Act I Chapter Twelve
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.
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.
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!’
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.
Last edited:
- 2
- 1