation on the northern front is proceeding well,’ Jakub reported to his elder brother. ‘The Garderikean forces have been put to flight, and Rožmberka has been making solid territorial gains against their marches.’

‘Wonderful,’ Jozef clasped his brother warmly. ‘That’s excellent news.’

‘And… I’m afraid I have some… less welcome news, brother. Janek Mansfeld is dead.’

The smile on Jozef’s face froze and fell. ‘Truly? What a shame! When did that happen?’

‘Just last night. Mansfeld complained of a pain in his chest, and the leech could do nothing to treat it. His heart just… gave out.’

‘Truly a pity,’ the Kráľ said. Mansfeld had been favoured by his father and mother, and had been a constant presence in the court. ‘Though I imagine not everyone will be saddened to hear of his passing. He did have some rather… unorthodox ideas.’

‘True,’ Jakub tilted his head. ‘But there’s no arguing with results, and he did deliver results. The cities of the Moravian valley have never been more prosperous, and it’s largely owing to how Mansfeld was allowed to implement his “protectionist” ideas. Now… are you going to go to bed? It’s getting late, and I know Lesana’s been feeling lonely.’

Jozef waved a hand at the mention of his queen-consort. She was a duty… little more.

‘We need to find a replacement for Mansfeld,’ Jozef’s mind returned to the question at hand. ‘Tell me—wasn’t there an older fellow in Praha, a Sámi, who was known to our court scientist? What was his name again… Gáski or something?’

‘Vulle Gáski,’ said Jakub. ‘Yes, I know the man. Well respected among the city Sámit.’

‘What manner of skills does he have?’

Jakub let out a whistle. ‘He’s something of a polymath, from what I hear—a man of many talents and interests. He was originally a fairly well-connected herdsman in Koutajoki. I’d imagine he’d be a considerable asset no matter where you chose to hire him, brother—though if you’ll take my advice, he’d probably be most useful to us shoring up and supervising the expanded diplomatic corps. I’d rather the bureau not be overextended.’

‘Indeed,’ Jozef nodded his agreement. Then he bit his lower lip a bit, and his voice took on a bit of a shy tone. ‘And what of… the man who organised the Second Army? Quite a performance! Is he still available to be recruited to one of our high offices?’

‘Rostislav Zelezný was the staff sergeant in charge of training the Second Army,’ Jakub told his brother, a little warily. Jakub wasn’t too comfortable with the way Jozef sometimes looked at the handsomer men in his retinue, particularly the older military types.

‘Zelezný,’ Jozef repeated thoughtfully. ‘Have both men, Gáski and Zelezný, appear in court tomorrow. We shall make use of both of their talents, I’m sure.’

‘Good evening to you, brother. Rest early.’

 

[Revan86]

Ah, computer issues. I suppose even going to an alternate universe wouldn't let me escape them.

Also, Victorian moralizing. Some things never change. Late Imperial is the term for this universe's Victorian Period, right? That implies interesting things to come in HoI4 and late V3...

So, there are some... changes that happen to Moravia in the 1600s. Won't give away too much by elaborating on them here. But yes, Late-Imperial is the in-universe equivalent of the Victorian Age.

I am now caught up. Thank you for continuing this wonderful work. If it is not too personal, how/why did you choose Moravia? Does vanilla Moravia have an unique mission tree?

Are you asking me why I chose Moravia for the 867 start in CKIII?

To that I can answer: because I have some family who are from there, back a few generations. And also I was kind of fascinated by the Cyrillian-Methodian mission to Great Moravia as a point of historical interest; and I wondered what it would be like to play as one of the people whom they 'missioned' to.

 

[HistoryDude]

I'm sure that the loveless royal marriage won't be an issue in the future.

At least the pretender revolt and the Russian war are dealt with. I wonder if Moravia will move against the unstable Carpathia next?