The Thin Wedge of Europe

[Midnite Duke]

Yes, the 867 choice was my question. For CK and EU, I am lazy and always use the random realm button. I often find unique situations and some are purely unplayable. Thanks

 

[Revan86]

Update:

So, just had something of a computer-related scare. Thought my personal laptop with all backup saves and notes got stolen, which might well have put an end to this AAR really quick. Thankfully I got the laptop back, and the first thing I did with it was back up everything onto an external.

The Thin Wedge of Europe will assuredly go on, but further updates may have to wait until later in the summer. End of school year stuff and grad school classes are packing a one-two punch to my life and free time right now.

Thanks to you, readers, for your patience and understanding!

 

[Midnite Duke]

Good Luck, Be Careful and I will see you when you return.

 

[Idhrendur]

Glad you got the laptop back! Not just for the AAR, but that's good too!

 

[Revan86]

NINETEEN.
Moravian Laponia
26 August 1521 – 22 November 1524

Bážá Ruigi was together with Bohumil z Rožmberka at the siege of Holmgard. Although he was a natural scientist by profession and his joy lay in studying the beauty of his native Koutajoki, as a man of undoubted intelligence and fighting age he had been conscripted by the Second Army as a logistical specialist and engineer. He personally witnessed the fall of Holmgard, and he wrote a poem on the occasion, sending and dedicating it to his mentor Vulle Gáski.

Smoke rises, scent of birch aflame;
The grebe’s croon rises in alarm.
The heavens howl Ajeke’s name,
Ere girji march out under arms.
I long for our river! Here I wait
And dream of Koutajoki’s breeze.
May we be free! At Holmgard’s gate
My heart lifts all ancestors’ pleas.​

Vulle, in Olomouc in his new capacity as diplomatic advisor, wrote back to his fellow Sámi:

So, broken is our old foe’s might.
The hour has turned aside his axe.
Keep your eyes alert and bright—
A ‘friendly’ knife is at our backs.
Greed lurks in lordly tongues and breasts,
Our ancient harmony they scorn;
They’d have us in our land be guests,
No wood, stream, stone or wind to mourn.​

Vulle Gáski’s words to young Bážá, unfortunately, proved prophetic. The Moravian victory at Holmgard utterly broke Gardarike’s resistance, and their allied Catholic forces of the Northern Sámi were likewise powerless to resist what followed.

The territorial settlement between Great Rus’ and Gardarike pushed the borders of the Rus’ Principalities practically all the way up to Holmgard’s southwestern wall. Veliky Knyaz Vseslav 4. extended his sway over the Kholmskii Pogost, as well as over the Velikie Luki. The most convenient land route between Pskov and Novgorod had been effectively cut off by Ruthenian territorial demands. In addition, the Ruthenians took the strategically-important Tverian town of Novy Torg.

Sápmi was completely subjugated by Moravia. Everything from Eanodat to Anárjávri, and the entire Kola Peninsula besides, overnight became a province of the Moravian state. Administered together with Koutajoki, the whole region became known as Moravské Laponsko: Moravian Laponia.

Bážá Ruigi’s hope for a ‘free’ Koutajoki, once the Northern Sámi and their Nordic puppet-masters had been dealt with decisively, was dashed. Kráľ Jozef’s signature on the treaty was hardly dry before the first shipload of Moravian ‘explorers’, trappers, fishermen and merchants arrived in Kola, ready to pluck a freshly-caught wild hen. Koutajoki—despite the traditional honour it had enjoyed as a vassal of Moravia with some degree of autonomy—was not spared.

The traditional siida was quickly replaced by a Moravian governor, who was assisted in his office by a hardened gendarmerie. The governor practically always sided with the interests of Moravian trappers, fishers and shippers over the interests of the Sámit who had lived in ‘ancient harmony’ with these same rivers, forests and grazelands—and over the strident objections of the Moravian missionary priests and monks who had lived more or less peaceably alongside the Sámi for nearly ten generations. The homilies which survive from the ‘Northern Mission’ make unsparing references to the Book of Judges, and often wax fiery with brimstone against the plunderous greed of the newcomers.

The Lule Sámit did remain semi-autonomous for several years after the Treaty of Holmgard. They did not fall under the direct rule of a Moravian colonial governor. But the sudden influx of rapacious Moravian merchants nevertheless took its toll even on Luleju.

~~~​

Kráľ Jozef stirred awake. As sensation and sense returned to him, so too did the warm glow he was basking in. He felt upon his naked back and around his waist the warm, lean, muscular embrace of Rostislav Zelezný, big-spoon around him. Despite the staff sergeant having several years’ advantage on Jozef, still his body was so smooth and pleasant—as well as powerful and energetic.

Jozef woke up knowing it in the depths of his heart. The very secrecy of this rendezvous of theirs made it all the sweeter and more passionate. Not even Jakub, dearly as Jozef loved his brother, could know of it. But there was more to it than that. Even though it was wrong—even though it was the very sin for which God sent fire down upon the city of Sodom—even though it was a love that could never be spoken of or alluded to or hinted at aloud—he adored Rostislav. He yearned for him. He wanted to do everything to honour him and to please him. Was this what a man in his position was supposed to feel for a woman? Yet he could not. He felt it only for this older man.

Here in the dark, in the shadows, they could express their love. Jozef would become tame and receptive for Rostislav’s desires. But once Jozef rose from this well-hidden bed, and as soon as the light crept over the sill, their roles would be unshakeably reversed. They would once again have to become liege and subject, king and councillor.

Jozef regretted to break the silence, and with it the secrecy of their own little world. But he had to. He rose from the bed.

‘I must prepare,’ he told Rostislav. ‘There are still several arrangements to be made.’

‘Your sisters’ marriages,’ Rostislav said knowingly, sitting up as well. Suddenly he was all business again—Jozef noted it with mingled admiration and regret. ‘Yes. I truly think you needn’t worry about Drježdźany. Your cousin Swjatopolk has matters well in hand.’

Jozef shuddered. ‘I never get used to hearing his Sorbified name. To me he’ll always be Svätopluk. But yes, you’re right. And I know what you’re going to say.’

‘Then you know I’m right.’

‘Of course. Strategically, there’s no turning back: the North is now a vital Moravian interest.’

‘As I’ve been telling you for months,’ Rostislav yawned. He dared a slender grin at the Kráľ.

‘So you have,’ Jozef leaned over, allowing Rostislav to kiss him. ‘I think Anna shall marry Sergei Kirillovič. It’s only diplomatic to have the eldest sister go off to our oldest and strongest ally. And Lena shall marry Sotirios Anchabadze-Vskhoveli: we still need that Pomeranian port access. That leaves…’

‘Bertor Svinhufvud,’ Rostislav prompted.

‘Ah. Of course,’ Jozef acknowledged. ‘Slavka can have Bertor. That will shore up our relations with Luleju rather nicely.’

~~~​

The townsmen of Bratislava formed a large crowd—not a mob, though their compatriots in Olomouc nonetheless mostly kept their windows warily shuttered against them—up the main street of the capital toward the castle. They bore no visible weapons; instead, the core of them marched in procession behind banners of the Mother of God, of Archangel Michael and of the Icon Not Made by Hands. The tenor of their buzz was one of consternation, not yet anger and certainly not yet the wild frenzy one might associate with such gatherings. No: they had a civil case to present, and they intended to do so with all the civility that demanded.

The reason for their sudden visit to Olomouc happened to be that the laws which had enshrined Bratislava’s place—first in the Principality of Nitra, and then in the Kingdom of Great Moravia—were perilously close to being rendered obsolete by first Prokop’s and now Josef’s tendency to rule through vyhláš… which of course obtained throughout the realm. If they wanted to retain the rights and privileges they had obtained through charters dating back to Kráľ Radomír 4., they would clearly have to contend for them, but they nonetheless wanted to do so in a way that reflected the Orthodox piety and hospitality of their city.

As the chief representatives from Bratislava were admitted to the castle, they presented their concerns and a list of the major burgesses of the town who were seeking redress, enumerating the laws specific to their town that they wished to keep. They implored the king’s good credit and his fear of the Lord as they did so.

Jozef reflected wryly that the Bratislavans had rather badly understood him, but that was no matter. He was willing to grant them what they were asking for anyway.

‘Very well,’ he told them. ‘I shall be happy to reenumerate the traditional rights and privileges which the Crown bestowed on Bratislava, as I’m sure other towns in the realm will also ask when the time comes. However, there is the small matter of the Stavovské Zhromaždenie. When I convoke it…’

The chief burgess puffed out his chest importantly. ‘Your Majesty shall have Bratislava’s warm support in that event. You may take my word on that.’

‘Good,’ Jozef told him. ‘In that event, we shall have some charters to draw up!’

~~~​

Vulle Gáski stared at the proposal before him in aghast disbelief.

He knew what these designs before him meant.

The pear-shaped ships, designed for a small crew, deep-hulled and built expressly to house cargo, would soon become a common sight in the Baltic. The fleet of these ships would be built and based in Luleju, where they would load pelts, timber, fish, gold, copper and the rest of the natural wealth of Sápmi, and ship it God knows where. The wealth would all go to line Moravian pockets. The land of Sápmi would suffer. And when the land suffered, the people would suffer.

Vulle leafed through the designs and the invoices from the shipyards in Luleju, and shook his head in dismay. He asked understanding from his ancestors, and wisdom, and then said a prayer to Ímmiľ Alľk to forgive his sins. He couldn’t deny that which within these plans was his own doing.

He turned to the work by which he thought he might be able to exculpate himself, in part, in the eyes of his departed fathers and mothers and the spirits of his native land.

The book stood open to its first page, and it was entitled, in Kíllt Sámi:

В Ы Р Ь К Э Д А Н Т​

Vulle traced his fingers along the word that his own hand had traced there. What weight that word carried! Responsibility. Propriety. Respect for elders. Love for the land. Harmony with the community.

Vulle wondered, and not for the first time, if he were the right man to be writing this. He was now, like it or not, a city Sámi—with all that implied. Should he not defer this work, he wondered sometimes, to an elder, or a shaman, or someone who could better embody these virtues and customs and habits which he was now seeking to describe, for the benefit of young Sámit who were growing up in Praha, Olomouc, Bratislava and elsewhere?

Once again, he wrestled that doubt down. There was no one else. No one else who understood both worlds—the Moravian and the Sámi—and could bridge the gap for those caught between them. Vyřkedant would have to be Vulle’s work, and he only hoped that the community he sought to invoke would not judge him too harshly for it.

 

[HistoryDude]

Poor Sapmi... Moravia was very unkind to them.

I did appreciate the poetry...

I'm dubious about the Sodom reference in this chapter. This argument exists, mind, but I think the exact words were the rather unspecific "sexual deviancy". Could just be that the Moravians interpreted it that way, though.

 

[Midnite Duke]

The Sapmi, like most peoples who try to live in harmony with nature, get the short end of the stick and then have the remnant stolen. Thank you for the update

 

[Revan86]

TWENTY.
Vyřkedant
1 December 1524 – 19 October 1526​

There is little question that the Moravian severnípolitika of this time was brutal and exploitative. In their oral histories, the Sámi people still remember the colonialist period of Moravské Laponsko, between 1521 and 1547, as the Pálľ Pídë – the ‘Time of Afflictions’ or the ‘Time of Sorrows’.

But in a certain sense, the Moravians under Kráľ Jozef were merely following the times.

The first west-bound ships out of Europe sailed from the port of Caen—which was then ruled by the independent King of Neustria, Baudouin 2. Vasconia-Gisors. Neustria and the Kingdom of Francia were at that time in tight competition with each other over resources and trade routes, and certain chartmakers in Neustria made the bold claim that they could take advantage of their westward positioning against Francia by sailing westward across the Atlantic Ocean, around the globe until they came to Asia. No longer would they have to rely on trade routes through a fractious Mediterranean, where the Byzantines struggled to maintain a firm political sway amid challenges from the independent Despotates of Thessalia, Pontus and Georgia. In 1519, Baudouin 2. gave the order, and funded a fleet of ships westward to seek a sea route to Asia. This fleet was captained by Philippe de Blois, a navigator who had been among the party vociferously advocating for the sea route.

Philippe de Blois and his party, however, had severely underestimated the circumference of the globe. What they found was not Asia.

They landed instead on an island which was called by the indigenous people who lived there, Haïti. Upon discovering that Haïti was not, in fact, Asia, Philippe lost no time in using his ships’ and soldiers’ superior firepower to force the indigènes into submission. He formed a Christian government on the island: the Îles de les Antilles, and the island itself was renamed Saint-Domingue.

The voyages of Philippe de Blois touched off a major commotion in Western Europe, as England and Francia at once began hurriedly assembling their own fleets in order to rob Neustria of the advantage. Scotland sought a passage west of its North Atlantic island holdings. Even the young and dynamic Sulṭân of al-‘Andalus, Barhân ad-Dîn ibn al-Barâ’ ibn Sâjidallâh ibn al-Ḥafṣûn, assembled an impressive array of treasure-ships and corsairs and sailed them down among the Canaries. The resulting explosion of idealism, opportunistic rapine, missionary activity, slavery, scientific curiosity, and outright theft and plunder, sent shockwaves through the entire European continent; and Moravia was by no means exempt.

But unlike the windward maritime colonies of Neustria, Francia, England, Scotland and al-‘Andalus, Moravia’s efforts at colonial domination of the Sámit were placed under the fine scrutiny of Christian moralism. The Sámi were white, after all, free, and—most importantly—already converted (or enough so that the usual rabblerousing against ‘witchcraft’ no longer applied). They were the objects of instant pity and largesse in Catholic Europe, and (with Garderike now effectively out of the picture) the East Geats and the East Francians in particular lobbied the Pope heavily for a Crusade against heretical Moravia to liberate their beleaguered northern brethren.

Such a Crusade never materialised, in part because the attention of Western Europe was all on the Îles de les Antilles and the new scientific and economic questions that this ‘discovery’ had prompted.

But even the threat of such sent Kráľ Jozef’s administration into a frenzy. The diplomatic corps and the internal bureaus worked overtime to prove that the Moravian kingdom, by dint of its agreements with Koutajoki, had always had an overriding and ancient claim to the entire Sámi patrimony. Soon the provinces of Anárjávri and Kola had very official-looking and very serious charters which established Moravian sovereignty over them in perpetuity.

The Stavovské Zhromaždenie, as well, got in on the action. The townsmen of the major trading cities of Moravia, though Jozef had trod on some of their pointed shoes as his father had, were certainly enthusiasts of the new maritime opportunities the expansion of Moravia into the chilly north offered. The Kráľ had made it a point to expand the port infrastructure throughout the area, and Koutajoki was soon a bustle of trading barges working their way between its source in Tuoppajärvi and its mouth in the chilly estruary waters of Kantalahti.

All of the new economic activity that brought Sámi-built Moravian ships into the Baltic trade between Luleju and the Pomeranian coast saw a boom in mercantile activity. As the power of the traditional nobility had waned as a result of the Otradovič Uprising, the star of the middle classes seemed to be firmly on the rise.

Moravian control over Baltic trade brought with it another massive boom of wealth, the likes of which had not been seen since Radomír 4.’s expansion of the Hory Kutné silver mines. Business in cities like Praha, Pardubice, Budějovice and Bratislava was bustling. Unfortunately, in order to keep that business bustling, Moravian traders had to work closely with their Pomeranian counterparts whose port infrastructure along the southern Baltic coast was crucial to their continued success. The results of this dependent interaction could likewise be easily predicted. Graft between Moravian merchants and the Pomeranian gentry and lower officials was ubiquitous, and soon enough even Moravian officials were taking kickbacks into the bargain.

~~~​

As a Sámi and as a member of the diplomatic corps, Vulle Gáski got a box seat to all of these proceedings, and was as often as not aware of the various sordid compromises and shady deals by which the plunder of his land’s natural beauty and the exploitation of his people could continue without interruption. Although he did raise his voice against it at the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, making moral appeals and drawing up petitions, and using his clout within the diplomatic corps to keep the damage to his people’s welfare to a minimum, it was by no means enough. He was a bridge between the city Sámi and the Moravian government as well as a bridge back to his people… but he was standing as one man against the tides of the world, or so it often seemed.

In the traditional siida, among his family and elders, Vulle Gáski had been expected always to pull his own weight and exercise a degree of self-sufficiency, but there he knew he always had people to rely on: his wife and children, his cousins, his aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, his camp-neighbours, and the people who pulled barges up and down the river. But the traditional siida was fast disappearing, as his people were forced to settle in villages and take whatever scraps the Moravian traders left them. And he was here in Olomouc, isolated from all that which he held dear and that was fast disappearing.

He withdrew. He felt that his work as a diplomat was now uncomfortably at odds with his loyalty to his people; and although he continued to do his duties to the Crown, his appearances in public were much rarer. His life became wrapped up in the work he had begun, Vyřkedant.

‘My dear and precious Sáám, pray without cease, and remember in your heart constantly Ímmiľ Adž’, Ímmiľ Alľk, and Ímmiľ Séjjt-Vújnas, as well as the Mother of God. Love and care for each other, help each other as though you lived under a single kávas. Be peaceable with each other. Remember all living things which come from Ímmiľ Adž’ and deserve your respect. Exercise your reason, do only that which is useful and helpful. Be as hardy as the lands you come from.’

This was how Vulle Gáski began the foreword to Vyřkedant. His treatise was divided into three sections. The first, titled ‘On Piety’, dealt with how one should behave with reverence in the wild, making sure not to set up one’s kávas on a trail, on ungrazed grass, or on holy grounds. Although the section ‘On Piety’ was very much motivated by an Orthodox Christian understanding of doctrine and of the Trinity, it also very clearly explicated the more traditional Sámi teachings about harmony and connectedness with the land. Most of it contained very practical advice for long-term communal survival in the northlands: when to hunt and not to hunt, when to fish and not to fish, what and where to plant, which animals and wild plants to leave alone, how to show respect to a guest or a host, where and how to leave libations to the ‘guardians of places’. Although Vulle placed a strong emphasis on the offering of libations, because of his faith he was deeply reluctant to use the term ‘spirits’, and he cautioned sternly against the practice of erecting idols or worshipping the ‘guardians of places’ as gods. The section ‘On Piety’ also contained polemics (rather measured ones by the standards of the time) against Roman Catholicism and against the Bogomils… both of which faiths had certain inroads among the Sámit.

The second section, ‘On Responsibility’, was dedicated to educating Sámit about the various forms of government. This section became particularly well-known as a work of political philosophy. In it, Vulle Gáski delineated the differences between the traditional Sámi way of life, and the various ways of life he had observed among other peoples in his time as a diplomat. He spoke firstly of the Moravian class structure and the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, and the ways in which Moravian society had changed from a feudal monarchy into a class-based parliamentary monarchy. He then delved into other forms of government, using concrete examples where he could. Vulle spoke of government ‘by faith’ (using the Papal States as a model), which he thought to be impractical. Vulle also spoke of government ‘by strength’ (the East Francian kingdom), ‘by honour’ (Byzantine imperial rule; Thessalian and Georgian despotism), ‘by silver’ (the maritime merchant republics of Italy), and ‘by popular will’ (the form of government that was emerging in Moravia, England and Scotland). Vulle Gáski then laboured to classify the traditional Sámi government, comparing it to each of these other governments in turn, and came to the conclusion that the Sámi ruled themselves ‘by harmony’. Looking back into history, Vulle believed that the Sámi had once had hereditary kings, but that they had eventually been put aside in favour of the more practical siida.

Then, in the third section, ‘On Harmony’, Vulle Gáski went into more detail about how the siida emerged as the most practical government form. He held forth that the balance between the responsibilities of men and women in the siida, between hearth and hunting, kept the siida flexible. The use of consensus-based communal decision-making within the siida councils kept power from being concentrated too heavily in any one person. Vulle argued that, despite the prevailing influence of silver and strength among the peoples of Europe, eventually the other forms of government would have to be set aside in favour of harmony-based government. These governments would lose their vital connexion to the land, and would therefore lose legitimacy in the eyes of God, and be wiped away with the restoration of the earth and the heavens described in the Apocalpyse of St John.

When it finally came into circulation, Vyřkedant was seized on eagerly by city Sámi youth, who took it as inspiration to form their own ‘city siidas’—essentially guild-like cooperative associations which encouraged sobriety and piety as well as advocating for better prices on labour and the essentials of life. Moravian nobles and clergymen viewed Vyřkedant (translated into Moravian as Ducha zákona) with much greater alarm. Despite the section ‘On Piety’, which championed Orthodoxy even in polemical terms against other Christian faiths, Orthodox churchmen worriedly pointed to the various pagan practices which Vulle Gáski seemed to endorse, and the diminution of the Apostolic forms of statecraft which the Byzantine Empire had gifted to the world. And the nobility were of course incensed by Vulle Gáski’s ‘treason’, in his insinuation that the Moravian form of government was doomed to failure and perdition before the eyes of God.

Despite this, however, the plate-pressed versions of Ducha zákona were not pulled out of circulation by the Moravian censor’s office. Kráľ Jozef was quite loath, in point of fact, to make heavy use of the Royal Censorate, and although he recognised that Vulle Gáski was quite unhappy with the present state of affairs, he nonetheless thought it would be more dangerous and less conducive to good order to attempt to stamp his work out. And besides, the Ducha zákona was making a splash abroad as well, of a good sort. Moravia was gaining a reputation as a beacon of free thought, where one could give voice to unconventional views without fear of punishment. For his part, as evidenced in his later letters, Vulle was appalled about his embrace by the ‘freethinkers’; he felt they had severely misjudged him and his work. He even voiced later regrets about having authored Vyřkedant, for fear that it may have led to a crisis of faith among the Sámi people.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Thanks for introducing me to Stan Rogers and the alternative Canadian national anthem. (I even went down a rabbit hole and read of his death.) Late colonialism? In OTL, how much has the Sami retained of their traditional lifestyle? Thanks for update

 

[Revan86]

Poor Sapmi... Moravia was very unkind to them.

I did appreciate the poetry...

I'm dubious about the Sodom reference in this chapter. This argument exists, mind, but I think the exact words were the rather unspecific "sexual deviancy". Could just be that the Moravians interpreted it that way, though.

The Sapmi, like most peoples who try to live in harmony with nature, get the short end of the stick and then have the remnant stolen. Thank you for the update

Well, HD and MD, it's the same old story wherever Indigenous peoples come up against the demands of modernising states...

Re: the Sodom reference; yeah, I'm aware that that's kind of an anachronism. In fact, I probably should have known better than to include it after the interlude, where I sort of lampshaded it.

Glad you appreciated the poetry, HD!

Thanks for introducing me to Stan Rogers and the alternative Canadian national anthem. (I even went down a rabbit hole and read of his death.) Late colonialism? In OTL, how much has the Sami retained of their traditional lifestyle? Thanks for update

I stan Stan. I'm a particular fan of 'Night Guard', 'Canol Road' and of course 'Barrett's Privateers'. Real folk music right there.

In OTL, the Sámi are still struggling to retain their traditional lifestyle.

A lot of them still herd reindeer, though nowadays they live in pre-fab cabins and use snowmobiles to do so. In the Nordic countries, they are represented by local Sámi parliaments which have limited power, even which degree the Finnish government under odious fake-progressive Sanna Marin has been assiduously trying to take away. In Norway, the Sámi are still fighting the Norwegian government against various mining and drilling projects, as well as the implementation of wind farms that threaten their traditional grazing-lands.

The condition of the Sámi in Russia is difficult, but in different ways. They used to have a Parliament that got abolished by the Bolsheviks and hasn't been reestablished. There too, I think they have to struggle at a local level against development and extraction projects that threaten their traditional grazing lands, same as in the Nordic countries. Their interests are largely represented in Russia by RAIPON as well as by the transnational Sámiráđđi.

Unfortunately the war has turned Sámi affairs into something of a political football between Russia and the West. Most Sámi oppose the war, of course, but they also oppose NATO-isation and the cold-war mentality that draws a great big fat line of geopolitical hostility down the middle of their territory.

 

[HistoryDude]

Neustria and West Francia are separate? I really need to catch up on Lions.

The birth of colonialism proved good for Moravia. Not so much for the Sapmi, though... let's hope something survives of their culture in the present day.

 

[Von Acturus]

All caught up now. I really liked these last chapters. It seems we are in a pivotal moment for Moravian history. The relationship between Moravians and Sami can either go from here to a form of quiet colonialism or to a more equal (or as equal as possible in 1400s Europe) relationship, where a degree of autonomy and representation is offered to the Sami.

The Vyřkedant is definitely a book I'd want to read. I'm sure it would provoke a crisis of faith amongst the Sami, and maybe a bit of inter-generational conflict between the tundra-based more traditional elders and the city youth who adopt some Moravian costumes inside the Sami framework, like their guilds. I'm sure this book will become one of the founding texts of Moravian political radicalism. Anarchists, Sami independentists, Christian socialists and maybe even Marxists could all point to it as the root of their thought in the future.

 

[Revan86]

@HistoryDude: Yeah, Neustria somehow ended up independent of West Francia. Kind of strange how that happened, too, because West Francia was this humongous empire for a lot of my late CK3 game. And yeah, the Sámi kind of got screwed over in the game when I conquered them, same way as they did in OTL during this time period.

@Von Acturus: Glad you enjoyed it! Yeah, this is definitely kind of a turning-point for both peoples. When coming up with Vyřkedant I was really trying to think about how a Sámi diplomat in Moravia might write about politics from the perspective he grew up with. For inspiration I turned not only to authors like Áillohaš but also other Indigenous writers of north Asia who talked about the political dimension of cultural survival, like Kayano Shigeru. I also tried to capture in Vulle Gáski some of the inner conflict of these authors in how they approached the ways and means of the colonisers when making these prescriptions.

TWENTY-ONE.
The Sale of the Viedenský Les
11 November 1526 – 21 March 1530

‘You press too heavily on your advantages, Rostislav,’ the Kráľ cautioned him.

‘If I do, though, it is for the good of the realm,’ Rostislav Zelezný argued back. ‘The situation among the Sámi in the north is volatile. The reports from the secret police are alarming enough. Ever since that book came out, the Sámi in the north have been conducting secret meetings with treasonous intent. And don’t think that we’re the only ones who’ve noticed! The East Geats have been infiltrating up there as well—and we both know what their ultimate aim is.’

‘Yet what you propose is—!’

‘Good sense,’ said the King’s staff sergeant and lover. ‘We can’t afford a weak line of defence on our southern border, and we can’t afford to continue maintaining a garrison in the Viedenský Les. I mean that quite literally: the expenditures you’ve made on expanding trade infrastructure in the North have left us in debt. This is a chance to kill two birds with one stone.’

Jozef sighed. ‘The Slavs who live in the Viedenský Les will not be happy to find themselves under Austria.’

‘This may sound cold, sire, but that’s their lookout,’ Zelezný told him. ‘The situation is untenable. They should have known as much when they agitated for your father to help protect them, while Moravia was in debt. He did the same for the Dyje, if you’ll recall.’

Jozef looked carefully into the eyes of the man who loved him. Rostislav was evidently sincere—and Jozef knew him to be a dutiful man with the interests of the realm at heart, not only its king. The same king massaged his brows and said,

‘Very well. See what arrangements you can make with the regent in Austria; we should be able to negotiate a reasonable price for that territory.’

Rostislav bowed deeply. ‘It shall be done.’

~~~​

The sale of the Viedenský Les brought with it the expected cash flow… but it also brought with it an equally-expected violent storm of outrage and condemnation. Anti-German riots broke out spontaneously in towns like Budějovice. In the eyes of the clergy, Kráľ Jozef’s transfer of title over a significant and ancient community of Carantanian Slavs—a community which had called itself ‘Slovak’ as long as any, and which had espoused Orthodox Christianity for as long a time as any—to a monarch who was Roman Catholic and a nemec to boot, was nothing less than a vile, base and even demonic betrayal. Several of the Orthodox clergy, particularly those in southern Bohemia and in the Dyje valley, took to pressing and distributing pamphlets urging radical action and even open revolt against Austrian rule in defence of the ‘Lesní Slováci’. Some of them even advocated an abolition of monarchical rule in toto—a dangerous and subversive proposal indeed, practically unprecedented. But self-rule under Christ, so went the argument, was preferable to rule by a faithless schismatic. Such pamphlets drew particularly strong circulation and approval in and around the experimental Johanit commune of Hradiště.

Once again, Jozef had behaved as one concerned mostly with the short-term prospects, and once again it was left to the younger brother, Jakub, to try to take responsibility for the aftermath. The Kráľ’s younger brother read these reports with a heavy heart and a sad sigh. The situation facing the Lesní Slovaks was indeed deplorable. The Austrians were likely to kill them off as they moved in, or else demand their apostasy from the True Church in obeisance to the Papal State; and Moravia had essentially signed away any prerogative she might otherwise have had to protect them. Still, the radical clergy in southern Bohemia were stepping well out of line.

One thing was clear as far as Jakub was concerned. In flinging open its gates in welcome to the beleaguered and harried Carantanians as they fled northward, and in acting as a safe haven for these radical clerical pamphleteers, the ‘free town’ of Hradiště had officially worn out its welcome with the Crown. Its status had to be brought to an end—and soon. Such special privileges for the descendants of mercenaries might have made sense at the time, but at this point the Hradiště charter was a relic of a medieval past that needed to be rectified.

As to the pamphleteers… Jakub shook his head as he read yet another of them. He could put out the word to the bishops, have them stamp out this rabblerousing with the proper exhortations and threats of hellfire and brimstone. And if that didn’t work, the secret police could always be called in. But… no. Not this time. Let the current furore run its course, don’t dignify it with a response, and it will blow and bluster itself out.

~~~​

‘Tírrvut, Miťää!’

The young man who was being hailed in this way came out of the rough-hewn wooden hut, on a little front path leading out through his vegetable patch. His sandy-brown hair was worn long and tied back, and he had on him nothing but a rough homespun tunic, rope girdle and hose. Despite his rough, common appearance he was handsome, even striking in a way—his most notable features were a long, thin nose with a high bridge, and a pair of deep-set, soulful brown eyes that could speak to both a deep sadness and an inexpressible delight. The expression beneath his wispy beard was glad as he answered:

‘Cysst Ímmiľ Alľk, Jompá, my friend. Will you come within for some tea?’

‘I’d love to, Miťää,’ replied Jompá. ‘I came by with some news for you.’

Miťää’s eyebrows rose slightly as he welcomed Jompá into his hut. ‘What troubles you? Are the nuejt after me again?’

Jompá shook his saturnine head. ‘No. The nuejt do not worry me anymore, nor do the elders of the siida. In fact… many of us now believe your words about the Son of God, myself included. We are willing to be baptised when the Moravian bishop arrives here.’

Miťää paused in his business of preparing the tea, lifted up his eyes to heaven and crossed himself. ‘Praise to God. But they are not my words you hear. I’m only an unlearned muzhik.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Jompá’s thick, dark brows drew together. ‘Ever since you came here to Peäccam from… what, Novy Torg, after the war?… even though you’re a Russian and not one of us, you’ve kept us safe. You sheltered our reindeer from raids and our young men from conscription. You kept our children here and fed them when their parents went missing. You even scolded the Moravian governor to his face for how he treats us—and somehow you got off only with a whipping! You are a man of clean and respectful habits, and there is power in your words.’

Miťää laid a hand on his breast and bowed to Jompá. From a Sámi, there were few compliments higher than that. ‘You honour me beyond my deserving, but I thank you. But you said you had news.’

‘I do, and sad news at that,’ said Jompá. ‘Vulle Gáski is dead.’

Handing Jompá his tea (a mixture of dried garden herbs, not true tea from Taugats), again Miťää crossed himself, prompting Jompá to do the same. ‘May God keep him in everlasting memory! He sounds like a decent man; I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet him in this earthly life. I cannot read—I’ve heard people read parts of the Vyřkedant. Much of what he says is good sense, though I can’t condone his words against the rule of kings and tsars.’

‘He was not as highly respected up here as he is in the Bohemian cities,’ Jompá allowed, ‘but his ideas made sense to me as well. I hope that his writing can still help us somehow.’

‘I shall pray for him,’ Miťää told Jompá, before adding knowingly: ‘That is not all you have to say.’

Despite himself, Jompá trembled a bit. Miťää had a degree of intuition about people that could be… unsettling. Of course there was other news, though he didn’t quite know what to make of it himself, and he had been debating whether or not to tell it to the young Russian hermit. Now he had no choice.

‘The Moravians have been active in Julevädno. The last free Sámit may find themselves robbed of that freedom before long.’

‘I shall pray for them as well,’ Miťää said with sympathy. ‘Yet remember, Jompá—the true freedom is the freedom of the soul. No one can make you to choose evil over good, or force you to choose God over the devil… but the only true freedom comes from following God.’

‘But the Lule… !’

‘This generation will be most difficult for all of the Sámit,’ Miťää told Jompá gently, clasping his shoulder in sympathy. ‘The Lule will not be spared this trial either. Not the people, not the animals, not the land. But the important thing is to keep faith. When the bishop comes, even though he is a Moravian, still accept the baptism he offers. If Sápmi holds fast to the Cross, and prays with the prayer of the repentant thief, it will be made whole again, and free—if not in this generation, then in a generation to come.’

Jompá took his time in his return to his siida, as he usually did from a visit with the Russian hermit Mitrofan, both reassured and unsettled. He always got the impression from Miťää, that his knowledge came from some ancient and unreachable source, but that it was rooted deeply in truth and could be trusted. But what he had said, troubled Jompá. As he returned to his siida, he saw in the distance the massive wharfs that were now hosting immense seafaring vessels of full sail, laden down with goods for trade in places Jompá knew he would never see.

And he thought of the fishermen of Julevädno, and he pitied them. There the Moravians were sidling up as friends, but once they were through, the Lule Sámi would be in the exact same position that the Kíllt were now. From what Miťää had said, this would be an inevitable development.

But… if they embraced Christ…

The shamanic beliefs ran deep in Jompá. He knew the spirits of this place, knew them as the old friends they were. He offered libations in respect to them and treated the land with reverence. Christianity had always seemed to Jompá like an act of forgetting them. It had always seemed like something that the city Sámi came to believe, when they’d been away from their homelands and the spirits of their native places for too long.

But then Mitrofan had come: a half-willing refugee of the war between Garderike and Great Rus’, who had set up his hermitage along the Pechenga River.

Mitrofan, unlike the young men who went and became city Sámi and who had embraced the faith of Rome or of Olomouc or of Bogomil, understood this place and its inhabitants. Some of them he fought with and tousled with in terrible struggles, like a nuéjt in search of lost souls; and others of them he respected and honoured, even if it was always in the name of his Crucified and Risen Lord. Miťää’s meek and gentle mien disguised a very tough core—the fact that he had survived here, this long, alone, proved that. And the fact that he had weathered many years of threats and abuse from the nuejt. Having failed to drive him off, many of the old shamans now viewed him as worthy of respect as a peer. Maybe becoming Christian wouldn’t mean the death of their ways after all.

If Miťää said that trials were coming, then Jompá was convinced they were coming. And so were the siida at Peäccam. If Miťää said to endure them, then Jompá would, and so would the siida at Peäccam. And if Miťää said that better days were coming, even if it took generations, then Jompá believed him, and so did the siida at Peäccam.

As a result, the men and women of Peäccam, as well as those of surrounding siidas—Mueťkk, Nuõtťjäuřř, Kíllt and Mázielľk—came willingly to be baptised by Archbishop Spytihnev of Moravia when he arrived in Kola later that spring. And those who had embraced Roman Catholicism or Bogomilism came to be received, through economy, by chrismation into the Orthodox Church. Archbishop Spytihnev also tonsured Miťää formally as a monk with the name of Trifon, turning his lonely hermitage into a monastic community.

Pechenga Monastery, Kola Peninsula​

 

[HistoryDude]

The Sapmi are losing even their religions... let's hope that some of their culture manages to survive at least.

Selling Orthodox land to a Catholic power might've been a bad idea. I can see why it was done, but, yeah, the clergy are not people you want to anger.

 

[Revan86]

TWENTY-TWO.
The Deaths of the Sons of Prokop
6 December 1526 – 25 April 1531​

‘I’m surprised you’re here, milord,’ said Lesana Rychnovská née Sokolová, the Queen of Moravia, on one cold late autumn night, back in 1526.

‘Surprised? Why should you be?’ asked Jozef.

‘Because you’re usually off with Zelezný,’ Lesana retorted coldly. ‘And when you do come back, you smell like him all over. No—it’s just too much to bear, Jozef.’

‘What do you mean?’

Lesana narrowed her eyes. ‘We’ve been married thirteen years, and you still think I don’t know? Lie to the world if you must, but don’t lie to me. It’s humiliation enough for a wife to be spurned so that her husband can kneel down and spread his buttocks for a man like him. Don’t heap further abuse on me by taking me for a simpleton.’

‘Now that—’ Jozef grabbed her wrists hard, ‘is too much to bear. You go too far.’

‘You think I don’t know why you’re here?’ Lesana hissed at him as she struggled in vain against his grip. ‘Jakub’s lying up in his room with the leech tending to him. And perverse as you are, you have yet to sow any seed of your own. That’s what this is about.’

She had struck a nerve with him. Jozef gripped her ruthlessly by the shoulders and exerted his strength, setting her down hard on the bed.

Lesana offered no resistance, acquiescing to his rough caresses and to the assertion of his manhood, and bearing with it as best she could. Jozef had passion in him, true. And Lesana was starved enough for that that she could start to enjoy it. But there was no love in it—not for her, anyway. Whatever tender feelings lay in his breast were all for Zelezný, and whatever other sympathy, it was there for his siblings, for his state. Lesana had long resigned herself to being an afterthought.

But she conceived all the same.

Jakub had recovered from his illness, though he was rather weaker than he had been. And on the thirtieth of August, 1527, Lesana bore to Kráľ Jozef a son.

The son of the Kráľ was named Tomáš, after the last of the ‘three Christian kings’ of an earlier age, and he was given Saint Thomas the Apostle for a patron.

~~~

As Tomáš was nearing his third birthday, on the fourth of April, 1530, there came news from the northwest, from the Ores. Hrabiše Obroditen had reposed peacefully in the Lord at the advanced age of 87, and the title of Hrabja of Drježdźany had passed to his nephew, Svätopluk Rychnovský—now officially Swjatopołk 2. Rychnowski.

‘Are you well?’ asked the new Hrabja solicitously of the king’s brother when Jakub came to receive him.

‘Never better,’ Jakub said—but Swjatopołk wasn’t fooled. Jakub couldn’t quite disguise a wince that evinced some lingering pain. Even so, Swjatopołk didn’t press the issue. He knew Jakub, the responsible one, was a proud man and would not be likely to thank him for prising his way into a private matter.

‘And Cousin Jozef? How is kingship treating him?’

‘You’ve heard of some of the problems we’ve been having, I’m sure.’

‘The unrest among the Sámi, yes. And the tempest over the sale of the Viedenský Les.’

‘I won’t deny we’ve had challenges along those lines, and the expenditures we had to make were rather heavy,’ Jakub told Swjatopołk. ‘But the realm is flourishing. The markets in Olomouc are doing truly fine cheap in amber and furs, and we’re taking some nifty tolls off of the Baltic Sea trade thanks to our stronghold in the North.’

‘And the Church?’ asked Swjatopołk, lightly. He’d never really been one for piety.

‘They’re in a much better position now than they were before,’ Jakub owned. ‘I did have to make them some concessions in exchange for their help in curbing the radical Johanité in Hradiště. Also, they made quite a bit of hay for themselves over the crisis of the Lesní Slovaks, with shows of corporal mercy for refugees; the ordinary people have greater trust in the Church now than they did in father’s time.’

‘Hm.’

‘But you didn’t come here only to visit, did you?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Swjatopołk. ‘Indeed I must speak with your brother.’

‘He should be up and about by now.’

Jakub and Swjatopołk went into the palace audience-chamber together, and there indeed was the Kráľ. Swjatopołk observed his cousin and friend—although Jakub had said nothing of it, he could tell that Jozef was somewhat ill as well. Jakub seemed to be in some manner of inward pain; Jozef, on the other hand, had a distinct sickly tint to his skin and eyes. Swjatopołk was learned enough to recognise the signs of the yellow jaundice.

‘Hail, cousin!’ Swjatopołk spoke with a slightly flippant salute, setting the tone as an easy and informal one, so as not to tax the king… but also to make it not look like he was trying to do so.

‘Svätopluk!’ cried Jozef, rising from his throne with a bit of difficulty. ‘It’s been too long! Am I ever glad to see you! And you’re a Hrabja now—what’s this world coming to?’

‘I could say the same of you, Kráľ,’ Swjatopołk laughed. ‘Who would have thought you’d actually come to rule Moravia so effectively?’

Jozef gripped Swjatopołk’s hand and led him to a seat where the two of them could sit comfortably while they conversed.

‘My uncle,’ said Swjatopołk, ‘was a true Obroditen and a true Sorb. He didn’t want others to get involved in our affairs; even when talking with the King of Moravia he always insisted on holding himself as an equal, not deferring to anyone.’

‘How well I recall,’ Jozef smiled.

‘And yet, we are not equal,’ Swjatopołk owned reluctantly. ‘It was one of the old pagan philosophers, I think, who said there is no worse form of inequality than the pretense that things that are not equal, are. My realm is small. It contains no great settlements; and only the Ores for natural defence. It would be folly to depend only upon our own resources when fending off a determined foe like the East Franks.’

‘I see your point,’ said Jozef, stroking his moustache.

‘As well—my mother might be Obroditen, but my father was a Rychnovský. Ruler of Sorbs or not, I am part of a larger family, and I can neither turn my back on that family when my aid is called upon, nor can I but welcome the same assurance from my kinsmen in turn.’

‘I can see where you’re going with this,’ Jozef noted shrewdly. ‘Go on, then.’

‘I would wish,’ said Swjatopołk, ‘in the best interests of my people and in obedience to my conscience, to renew the ancient feudal charter that existed between Svätý Kráľ Jakub and Ivan Rychnovský.’

Jozef whistled, then looked askance at his brother, the sainted king’s namesake. ‘And what say you, šafár? Just when you’ve tossed one medieval relic out the window, in strolls another one—through the front door and at your side, no less!’

‘An occupational hazard, brother,’ answered Jakub.

‘And here I had just retired the last of the old guard of bowmen myself. Would you want this charter drawn up in Old Slavonic, on scraped vellum?’ Jozef joshed Swjatopołk.

Swjatopołk answered by crossing himself multiple times using two fingers, in imitation of a superstitious peasant, and intoned in mock solemnity: ‘Only if the Archbishop himself comes and affixes his seal, from the dripped wax of his trikirion.’

Jozef laughed aloud. ‘I’m shocked you haven’t been smitten with a bolt from heaven yet.’

Swjatopołk made a little wave of dismissal.

‘In this case,’ Jozef tilted his head a bit, ‘I think we shall oblige you. You share a rather significant border with us, and I can’t deny that having a formal buffer state in the Ores would benefit us greatly.’

~~~​

Swjatopołk was still present in Moravia when Jakub Rychnovský died in his sleep—succumbing to a sudden aftereffect from his illness of three years. He died shriven and anointed, and he was buried the third day after in the royal burial-grounds at Velehrad. Both the king of Moravia and the new wojwóda of Drježdźany mourned the passing of the second of Kráľ Prokop’s sons. And the crown, when Jozef’s time came, would pass to his son by Lesana, the toddler Tomáš.

That day came sooner than expected.

Jozef’s yellow jaundice worsened. The leech told him that his liver was in a bad and worsening state, and as a result, yellow bile was beginning to build up in his extremities—in his abdomen, in his ankles and in his brain. The king’s mood rather reflected this diagnosis, as he tended to flare up in sudden and uncontrollable outbursts of wrath, as well as confusion, disorientation and loss of memory. Jozef died in a pitiable state of pain, on account of the tumours that were growing in his liver.

Tomáš was taken to Velehrad to be crowned, and his father to be buried there. Chief among the mourners of Jozef’s death was the staff sergeant, Zelezný, who laid a single white lily on Jozef’s coffin before he was interred. That was the closest that he ever came to outwardly showing those feelings which religious sentiment and custom had long forced him not to disclose. By contrast, Queen Lesana’s mourning gestures were chill and perfunctory.

At Tomáš’s receipt of the chrism, the oaths of office were vouchsafed to a zbrojnoš, a retainer to the Mikulčických of long ancestral standing in Nitra, named Matej Štefánik.

Štefánik, whose loyalty to his lordship’s house was unquestioned and unquestionable, was in truth a rather lacklustre commander of men. But he was a fair diplomat, and a remarkably capable administrator. It was hoped, particularly in an age where Moravia’s administration was beginning to fling itself to the coldest parts of the north of the Earth as well as westward once again into Milčané, that his tutelage of the young king in those arts would bear fruit in time.

 

[HistoryDude]

Alright, who's the regent? If it's Lesana... that might be bad for Zelezny.

I'm amused about how Lesana ultimately got her husband to conceive an heir... At least it shows that she can think.

Gaining more vassals is probably a good thing.

 

[Revan86]

The Sapmi are losing even their religions... let's hope that some of their culture manages to survive at least.

Selling Orthodox land to a Catholic power might've been a bad idea. I can see why it was done, but, yeah, the clergy are not people you want to anger.

Yeah... it's a pretty bumpy ride for the Sámi right now. But our eremitical Russian friend Miťää is right... it does get better for them. Eventually.

It's kind of funny; sometimes clergy reactions to moves like this are delayed, and show up only in estate demands in the Diet ('the clergy want you to defend our Orthodox brethren in x county', or some such). Here, that obscurantism event popped up literally right after I made the sale. Maybe random? I'm not sure, but I'm RPing it like it's connected.

Alright, who's the regent? If it's Lesana... that might be bad for Zelezny.

I'm amused about how Lesana ultimately got her husband to conceive an heir... At least it shows that she can think.

Gaining more vassals is probably a good thing.

So, Matej Štefánik is the Regent. Not quite sure how that happened. In the version I was using prior to RoM, the game engine would just assign random noblemen to the regency council instead of my previous consort. His stats are pretty good, though.

And yeah, Lesana Sokolová (in the RoM version) had the 'calm' trait, which I must admit served her fairly well here.

The ties between Moravia and Dresden go pretty deep into (CK3) history; it was only a matter of time before those little principalities either got gobbled up by East Francia or chose to throw in their lot instead with me. I think Dresden made a fairly wise choice.

 

[filcat]

Selling Orthodox land to a Catholic power might've been a bad idea. I can see why it was done, but, yeah, the clergy are not people you want to anger.

It's kind of funny; sometimes clergy reactions to moves like this are delayed, and show up only in estate demands in the Diet ('the clergy want you to defend our Orthodox brethren in x county', or some such). Here, that obscurantism event popped up literally right after I made the sale. Maybe random? I'm not sure, but I'm RPing it like it's connected.

It is correct that obscurantism is a pseudo-random pulse event of every two years, with the condition of not having enlightenment embraced.

Its connection to the part in the story is of course an example of magnificence in the writing; that is standard Revan86.

Some of them even advocated an abolition of monarchical rule in toto—a dangerous and subversive proposal indeed, practically unprecedented. But self-rule under Christ, so went the argument, was preferable to rule by a faithless schismatic. Such pamphlets drew particularly strong circulation and approval in and around the experimental Johanit commune of Hradiště.

Though, not exactly able to see its relation to the obscurantism else esotericism, as the dissidents seem to proper make their case quite obvious.

But then again, deliberately obscuring knowledge and/or denying facts is the point of it, so... hmmm.

---

a nemec

Hah - this brings memories, and it has been only two years.

---

 

[Midnite Duke]

Good Luck Tomas. Thanks for updating

 

[Idhrendur]

Ooph, a long regency. Risky since the child might die. But also gives some time to consolidate his claim.