FORTY-FIVE.
The Regency of Alžbeta Kafendová
26 January 1623 – 24 August 1623
Kancelár Augustin Kafenda and
Kráľ Otakar Rychnovský expired within days of each other, not three weeks after this ball took place. Otakar was buried the third day after alongside his forefathers in Velehrad, as was traditional, and the nine-year-old Prisnec Rychnovský was anointed
Kráľ Prisnec 2. of Moravia. Otakar had been lucid and aware enough, at the end, to name
Kancelár Augustin the preferred Regent for his successor. But although the
Kancelár had lived long enough to receive the charge, he did not live long enough to execute it. As a result, the matter of the Regency came up at an emergency session of the
Stavovské Zhromaždenie.
‘I believe it is abundantly clear,’ spoke up the daughter of the recently-deceased
Kancelár, ‘that my father was trusted enough to have charge of the young king’s upbringing and his well-being. As his only descendant and as a neutral guarantor without a vested interest, it behoves me to place my own name forward for consideration as the next Regent.’
It was boldly spoken—even presumptuous. But young Alžbeta cut a very grave and sombre figure in her mourning colours. And added to that, she had the support of the military under General Mojmír z Otradovic, as well as the clear majority of the noble estate within the
Zhromaždenie. With the future of the realm gravely uncertain, even many of the townsmen—if not exactly happy with the prospect—were at least willing to consider the young woman before them and the continuity that she was offering.
The strongest opposition came from the Church. Bishop Nykodém (Lepak) of Spiš, his pectoral cross thrust out boldly upon his barrel chest, his
oprišek features glowering, his black beard bristling and his eyes smouldering with fire and lightning, boomed in thunderous, jeremiacal outrage:
‘Are we to place the fate of God’s chosen anointed, and all of holy Moravia besides, entirely in the hands of this young Jezebel, this filthy Herodias, this seeker of her own worldly ambitions and appetite for power? Mark my words, if the kingdom falls into her hands, the very streets of Olomouc will run red with blood, and the heavens themselves will weep with fire!’
Bishop Nykodém was taken aside by other members of the clerical party and made to quiet himself, though he still sat smouldering. Alžbeta Kafendová regarded the intemperate cleric icily. Another outburst like that, and the
Zhromaždenie would have to evict all the clerics of Spiš from the hall. In comparison, though, the objections made by Ctibor Komenský himself came off as fairly tame and reasonable.
But eventually, Bishop Nykodém’s objections, and those made by Ctibor Komenský, were overcome. Easily two-thirds of the
Zhromaždenie voted in favour of making Kafendová Regent in her father’s place.
Outside of the
Zhromaždenie, opinions were decidedly more mixed—with many of Moravia’s notables and common folk siding, at least in spirit, with the Archbishop of Spiš. Although some ribald tavern wags expressed a hope that Alžbeta might make as good on her young charge as the Regent of the Sorbian
Wójwoda had done on hers, not everyone shared this optimism. The mood was in fact quite gloomy.
(Or at least that is what later historians claimed, given the calamities of the following seven months.)
It was business-as-usual for the first days of Prisnec 2.’s reign. Kafendová happily, on Prisnec’s behalf, renewed the ties of friendship and marital allegiance that bound Moravia to her vassals (Drježdźany and Kola), to her traditional ally of long standing (Ruthenia), and to her more recent allies (Bayern, Carpathia and Great Britain).
Indeed, it very much so appeared as if Moravia’s diplomatic acumen would flourish under Alžbeta Kafendová’s regency! She was very much her father’s daughter, and she had a keen knack for managing official functions, parades, balls, feasts, religious observances, visits of dignitaries and the like. Despite the bad impression she had made on one of her newly-minted young cavalry officers, she proved at once that she could be every bit as suave and as tactful as the
Kancelár who had sired her.
Mojmír Hlinka graduated from the
Rytierska škola in Bratislava with high honours. He was granted the rank of
Slobodník in the Second Cavalry of the
Kapitálová Armáda, and given command over a unit of ten riders and horses. With his helmet under his arm, his armour gleaming and his banner flying proudly at his side, he went to Trenčín, to the estate of the Kotúľa family, and knelt—at the feet of Svietlana Kotúľová. Needless to say, the lucky girl went into utter transports at the proposal. (In his heart of hearts, Mojmír still thought her to be a bit overly-bubbly and energetic, but upon closer acquaintance he found these traits in her to be somewhat endearing. She had a nice face, a nicer body, and a decent family of West Slovak gentry. Happy marriages had been founded on much weaker grounds.)
The wedding was held in March of that year, and the newlywed couple took up residence in Olomouc so that
Slobodník Hlinka could be nearer his post. It was around that time that the news came to Moravia of a woman coming to power in Carpathia:
Általánosnő Vlastimila Detvanský, a niece of the previous Emperor.
It was in April that the internal troubles truly began. This was when Alžbeta Kafendová began to reveal her true nature: the depth of her ambition and cruelty.
For those few months after Kafendová’s accession to power, the Komenskist faction had not remained idle. They had made secret rounds of all the major cities, canvassing the local artisans‘ guilds and merchant-houses. Komenskist agents had also visited every major diocesan seat in the Moravian realm, and had even made overtures to the semi-independent Metropolitanate of Vislania that had evidently met with a fairly warm reception. Both Ctibor Komenský and Hugolín Elefánthy spent much of Great Lent at Spiš—and no one who knew anything suspected that they were there for prayer!
When they returned to Olomouc in April, they brought with them several hundred-yard petitions full of signatures, as well as a stack of laws to be submitted for the Regent’s approval and the ratification of the
Zhromaždenie.
‘My Regent,’ spoke the sleepy-eyed Komenský, ‘we have here a rather urgent and deeply necessary bill of reforms to the Moravian state, which—as you can see—is supported by a relatively lengthy list of goodmen of our major towns and clergymen of our Holy Church, including the Metropolitan of Vislania. It would be wise of you to pass this bill of reforms into law.’
‘Not to mention,’ spoke the Hungarian merchant at his side, ‘it would provide numerous opportunities for an increase of revenue to the state, which could be directed into numerous underdeveloped enterprises for the advancement of the realm’s interests, both at home and abroad! Consider the expenditures that this bill would entail as an investment into the nation’s future.’
Alžbeta took the large stack of papers and gave a cool bespectacled glance over the first page. No sooner had she done so than she shoved the entire thing to the floor, scattering papers all across the hall!
‘Do you
dare speak to me of the nation’s
future,’ she hissed at Elefánthy, ‘when what you propose here is nothing less than the
stifling of our foreign trade, the
inflation of prices on our goods, the
emasculation of our nobility, the
impotence of our armed forces and the
imposition of utter anarchy upon our entire way of life?! This bill is neither necessary nor an investment—it is
treason! Guards!’
Four members of the palatial guard stepped forward, behind the bewildered and shocked advisors to the Crown.
‘Take these two men into custody. Seize that list of signatories to their “bill of reforms”. We shall launch an immediate investigation into the culpability of these men. And we shall convoke an immediate council of judgement upon Ctibor Komenský and Hugolín Elefánthy, so that they may answer the charges of conspiracy, sedition and high treason against the Crown!’
If it wasn’t clear from this outburst that Kafendová had no intention of either fairness or clemency upon her father’s two most influential political opponents, it was
certainly clear from the Council of Judgement that ensued. Not only Ctibor and Hugolín, but also fifteen of their close associates (all of whom were signatories to the petition) were put on trial for one of the two capital crimes on Moravia’s lawbooks, and numerous hundreds of others were rounded up and arrested on lesser charges.
Komenský and Elefánthy were found guilty and sentenced to death, along with twelve of the fifteen who were arraigned with them. Ctibor Ignac Komenský and the lesser members of the ‘conspiracy’ were sentenced to hang from scaffolds in the castle courtyard in full view of the ten-year-old
Kráľ, and the Regent who was acting in his name. Hugolín Elefánthy—being a foreigner and a heretic—was sentenced to the much longer and more torturous death of being broken on the wheel.
The arrests, executions and imprisonments which followed throughout Moravia were a shock—not only to the Komenskists but also to some of the prior
Kancelár’s more moderate supporters. Although Mojmír z Otradovic carried out his orders and even approved of them, his subordinates,
Kapitán Jaroslav Hlinka and
Poručík Miloslav Hodža, had deep misgivings. Hlinka summoned his young son and his lieutenant to him, and told them:
‘I want you to keep a keen eye on the king, and on the Regent. Don’t move against the Regent just yet—but if she decides to usurp power for herself, I want to be among the first to know. Understood?’
‘I understand, Father,’ said
Slobodník Mojmír.
Poručík Miloslav nodded his firm understanding.
‘Understand this,’ said Jaroslav Hlinka. ‘We are noblemen, all of us. We have ancient and deep roots in this blessed soil, which was christened by Saint Methodius. But without God and without our King, we are nothing—we’d have been slaves to the East Franks. Remember: our first loyalty is to Jesus Christ. And our second loyalty is to the
Kráľ.’
Both Mojmír and Miloslav nodded once more, and exchanged a grave look with each other.
‘May God keep you,’ said Jaroslav Hlinka.
~~~
The townsmen had been cowed into submission by the events of April, and the clergy were all under the careful watch of
gendarmes loyal to the Regent. But similar conversations were being had all throughout Moravia, as serious questions began to arise about the Regent’s sudden, and sanguine, exercise of power that ought to have belonged solely to the King. Loyalties began to be tested… would the military side with the Regent or the King?
The deadly stroke fell on the Ides of August.
Alžbeta Kafendová called for a private audience with the ten-year-old king. When Prisnec entered, she was admiring some of the antiques and pieces that had belonged to the prior Rychnovských kings, and which now adorned the walls of the kings’ traditional study. She ran her finger across the sceptre that had been made for
the first Kráľ Prisnec. That king’s namesake watched her do so with trepidation. Those things were for the royal family alone! What right had she to touch them?
‘All this history,’ the Regent mused. ‘So many generations of kings, enduring so many trials sent by God and by the Devil…’
‘Um…’ Prisnec stammered, ‘please don’t touch those!’
‘Hm?’ Alžbeta turned to the young king, as though just noticing him. ‘I thought you, of all people, might be more understanding, Prisnec. After all, I
am the woman who is charged with your well-being. And the well-being of the realm. Which, of course, this is all about.’
‘What is it all about?’ asked Prisnec.
‘The past,’ Alžbeta gestured around the room, ‘and the future. Surely you must have given it some thought yourself? You aren’t a naïve little boy anymore. Surely you must have wondered what you will accomplish when you’re grown, and ready to take the Crown yourself?’
‘I might have.’
‘Well,’ said Alžbeta, ‘that’s one thing the two of us have very much in common. You see… your forebears, Prisnec—the great men who left us all of this—they were driven by a desire to uphold and transmit that which fell to their charge, safely down the generations. Laws, customs, dress, activity, faith… you understand all of what I’m telling you, I think.’
Prisnec was silent. He closed his mouth firmly.
‘I too have been given a charge,’ said Alžbeta. ‘I know better than most that the most recent of the Rychnovských have
not upheld what they were sworn to uphold. Your great-great-grandfather, Prokop. He was the first to start curtailing our traditional liberties, given to us by God. Then came your great-grandfather, Jozef—no better
that buggerer. And finally we come to your grandfather, Tomáš, the cruellest villain of this
farce that Moravia has become.’ Kafendová’s voice became harsh, and took on a sinister edge. ‘
Despota. He wanted us to call him
master, as though we were only slaves—
things to be used.
Puppets to be toyed with. My father understood this. He understood that unless something were done, Moravia would be nothing more than a prison, a playground of wickedness upon which the Rychnovských could exercise their tyranny over us all with a whim.’
Alžbeta took down a sword from the wall.
‘Put that
back!’ Prisnec insisted, balling his little hands into fists.
Alžbeta paused, but she did not replace the blade. Instead she turned it so that the light from its reflection flashed across Prisnec’s eyes.
‘Do you recognise this?’ she asked.
Prisnec again closed his mouth, and simply glared at the woman.
‘
This,’ Alžbeta murmured, running her finger along the blade, ‘was the sword of Radomír 1.
Ah—I see that it has been kept in excellent condition. He bore it with him into battle against the Sorbs, when the Sorbs were still heathen. He brought this sword to the
Blood-Court of Brehna. Radomír, you see, was a lot like your grandfather, my
Kráľ. He thought that he could rule by force of whim. By
terror.’
There was something ugly, something cruel and mocking, in the way she used the title of
Kráľ toward Prisnec. Prisnec found his feet and rushed to the door. He tried to lift the latch, but it had been bolted shut. He pounded on the door.
‘Open the door! Open the door! This is an order of your king! Open up!’
‘I’m afraid the men outside will no longer answer to your orders,
môj Kráľ.’
Prisnec turned to face Alžbeta. She was now advancing on him with sword in hand.
‘What are you doing? Stay back!’
‘What am I doing?’ asked Alžbeta as she advanced on him, backing him into the corner. ‘I’m
saving Moravia. I’m
ensuring our future. I’m
preserving the nobility in all of its right. It’s a pity that you won’t be around to see it. You have an appointment with your maker.’
Alžbeta thrust the sword of Radomír 1. viciously into the boy-king’s chest, and twisted it to make sure that it struck the heart. The last thing Prisnec saw before he died was the cruel smile which played upon his Regent’s lips.
Mojmír and Miloslav were the ones who, feeling on edge, made their way along the palace corridor to the king’s study. They were shocked to find two of the garrison stationed outside, and the door to the study barred. There was no earthly reason for such an arrangement. Miloslav, the superior officer, strode forward and demanded: ‘Let us pass!’
‘The Regent has ordered that none may have entry. She has private business.’
‘Is the King within?’ asked Miloslav.
The guards didn’t answer.
‘
Jebni na svoju babičku!’ Miloslav barked. ‘I am
ordering you to tell me:
is the King within?’
A moment passed, and then on all sides steel was drawn.
‘
Treason!’ Miloslav cried as he engaged a garrisoner with his blade. ‘
Fire! Murder! Treason! Go for help, Mojmír! Go!’
Mojmír had his blade out as well and was beginning to engage the second garrisoner when Miloslav gave him the order. Dutifully, he backed his way down the hall, not daring to break into a run with a man with a blade at his back. Yells echoed all around him, and soon there were the echoing clashes and grunts and cries of fighting all up and down the corridor as the men who swore loyalty to the King had to fend off those who’d sworn loyalty to the Regent—and others who had not made up their minds yet were forced to decide at once, or else flee.
Mojmír Hlinka fought his way back to the courtyard, but not before he saw the horrible sight of Queen Mother Vasilisa being run through with a spear by one of the palace guards who had sworn to protect her. It was as though the gates of Hell itself had opened up, and the demons were thick in swarm, attacking those still loyal to God. Mojmír cast his eyes heavenward in terrified supplication.
At that moment, into the courtyard rode Mojmír z Otradovic, with Jaroslav Hlinka at his side. They were flying the banner, not of the Moravian state, but of the Rychnovských! It was clear which side they were on! Mojmír Hlinka lifted his voice in praise to God for this deliverance, and joined the fray with a renewed determination.
Otradovic dismounted, as did
Kapitán Jaroslav. Unfortunately, the
Hrabě never made it to the door. One of the garrison had drawn his bow and loosed a flight that caught Mojmír z Otradovic full in the neck. He died in the reins of his horse.
‘Shoot!’ cried Jaroslav Hlinka.
The assassin who had killed the
Hrabě did not have much time to enjoy his victory, as one of the trained archers of the loyal
Kapitálová Armáda put a return-to-sender arrow straight through the traitor’s face.
The army and the garrison did battle for several hours all around Olomouc Castle. Mojmír stormed his way back through the doors and down the corridor to the study. Unfortunately, he very nearly tripped over the sprawled-out body of his father’s man and friend Miloslav Hodža, who had been slain in the king’s defence, as he passed by the open door of the study. The piteous young body of the king lay face-down just past the threshold, in a pool of his own blood. Ahead of him, though, he saw the retreating figures of that same garrisoner that Hodža had been fighting, and the skirts of the Regent.
Mojmír Hlinka saw red. With a blood-curdling yell, the young
Slobodník surged forward. He was still very much a fighter, though, so he stayed just out of range of the garrisoner’s blade as he assayed his attack. He couldn’t very well go
through the garrisoner to get to Kafendová, but he very much could vent his rage upon this faithless piece of garbage in front of him.
It was actually never much of a match. Mojmír was young, strong, capable with a blade, and had just spent the past two years training at cavalry school—whereas the garrisoner probably only received basic training at the hands of the palace sergeant. Mojmír’s blade pierced the garrisoner’s throat, and cut free through his carotid artery, showering Mojmír in speckles of blood.
Alžbeta Kafendová fled from this grim spectacle. She had been planning on a flawless palace coup that she could present as a
fait accompli to the
Stavovské Zhromaždenie. But she had been thwarted by the shouting of Hodža at the door. And then she had discovered that her control over the garrison was not as absolute as she’d hoped. It would be her final mistake. Although she could well use a king’s blade to despatch a ten-year-old child, it was a different tale when she was backed into a corner herself and forced to have ado with an eighteen-year-old man. Mojmír freed the blade from her grasp with a masterful parry, and then cut Kafendová’s head from her shoulders with the next stroke.
~~~
It was over. Fighting continued in the palace and in the town well after it was over, but the
Kapitálová Armáda had won the day over the Olomouc garrison. If ‘won’ was really the proper word.
Kráľ Prisnec 2. was dead. Queen Mother Vasilisa was dead.
Hrabě Mojmír z Otradovic was dead.
Poručík Miloslav Hodža was dead. It would later turn up, much to
Slobodník Mojmír Hlinka’s chagrin, that his father was also dead. All of the Rychnovských who had lived in the palace, mostly the
Kráľ’s paternal-line uncles, maiden aunts, second and fourth cousins, were either dead, the garrison having gotten to them before the
Armáda arrived, or had disappeared—hopefully into safety. (A handful of them would later turn up, having taken shelter in Mozyř with
Tsar’ Lev 3. Rychnovský of Great Rus’, or in Budyšín under
Wójwoda Wojen 2.’s protection.)
The surviving members of the
Stavovské Zhromaždenie were gathered together for an emergency vote. To whom would power pass?
Once the chain of events became clear to them all, the
Zhromaždenie elected to present
Slobodník Mojmír Hlinka to the clergy in Velehrad to be anointed and crowned—with
Poručík Hodža’s young son Pravoslav to be given preference as Mojmír’s heir. It seemed to them only fitting, as Hlinka and Hodža had been the ones to raise the alarum and prove their loyalty to the prior king in the resulting
débâcle.
Thus it was that a young, green cavalry officer fresh from the academy, of old but distinctly humble Silesian gentry blood, was taken to Velehrad, anointed with the holy chrism, and the regalia of the Rychnovských placed upon his head and in his hands.
