The Thin Wedge of Europe

[Bfc kfc]

Általánosnő Vlastimila Detvanský, a niece of the previous Emperor.

Általánosnő... What? If you meant general as the military rank, Tábornoknő is your phrase. Általános means general as in "general knowledge".

 

[Midnite Duke]

New Dynasty. With typical RNG, the six-point monarch will sip from the fountain of youth and live three-score and ten while the eleven-point heir will step into a rabbit-hole, break his leg and be put down as if was Glitterhoof. How long and how costly was it to regain your stability? Thanks

 

[Revan86]

INTERLUDE FOUR.
When Guards Change, So Does Policy
9 November 2021​

There was a minor flurry of gossip and rubbernecking on the campus of Univerzita svatého Michaela Archanděla early that November, after one of the deans discovered in the men’s dormitories a recording—a 12” vinyl LP of Kafenda’s 1987 album, Reign in Fire. Kafenda, actually the mostly one-man project of the late Stigbjörn Tebler (vocals, guitar, bass, songwriting, lyrics), was (along with the British band Venom) one of the pioneers of the ‘black metal’ style—and its Satanic and occult lyrical themes had not escaped the dean’s notice.

Possessing such an album and keeping it on the grounds was a matter for the University’s Disciplinary Committee. It violated numerous institutional bylaws and the student code of conduct, which proscribed the propagation of obscene, blasphemous, debased or anti-social messages in any artistic medium. Eventually, the owner of the album was found and remanded to the Committee, though the identity of the offending student was not disclosed to the student body in general.

‘I trust you heard about the little incident over the weekend?’ Weissfeld remarked brusquely to his class when they filed into his room the following Tuesday.

There was a general noise of assent among them.

‘Rather convenient little segue for the topic of today’s class—I really ought to thank whoever brought that vinyl in for giving me an opening act. Whatever we might say about Mr Tebler’s… uh… “music”, I don’t think we can fault his historical awareness.’

‘I think he chose that name for his band because she represented the epitome of evil and twisted desire,’ Cecilia Bedyrová offered. ‘Alžbeta Kafendová certainly did have that mystique.’

Weissfeld raised his bushy brows. ‘Oh, of course. Mystique. After all, it was only her dastardly feminine wiles and her diabolical charms that made the Zhromaždenie put power in her hands.’

Cecilia didn’t even blush. By this time, the class was used to Dr Weissfeld’s preferred pedagogical technique of sarcastic grumbling.

‘It’s not like the massive institutional support from the rest of the nobility, and from certain parts of the military, helped any. Oh, no no no. Also, if she did have congress with the Evil One as part of her bid for ultimate power… you’d think he might have tipped her off that she didn’t actually enjoy Otradovic’s total and unwavering support? Or Hlinka’s, for that matter.’

Weissfeld walked around to the projector and gave it one of his firm slaps. The fan sputtered to life and the beam of light from the front caught the dust in the air over the students’ heads, between himself and the front of the room.

‘Actually, though, there is one way you… could, possibly… call Alžbeta Kafendová’s Regency a success. Komenský? Elefánthy?’ Weissfeld jerked a finger across his fleshy neck in an unmistakeable gesture. ‘Brutal? Tyrannical? Yes—but effective. The Komenskists, who had been such a force in 1613, were a dead letter by the end of 1623. Everybody left was a Kafendist of one stripe or another.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ said Živana, ‘how the Komenskist ideology was able to sway the Church so much. I mean—wasn’t it considered a radical policy platform at the time?’

Weissfeld shrugged. ‘Depends. If you were a nobleman looking to hold onto your serfs and push out your plot-markers? Sure. If you were a merchant looking for better deals in Pest and Wien? Absolutely. Komenskism was intolerably radical for them. But if you were a common-born free farmer, or a craftsman, or a parish priest, Komenský’s reforms were just mere common-sense. That’s one reason why Kafendová thought it was so dangerous.’

He slid his slide deck forward one from the portrait of Alžbeta Kafendová on the screen, to one of the young king Mojmír 2.

‘Ideology’s a funny thing,’ the professor said. ‘Komenskism had a lot in common with what we would now call the “left”: championing the underdog; protecting vulnerable industries; basing currency on government credit rather than the value of gold. But it also had a decidedly reactionary streak. Komenský was a man of faith. None of this opytovanie nonsense for him! Altar, throne and cottage—that was his political creed. Admired the Ming Dynasty. It’s just that the interests of the “cottage” happened to be opposed to the interests of gentry and merchant-princes of the time.’

‘Something like a revolutionary-conservative, then?’ asked Petra Šimkovičová.

Dr Weissfeld raised his hand and waggled it from side to side in an equivocal gesture. ‘Kind of anachronistic; revolutionary-conservatism didn’t really pop up until the Wars of Ideo—okay, fine, essentially, yes.’

‘But then, after the Kafenda coup—!’ came Dalibor Pelikán’s voice.

‘Yes, yes. The Kafenda coup. Like I said, everyone left standing after that was a Kafendist of some kind. Polzic was left at the head of the Diplomatic Corps. Appointed by Alžbeta himself. Fact that he held onto office after Mojmír 2. came to power shows you how smooth a talker he was. Nostic: career military. They even went a bit loopy and let one of us Nový Sadec Jews into the inner Zhromaždenie. And Mojmír 2.? Ideological chip off the old block. Bit of a rocky start, but: empiricism, free trade—and noble privileges—all made a comeback in his early reign. Now…’

Official government ideologies in 1604 under Despota Tomáš 2. Rychnovský, and in 1624 under Kráľ Mojmír 2. Hlinka, respectively​

On the screen there appeared a header entitled: ‘Rychnovských: Centralising Autocrats?’ and a digital facsimile of the family portrait of Prokop which hung in the Olomouc museum.

‘You may have heard an… interpretation of Moravian royal history. Goes something like this. The Rychnovských were dark-hearted, overbearing, whip-happy Asian-facing tyrants. And the Hlinkovci were Westernising liberals of a rather lighter touch, more content with laisser-faire. Raise your hands if you’ve heard this one.’

Most of the hands rose; Petronila Simkovičová’s was one of the first.

Professor Weissfeld chuckled with a kind of grim satisfaction. ‘Hm. Ha, yes, well. Like all historical myths this one does contain a certain grain of truth. Pokey, here? Dedicated autocrat. Never missed a chance to strip nobles of their power, then rub their noses in it by appointing common-born officers and bureaucrats. Professional military? Civil service? Secret police? Sure—he did all that. Not to mention he gave us the first glimmers of what would be called “mercantilism” in the West. And, of course…’

The slide shifted to one of Tomáš 2., in his full regalia as a Byzantine despot and autocrat.

‘Here we have… Tommy. Dedicated foe of anything that threatened the prestige and power vertical of Olomouc. But…’

The portrait of Tomáš slid away from the centre and took its place in a series of miniature portraits and lithographic sketches, containing both the Rychnovský and Hlinka ruling dynasties.

‘The grain of truth is this. On average, the Rychnovských were bigger supporters of a powerful monarchy and a strong central state than the Hlinkovci. Mojmír’s ties to the Kafendists were real. And many of the Rychnovských did like getting close to Russians, Khazars, Magyars, Byzantines.

‘But there were “centralisers”, “autocrats”, mercantilists in both ruling houses; also, those who took a more lenient approach. And whether or not they “looked East” or “looked West” had practically nothing to do with it. Kráľ Tomáš 1.? Biggest Westerniser there was. French mother, Italian wife, loved everything British and German. Just look at his collection of knick-knacks in the Olomouc Museum. But also? Major consolidation of royal authority. And on the flip-side, Radomír 4. Ardent Russophile. Poetry, art, folktales, architecture. But he also delegated a lot of his power to the nobility. One of the most de-centralised rulers.’

Weissfeld flipped to another slide. A map of Moravia showed up.

‘A lot like Russia, fellow Slavs, Moravia has always been a little… let’s say, “Janus-faced”. European-facing side, Asian-facing side. Westernisers, Russophiles. Which side we favour tends to be based on political interest… really to say, economic interest.’

Another click from Dr Weissfeld. Moravia’s map shifted to a choropleth animation which showed the various territorial expansions and retractions dating from the tenth century through the sixteenth.

‘There, see? Tenth century Rychnovských, dependent on German and even occasionally Anglo-Saxon alliances in the West. Czech expansion. Trade routes naturally went that way. Eleventh century? Pendulum swung the other way, especially after the subjugation of Nitra. Bulgaria becomes a big ally now. Twelfth century, with Eustach—Moravia turns back toward the West. Germans, French, Italians. Then in the thirteenth century with Letopisár, Magyars and Bulgarians become important again, and then you start seeing Christianised Ruthenians making their way onto the scene. But you still have these contacts with Italy, Bavaria, England going into the fourteenth century.’

‘Cycles,’ Cecilia Bedyrová murmured. ‘It goes in cycles.’

Weissfeld’s jowls deepened with gratification. He lifted a hand.

‘That’s one of the major historiographical schools of thought. Not mine. But it’s had a bigger influence than many of us want to admit. But here’s a good place to jump in. Who’s our discussant for today’s lecture on the Hlinkovci…?’

 

[HistoryDude]

It's nice to see a look at how future generations see these events.

Also, Satanic? Weren't they communist? Were they religious communists? Or is the religion thing a backlash against atheistic communism?

Also, these "Wars of Ideology" sound fascinating...

 

[Revan86]

Ctibor Ignac Komenský was something like a religious socialist.

Alžbeta Kafendová was his mortal enemy, and also a power-hungry regicide. But her interests were on the side of the nobility.

I think that might have been my fault for having the two leaders of the factions share similar-looking surnames...



EDIT: Oh, you mean the MODERN setting?! Dang, that was a misread on my part. Sorry, @HistoryDude!

Uh, yeah. They're socialists. But when you look at how actually-existing socialist governments dealt with subcultures like heavy metal, it becomes clear that they could do moral panics with the best of 'em...

 

[Revan86]

... in which I answer a certain question about a rather confusing Magyar form of address. I actually wrote most of the backstory back in Lions, and most of this chapter before you commented, @Bfc kfc, in case you may suspect that this is an ad hoc explanation. I could still be grammatically and usage-wise way off base, though. I really don't know that much Hungarian.

FORTY-SIX.
Educating a King
25 August 1623 – 17 January 1625

Kráľ Mojmír 2. quickly learned that there was far more to being a king than simply dressing up and looking suitably grave and majestic at various public functions… though for a lad of habits as retiring as Mojmír’s, there was certainly more than enough of that.

The realm was in an utter shambles after the Kafenda coup. Civil officials were hauled in from all corners of the realm for the second time in the space of four months, to answer in detail for their movements, activities, contacts and political loyalties for the previous eight. Military officials fared even worse. Drumhead trials were held in all four armies, and summary justice exacted at the barrel of a musket from those officers of Plukovník rank and higher, who had sworn too rash a loyalty to the late Regent.

What was worse: there were reports of Estonian and Scandinavian rebels in the Kola Protectorate who were gaining traction and popularity as a result in the distant uncertainty in Moravia. The Lord Protector of the Sámi, Jeansa 3. Saiva, had remained loyal to the old king. When news reached the far north of Prisnec’s death, the legitimacy of his government was thrown into question. This gave his Estonian and Scandinavian subjects hope that Livonia and Garderike, respectively, might be able to move in and reclaim their lost territories.

300 MP for 4 stab? Yes please!

In response Mojmír, whose saving grace as monarch was his minor acumen in administrative affairs, undertook a thorough overhaul of the government. He spent his formidable energy as well as considerable reserves of political capital on restoring the good name and credit of both the civil service and the military bureaucracy.

‘I plan,’ he told the military advisor Zdravomil z Nostic, ‘to make certain reforms. How can I go about it?’

The burly, grizzled old soldier crossed his arms as he delivered his answer. ‘Well—you are the King. How do you think you should go about it?’

‘I—well,’ said Mojmír, a bit tepidly. ‘I’d thought about convoking the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, so that they could give their input.’

Zdravomil chuckled. ‘You’re like as not to get fifty different proposals, each one disagreeing with all the others, that way. Are you ready to handle that?’

‘Uh… hm.’ Mojmír put his hand to his beardless chin.

‘I’d say that you have some solid instincts about you,’ Zdravomil offered, not unkindly. ‘But instincts alone aren’t enough to rule. You have to be able to distil situations, make decisions, and then act on them without hesitation. Indecision breeds insecurity.’

‘I see.’

‘I tell you what,’ said the military advisor. ‘Your father would certainly have seen things your way, if he had lived to be in your place. He was always one for fairness, for respect of rights, for deliberation.’

‘Yes…’ Mojmír said. ‘He always said that the Zhromaždenie was one of Moravia’s greatest gifts, both to its people and to the world. The fact that we call upon men to represent the people before the king, and upon the king to represent the people before God, was a sacred truth to him.’

‘It was,’ nodded Zdravomil knowingly.

‘I’m not sure I can represent the people before God.’

‘That,’ Zdravomil told Mojmír bracingly, ‘is the easy part of your job. Not that prayer or fasting or almsgiving are ever truly easy, mind you: all of us are sinners who fall short of the glory of God. But the hard part of your job will be deciding how best to enact the will of God in your kingdom. Do you believe that convoking the Stavovské Zhromaždenie to reform the government is the right course of action?’

‘I do,’ said Mojmír, more confidently.

‘That’s more like it,’ Zdravomil nodded with an approving growl. ‘Clear sight, facing forward.’

~~~​

Kráľovná Svietlana, rodená Kotúľová, when she married the young cavalry officer from Hlinka, would never have expected to see the Crown of Kráľ Vojtech 2. upon her bridegroom’s head. At the time, she thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. She would be queen! She would get to plan all the visits, host all the balls, be adorned and arrayed in the latest of high fashions (all the easier now that foreign luxury goods were so cheap!), and be admired and respected by all. But the reality of her new position sank in very quickly when she entered Olomouc Castle.

The corridors had been drenched with blood. The servants had already been working on it for a couple of weeks, but still they were trying to scrub out the rusty-coloured patches that had been left by all the gruesome death that had reigned in the castle during Alžbeta Kafendová’s coup. Add to that, that many of the servants and courtiers and palace hangers-on had fled the hellish scene, with some of the less scrupulous ones having absconded with various valuables and state papers in their flight.

As the mistress of the castle, the new queen understood at once that she wouldn’t be hosting any balls or official state functions any time soon. Not unless she rolled up her already-short sleeves and began pitching in to help clean up the mess.

As it turned out, Svietlana had found her calling. Effervescent and outgoing she might be, but not stupid, and certainly not lazy! She gathered up her immense reserves of young energy and at once set to work—with her voice, with charcoal and draught-paper, and even with stiff-bristled brushes and water with lye. Within the next four weeks, she had taken inventory of the remaining palace valuables, and had overseen the cleaning of (or herself cleaned) about eighty-five per cent of the soiled and damaged furniture and wares. The castle, the feasting-hall and the private quarters were beginning to look respectable again.

~~~​

Kráľ Mojmír 2. called the Zhromaždenie to session on the thirtieth of January, 1624. He addressed the three estates there with what he hoped was the proper degree of stridency and determination.

‘Esteemed gentlemen and worthies of Moravia,’ he told them, ‘I, the man who by God’s grace and by your own judgement hold the authority and office of King, have called you here three weeks after the Feast of Theophany to come to several… several decisions.

‘First of all,’ he spoke, ‘I wish you, the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, to establish and maintain yourselves as a permanent body. The right and responsibility of advising and supporting the Kráľ is every bit as sacred and God-given as is my own office as your representative before that same Author.

‘Secondly, I wish you, the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, to take on the additional right and responsibility of draughting and proposing laws for our people which are salutary, just and well-pleasing to God. For myself I reserve the right to bring those proposals into fruition by my word, and to enforce the Lord’s justice for His people.

‘Thirdly, I hereby relinquish to the four nations outside of Moravia Proper, certain rights of oversight and maintenance of their own territories. This is in spirit a return to the ancient traditions of our shared Slavic heritage, wherein the Bohemian, Silesian, Nitran and Rusin peoples, each with their own liege lords, saw fit to render their own modes of justice, in their own tongues, under contract from the king. This is an arrangement many of you have desired in the past, and this desire accords with my own.

‘And lastly, I wish to restore as far as I may, those reasonable and healthful exercises of right and privilege, which were enjoyed for generations by the great families of our realm. The Rychnovských of the royal line may no longer be with us, the wronged victims of treason and murder—but their kinsmen, lesser of title but by no means lesser of loyalty, still are. So too are the Přemyslovci, the Mikulčických and the Koceľukovcov, as well as the numerous ancient houses of great worth and proven service to God and to the Moravian realm.’

There was thunderous applause in the hall, and no doubt the former Kancelár Augustin Kafenda was smiling from beyond the grave. Each of these proposals was taken up with relish by the newly-empowered Stavovské Zhromaždenie, which took upon itself for the first time in Moravia’s history the status of a permanent legislative body with clearly-defined constitutional duties.

~~~​

In addition to these domestic reforms (and summoning the fortitude to place them before the representatives of the Moravian peoples), there were certain points of diplomatic nicety that eluded the new king at first. He had to rely on more seasoned diplomats to educate him before he made an ass of himself before foreign heads of state.

‘Why is the Empress of Carpathia called an Általánosnő?’ asked Kráľ Mojmír. ‘Why don’t we call her Császárnő? Why would we call her something that just means “broad” or “common”?’

The senior diplomatic adviser, Bohumil z Polzic, looked over the new Kráľ. ‘Please do not take offence, vaše Veličenstvo, but… tell me, did you take history in your classes at the Rytierska škola?’

‘A bit,’ admitted the teenage king. ‘Not much.’

Polzic made bold to put an arm around the new king’s shoulders. ‘Back when the Carpathian Empire was first founded, the question did arise of what to call the ruler. More than a king, yes? The Vlachs already had a king, as did the Bulgars and the Magyars. But the Eastern Romans were quite jealous of the titles Kaisar and Vasileus. And Marko the Heartbreaker didn’t want to needlessly antagonise his southern neighbour. Are you with me so far?’

‘Okay… I’m with you…’

Polzic continued: ‘So Marko looked for titles that would be suitably grandiose—higher than a despot, but not a rival to the Vasileus. Eventually he came across the title Katholikos: a courtly office that was responsible for the whole empire, in common, but still subservient to the Emperor.’

‘Sort of like the Katholikos-Patriarch of All Georgia?’ asked Mojmír.

‘Exactly,’ said the diplomat. ‘But, you see, unlike in Georgia, there’s a significant contingent of Roman Catholics in Carpathia. For the Emperor to call himself Katholikos might appease the masters of New Rome, but it would cause confusion and outrage in those among his subjects whose faith was in the West, in Old Rome. A compromise was needed. Eventually, Marko elected simply to translate Katholikos into Magyar as Általános, and adopt that as his secular title.’

The major happening from abroad, however, did not come from Carpathia—but from one of Moravia’s other allies. The voyage of the HMS Ambleside, the HMS Glamorgan and the HMS Conflagration was one which had been followed with great interest, as the small British fleet under the command of Commodore Cynog Prowell had set sail from Plymouth Dock in Devon on the sixth of April in the year 1621, with the intention of circumnavigating the globe. And on the first of April, 1624, the HMS Conflagration sailed back into port in Devon, having come from the south. The HMS Ambleside and the HMS Glamorgan had both been lost at sea.

Commodore Prowell himself had managed to cross the massive ‘pacific’ ocean which lay west of the New World, but he had been killed following a missionary expedition to the isle of Subuth in the East Indies. He had been struck by a poison arrow, after having led the British crews onto one side in a battle between two of the island’s kingdoms.

Of the original crew complement of the small British fleet setting out from Plymouth Dock, which had consisted of 302 men, only 21 had returned alive abord the Conflagration. The Conflagration had, however, managed to stay seaworthy and under sound rigging and sail with the help of 58 additional crew (the majority of them impressed into the service against their will, as slave labour) which had joined on the voyage: including 28 Lokonos from British Guiana, 15 Sama Bajau from the Spice Islands, 9 Waungwana and 6 Arab sailors from the islands of Sansibar and Pemba along the African coast. This motley and multiracial crew disembarked to the great enthusiasm and curiosity of their British welcoming committee, though naturally the loss of Commodore Prowell was deeply mourned.

Later that year, the first ‘gallop’ cavalry units armed with long-bored hand guns entered Moravia’s service in the Krakovská Armáda. Or perhaps ‘long-bored’ was being a bit overly generous. The new karabína musket was much shorter than the standard infantry musket, and much inferior in both accuracy and impact power, but it began to be favoured by the Moravian cavalry for another reason. What it lacked exactness and force, it made up for in ease of reloading from horseback.

~~~​

‘A physic! Send for a physic!’

The urgent call came from the quarters of the eight-year-old Pravoslav Hodža. The poor lad was burning up, and he could not be roused to consciousness from sleep. As soon as his condition became known, the physician arrived… but he was very quickly followed by a priest.

The entire court mourned the sudden and unexpected end of the noble and loyal Hodža line. A permanent monument was erected in the courtyard of Olomouc Cathedral in memory of both Miloslav and Pravoslav, in gratitude for their service to the Moravian Realm, and in hope of the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

 

[Bfc kfc]

@Bfc kfc, in case you may suspect that this is an ad hoc explanation. I could still be grammatically and usage-wise way off base, though. I really don't know that much Hungarian.

It's fine. If it is really meant to translate Katholikos, I can't think of a better translation. Maybe Katholikosz, but Általános seems fine. For the Armenian and Georgian spiritual leader, we use Katholikosz, but for the leader of Armenian Christianity, we may as well use pápa (Pope) or pátriárka (Patriach), but Katolikosz, or Katholikosz is more common.

 

[Midnite Duke]

My sympathies to the heir's family. The King is off to a good start. Is Great Britain the leading colonizer? Thanks

 

[Von Acturus]

The King seems to be doing quite well. Let's see if his careful balancing act of reform and tradition can be maintained after the shock of the annihilation of the previous dynasty fades...

 

[Revan86]

I don't know mechanics of the game, can it generate some pretender to the throne as Lzhe-Prisnec aka allegedly miraculously saved prince of old dynasty?

Welcome to the AAR, @Voidm@n! Thank you for the comment!

Very good question. I don't know the answer: I've never had the Lzhe-Dmitri scenario happen to me before in-game. I suppose it could, though, particularly after the Third Rome DLC pack. By the way: something very interesting happens to Ruthenia in a few decades. Keep an eye out!

New Dynasty. With typical RNG, the six-point monarch will sip from the fountain of youth and live three-score and ten while the eleven-point heir will step into a rabbit-hole, break his leg and be put down as if was Glitterhoof. How long and how costly was it to regain your stability? Thanks

My sympathies to the heir's family. The King is off to a good start. Is Great Britain the leading colonizer? Thanks

Heh. There was a reason I didn't reply to this comment before. You're getting just a little too good at sniffing out my plot twists.

Mojmír isn't doing too badly. He thankfully inherited a ton of monarch-points, which helped to bring stab back up.

Colonisation of the New World in this timeline has been slow. Britain has to share the field with Scotland [basically Iceland now], Neustria, West Francia, Luxembourg and the western Muslim powers Asturias and Beja. The new world looks really interesting right now...

It's fine. If it is really meant to translate Katholikos, I can't think of a better translation. Maybe Katholikosz, but Általános seems fine. For the Armenian and Georgian spiritual leader, we use Katholikosz, but for the leader of Armenian Christianity, we may as well use pápa (Pope) or pátriárka (Patriach), but Katolikosz, or Katholikosz is more common.

Cheers, @Bfc kfc, and thanks for the linguistic help!

Yeah, I was worried about that being way too obscure a reference, so it did need some explication. Creating a Byzantified native secular title for a (non-Roman) Empire that's basically Hungary plus Bulgaria, Romania and Moldova is a little harder than it sounds...

The King seems to be doing quite well. Let's see if his careful balancing act of reform and tradition can be maintained after the shock of the annihilation of the previous dynasty fades...

Hope so! He seems to have set Moravia onto a track of parliamentarianism and constitutional monarchy, which is likely to please the more liberal elements of his populace.

 

[HistoryDude]

Britain has managed a circumnavigation... I wonder if they'll start trying to colonize areas in the east for better trade like in OTL.

Moravia has a parliament! How long will it take until political parties form within that institution? And what might those parties be?

 

[Revan86]

Britain has managed a circumnavigation... I wonder if they'll start trying to colonize areas in the east for better trade like in OTL.

Moravia has a parliament! How long will it take until political parties form within that institution? And what might those parties be?

Britain's colonial arm will certainly extend further now... but perhaps not in the way one might expect. And Moravia does indeed have a true parliament now, though at present (almost) everybody in it is a moderate Kafendist, ideologically speaking. Both the Komenskists and the extreme Kafendists have been purged.

FORTY-SEVEN.
Seeds of Change
17 January 1625 – 1 December 1626​

Dovid ben Ašer Šulc, the headman of the Jewish village of Vrútky just north of the town of Turčiansky Svätý Martin in northern Nitra, scooted his way timidly into the audience chamber. The curly-haired, bespectacled young Jewish headman, wary as most of his kin were of the authorities, had little understanding of what the new Kráľ might want of him.

Life for Jews under the Rychnovských had never exactly been easy. There had been no pogroms by the Moravian kings, but they had still long suffered from the usual discrimination and opprobrium, and were often segregated into their own villages or quarters within cities. It went without saying that their opportunities for a calm, quiet and moderately-prosperous life were… limited. But the Rychnovských had their good sides. There was the first Kráľ Prisnec, who had married a Jewish girl—which arguably made Kráľ Radomír 2. technically a Jew himself. (The strong point of contention was the apostasy of Queen Viera.) And then of course there had been Radomír 4., whose soft spot for the Jews was quite literally the stuff of legends. The Rychnovských had also kept the Jews safe (when circumstances allowed) from the virulently antisemitic Galicians. All in all, the Jews had few complaints of note against the former dynasty.

But that dynasty was gone. And who could tell what the character of this new Hlinka dynasty might be?

However the authorities might spit on and curse them, the Jews had learned from long and bitter experience, that political instability among the goyim was still less of a friend to them. And the word of the recent expansion of noble privileges had certainly reached Dovid ben Ašer—as had the sale of a number of crownlands nearby back to the old high hathel families. Having received the summons from the new king’s men, he had come to Olomouc expecting the worst.

Dovid knew from the word he’d received at Vrútky that the new king was a fairly young man, but it was still a shock to him when he saw, not a man, but a boy over ten years his junior! Beardless, almost baby-faced, yellow-haired, the regal attire that he wore, though resplendent and fitting to a sharp ‘T’, had the effect of making him look like a painted tin soldier, a child’s plaything… were it not for his eyes. Mojmír would not fit any man’s notion of a genius, but he had a cautious intelligence behind his eyes that suggested a calm demeanour and a sound, logical (if not scintillating) mind.

Dovid was surprised again when the Kráľ, having received the Jew’s deep (and somewhat fearful) obeisance, stood up and motioned him to a table that had been set for two. Surprise gave way to suspicion as he gazed at the offering.

‘You needn’t worry,’ said the boy-king. ‘It’s all kóšer; it’s been blessed by one of your rabínov – not a trace of pork or a smear of lard to be found. Oh! And all the dairy has been kept separate from the flesh-meats. Come, sit. Eat.’

Dovid ben Ašer sat warily. But the food did smell appetising, and there was a nice tall crystal goblet of damson wine there besides. Dovid thanked the Lord for this unsought blessing, then looked to the king, who was already digging into his own meal. Dovid speared a bit of beef sausage with his fork and brought it to his mouth.

‘So,’ said the young king. ‘My castellan in Martin has something of a complaint against you. Says you argued like an orator with his man, sent to collect my taxes. He says you even brought papers against him proving that you only owed half as much as he came for.’

Dovid’s eyes shot up. The king was still chewing his food placidly. He didn’t appear angry or vengeful, or even miffed. Indeed, his eyes held something of an amused look.

‘We are not a wealthy village, vaše Veličenstvo,’ said Dovid. ‘Yet we have gone through several rulers and regents now who keep arguing for a higher percentage of what we reap. It is my job to speak on my village’s behalf, with what proofs I have to hand.’

‘And you do so like a diplomat born, so I’m told,’ Mojmír told the Jew. ‘That particular castellan is a rather infamous skinflint; I consider your having pulled it off to be a fine feat.’

Dovid shot the boy-king a sharp glance, and chose his words with care. ‘With respect, vase Veličenstvo, I am a loyal subject of the Moravian crown, and I have lived my life in obedience both to the king’s law and to the Torah of the Most High. I will admit to no wrongdoing. If there is a complaint against my village I will submit the case openly to your Majesty’s arbitration.’

Mojmír laughed aloud. ‘What—you think I meant to entrap you, with all this? Well, fair cop in a certain sense. I never had any intention of wringing a confession out of you, or litigating against your village, or in any other wise bringing trouble upon your people. But the late unpleasantness has done more than chase off the Rychnovských. It’s also decimated the civil service. What the late Regent’s harsh and partizan policies against the Komenskists didn’t do, her palace coup certainly did. To be frank with you: we’re short-staffed. And even a headman of your clear learning and eloquence is worth more to me than any back taxes your village might owe.’

Dovid ben Ašer couldn’t believe his ears. The ghost of a smile appeared under his wispy beard. ‘You. Would hire me.’

Mojmír nodded.

Dovid drew in a breath. ‘You must realise that I would not apostasise for you.’

Mojmír spread his hands over the spread of kóšer food. ‘If I had thought so, would I have arranged all this for your benefit?’

Dovid’s smile deepened. ‘What’s the catch?’

If Mojmír was exasperated by Dovid’s grudging paranoia, he didn’t show it at all. Patiently he replied: ‘The “catch”, as you put it, is one of appearances. I would not ask you to apostasise, or to curtail your observances in any particular, but it would look rather strange for a man of your name to be whispering in the king’s ear in the inner Zhromaždenie. Would you consider being known to the court formally as Drahoslav of Jaseno?’

‘But I am not from Jaseno—I am from Vrútky.’

‘True, but any Slovak would be aware that Vrútky belongs to… well, you people. Jaseno is near enough.’

Dovid ben Ašer Šulc eventually agreed to this condition, and in this way the diplomatically-talented Jewish headman joined the Kráľ’s court under the name of Drahoslav Jesenský.

~~~​

Mojmír was so busy in those early days, trying to restore some semblance of stability and good faith in the government and trying to shore up the fragments of the order that had once existed, that he had little time to spend with his wife. But Svietlana had her ways of making her own contributions to the palace known to him—as well as giving him incentive and opportunity to show his appreciation. She knew she was pregnant by May of the following year.

The icons of Saint John of the Ladder which had been sent out among the churches, had long since retired to their places in the nave—not being taken out on processions or used to bless gatherings of craftsmen and artisans as they had been before. But the spirit of opytovanie and curiosity still lived strongly in the Moravian people, and they continued to keep a curious ear out on news from abroad—and particularly from Asia.

Perhaps it was to Komenský’s benefit, several of the diplomatic corps observed wryly, that he hadn’t lived to see what became of his beloved Ta-Ming. The peasant revolt that had captured the north was in no danger of falling. And now, even in the south, the Son of Heaven, the Thearch of Ta-Ming, was at great pains to retain control. In order to offset the floundering bureaucracy, he had delegated much of his power to regional governors, or sün-fu[1].

And the political turmoil was by no means limited to the southern coast of Taugats. The far land of Čoson, as well, to the northeast of Ta-Ming, had been plunged into chaos, with various millenarian and peasant sects stirring up revolt against the ruler. Now that Ta-Ming’s tributary network had all but collapsed, the soldiers of the Thearchy were no longer able to come to Čoson’s aid.

But Moravia was recovering nicely. As happy as the nobles were with the dynastic change and the change in policy (more privileges, return of lands) that it heralded, even happier were the merchants! Mojmír had so far taken a rather hands-off approach to questions of trade, and the result was that the mercantile class in Bratislava had seen a boom in imports from Pest and Wien. The new king Mojmír was prevailed upon to leave well enough alone, and allow them to enjoy their newfound prosperity and do with it what they wished.

In an additional dispute that surfaced near Nový Sadec between the regional governor and a certain house of contemplation and prayer in Chenciny, the Kráľ had also sided with the monks. Although this decision did not bring in more crownlands, Mojmír considered it an easy way to win the goodwill of the Church for his new kingly tenure—and in particular the powerful and independent Metropolitan of Vislania.

Between these several efforts to assuage and assure, and the benefits that these efforts brought, Kráľ Mojmír 2. quickly earned for himself the reputation, not of an overbearing, gauntleted tyrant, but rather a careful, prudent, light-touch pilot of the ship of state. (The few, impotent remnants of the Komenskist party, however—mostly in Churchly circles by now—saw the ‘light touch’ of Mojmír as a mark of green youth, ineptitude and the ease with which he was swayed by various parties of interest.)

Svietlana bore forth in the middle of the Nativity fast, on the calends of December in 1626. The big, fair, blue-eyed baby boy—her son and Mojmír’s—took on the name, not of any former Rychnovský or Mojmírov king of Moravia, but instead of one of Mojmír’s Hlinka ancestors: Jaromír. This choice of name for the new heir signalled both the new king’s ties to the ancient nobility of Silesia, and also a clean break with the old Rychnovsk‎‎‎ý dynasty.

---

[1] The title in standard Hanyu Pinyin is xunfu 巡抚.

 

[Bfc kfc]

Good chapter as always. How are the Rychnovskych outside Moravia doing? Do they think about reclaiming their ancient lands?

Have you thought about going into Stellaris after HOI4?

It is also funny to think about how Hungarian adopted kóser as a slang from Ashkenazi, it means everything is right in Hungarian. I suppose it means the same in Slovak. While the Jews were discriminated historically, they still had a massive impact on Europeans culture, in this case, language.

 

[HistoryDude]

It looks like the Ming are on their last legs.

At least Moravia isn't extremely antisemitic...

 

[Revan86]

Good chapter as always. How are the Rychnovskych outside Moravia doing? Do they think about reclaiming their ancient lands?

The Rychnovských still rule in Great Rus' (Lev 3.) as well as in Dresden (Wojen 2.).

And yes, there is going to be a dynastic dispute between the Rychnovských and the Hlinkovcov soon enough. Not in the place one might expect, though.

Have you thought about going into Stellaris after HOI4?

Sadly, I don't own Stellaris... yet.

I do enjoy reading AARs from that game, though. Some really creative work and stellar (npi) writing going on in that corner of AARland.

It is also funny to think about how Hungarian adopted kóser as a slang from Ashkenazi, it means everything is right in Hungarian. I suppose it means the same in Slovak. While the Jews were discriminated historically, they still had a massive impact on Europeans culture, in this case, language.

It's the same in English, too.

My grandmother's family were actually Ashkenazim from Bohemia. All Ashkenazim are, unfortunately, a bit too closely related, but according to the genealogical work I have done, I discovered that my elter-zeiden were tied by marriage in several places to the Kafka family. Yes, that Kafka family.

It's hard to imagine modern middle European literature without The Metamorphosis ...

It looks like the Ming are on their last legs.

At least Moravia isn't extremely antisemitic...

Yeah, the Zhu family's grasp on the Tianming, at present, is tenuous at best.

Obviously I have a 'side' in this, because Moravia is my player-character. But I'm trying my best not to portray it as a utopia. There's still exploitation. There's still class conflicts. There's still discrimination. The Sámi are one example, and the Jews are another.

Victoria 3 will hopefully get to explore these in greater depth.

 

[Idhrendur]

I fall behind for a few weeks and what happens? Usurpation, the end of a dynasty! I must be more vigilant in the future.

 

[Revan86]

FORTY-EIGHT.
Zbor
12 July 1627 – 2 June 1630​

In Moravian Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, truly only one church in the nation came close to deserving the title of ‘Cathedral’, and that was Velehrad Cathedral—originally dedicated to Saint Gorazd, and rededicated after the reunification of Moravia to the Dormition of the Mother of God.

This Cathedral had been of particular importance to the Rychnovských, as the resting-place of Kráľ Bohodar 1. mladší and his aunt-wife Blažena; of Kráľ Pravoslav and his consort Marija Kobilić; of Kráľ Radomír 1. hrožný and his consort Raina Srednogorski; of Svätý Kráľ Jakub (whose miracle-working relics were now a popular destination for pilgrims, along with those of the Equal-to-the-Apostles there within) and his consort Eirēnē Drougouvitissa; of Kráľ Eustach and his passionately-beloved wife Queen Dolz; and numerous other Moravian royals besides. As far as the Rychnovských went, significantly more of them tended to favour the prestigious royal grounds at Velehrad Cathedral to the old private family plot in Olomouc… with the two notable exceptions being the heroic Kráľ Kaloján, supposedly sleeping under Mount Gerlach, and the burial of Prokop and Helene together in the frigid far northern Sámi lands, at Luleju.

But in the early 1600s, thanks to the fresh influxes of wealth that spread to the nobility from the hands of the new Hlinka king, local parish temples and churches began to be improved, and some even began to rival in grandeur and pomp the great church at Velehrad. Despite what one might have thought, the hierarchs of the Church were somewhat against these innovations, saying that these ‘improvements’ (inspired by Western architecture) were foreign to the phronema of the Church, and that they reflected the vainglory of man rather than the proper glory which was due to God. Some of the black clergy were even accused in secular courts of adhering to the doctrines of Johanitism or those of the Nedržitelia.

Those years, however, were rocky ones for the new dynasty. Mojmír and Svietlana had two more children after Jaromír—a boy (Miloslav) and a girl (Eufemie). But those initial years still brought numerous problems of policy. Although the transfer of crownlands from kingly into noble hands brought with it prosperity for that estate, it also accelerated the growth of serfdom in Moravia. And although the hands-off policy that Kráľ Mojmír 2. Hlinka had adopted toward trade was generating great revenue for the merchants of Praha and Bratislava in particular, it had the unfortunate by-effect of pinching craftsmen and guild artisans in towns across eastern Slovakia and in Moravia. The grumbling from the affected classes was a constant feature of those early Hlinka years, of the late 1620s going into the 1630s. Many of them yearned for a return of the Rychnovských to power, though only a handful of intellectuals were able to express such seditious thoughts openly.

Making things more difficult was the fact that the innovations which the military had recently adopted were turning out to be tactically useless. Kráľ Mojmír responded by creating of a new army—a fifth army to match the four of the ‘Karo’—and stationing the new force at Košice. Even so, confidence in the competency of the military plummeted.

The new government did crush a peasant revolt that took place in the bordering territory of Kalisz—no generals were sent, but the battalion commanders of the new Košická armáda were more than capable of putting down a ragtag collection of Polish peasants. Another revolt occurred in the Kola Protectorate, as the Čudové in Šuomua seized their chance of breaking free of the Protectorate and establishing a state of their own on the southern border between themselves and Garderike. The Čud Estonians made the fatal error of assuming that Lady Protectress Pošajka Jugrová, a Sámi woman of a peaceable and placid temperament, would be a pushover. But the newly-appointed Lady Protectress also happened to possess the formidable ability to rally the Sámi to her side—and the tactical aplomb to direct them with skill against the Čud rebels.

~~~​

Another rebellion took place much closer to home.

It was traditional, in some respects, for the ruler of Carpathia to expect outside challenges to his rule—but doubly so in this case, given that the current ruler was a woman. Általánosnő Vlastimila Detvanská had only just come of age, and a bid against her rule by one of her uncles, Nitrabor Terterov, was made just as her regency ended. Terterov fielded an army of sixteen thousand men from the county of Szabolcs, which placed him (unfortunately for him) within easy striking range of the Moravian Vraclavská Armáda and the Pražská Armáda. Kráľ Mojmír 2., learning the ropes of rule quickly as he went, understood clearly that the Terterov rebellion provided him with a singular opportunity to restore the reputation of Moravia’s armies, and win the good graces of the Detvansk‎ých in the process.

Although the two Moravian armies were at a slight disadvantage with regard to the terrain, the new commanders of each had learned their lessons of recent history well. They came prepared with cannon—nine thousand pieces strong—and arrayed them in the rear for both breadth and depth of fire. Although Terterov had significantly greater numbers of cavalry, which were able to harass the flanks to some effect, once the Moravian cannon were moved into position it was all over but the weeping. Rolling thunder pealed across the fields of Nagykálló, drowning out the shouts and whinnies and confusion of the Carpathian rebels.

The Vraclavská Armáda gave chase. In the Apuseni Mountains east of Bihor, the hardy men of Brassel put a decisive end to the Terterov Rebellion. There were no further threats to Detvanská’s full accession as empress of the Carpathians, and Vlastimila Detvanská was made to understand (albeit in nice, diplomatic language) precisely to whom she owed the favour for Terterov’s removal from her path.

~~~​

‘The Thearchy is not doing well,’ remarked Drahoslav Jesenský with a grumble.

‘How so?’ asked the Kráľ.

The young Jew tugged at a couple of stray curly strands from his beard. ‘You’re familiar, of course, with the creation of the Kola Protectorate in the far north?’

‘I assuredly am.’

‘The Son of Heaven has evidently done something similar in Ta-Ming, or rather what remains of it,’ Drahoslav apprised the king. ‘The far southwestern province of Jün-nan does not wholly belong to the dominant Han people. Instead, much of it rests in the power of the Hmong, the Taj, the Paj and the Nosu… barbarian tribesmen who live wild in the high mountains and steamy jungles.’

‘And? Go on.’

Drahoslav cleared his throat. ‘Well… traditionally, when the great khaghan of the steppes ruled Taugats, they delegated power to local chieftains called tchu-s’ and tchu-kuan. The early Thearchs who inherited Taugats from the Mongols simply continued that system. Now, though, Ta-Ming seems prepared to dispense with a bunch of these middlemen and place them under a single high official.’

‘I beg your pardon, but… is that not a show of strength, rather than weakness?’

‘It could be,’ said Drahoslav. ‘Potentially. If the “Countries in the Middle” were in health and united, the appointment of such a protector would be considered a high show of prestige—as it was for Kráľ Tomáš. Here, however, it seems to proclaim the opposite. Ta-Ming feels its grasp over the outlying territories slipping, and resorts to such bureaucratic reshufflings to hide its weakness.’

‘Is there some implied lesson in statecraft in this, for someone nearer to home?’ asked Mojmír suspiciously.

‘Not an intentional one, I assure vaše Veličenstvo,’ Drahoslav said. ‘Unless it is this: perhaps we ought to keep a weather eye on the progress of the Shun kingdom to the north. Given the ties we’ve made with Ta-Ming, it might be wise to hedge our bets by giving them the benefit of the doubt.’

Mojmír chuckled. It eased his nerves somewhat to talk like this with his chief statesman in the hours before a convocation of the Bishops of All Moravia in a Zbor. Mojmír understood all too well that the Church still viewed him, at best, with suspicion. Although the Archbishop had bestowed upon him the chrism at the coronation at Velehrad, many churchmen still muttered among themselves that he was an unrighteous usurper, an upstart opportunist. They shook their heads at his modest background among the lower gentry, at his rise through the military service, and at his appointment of a Christ-denying infidel Jew to the inner Zhromaždenie—something not even Radomír 4. had done. More darkly, there were hints among them that Mojmír 2. might be one guise, or a forerunner, of Antichrist. Deep was the bond between the Church and the Rychnovských, and that bond would not be easily bent toward a new sovereign and his line.

It didn’t help that Mojmír was presiding over an age of continued and accelerating innovation in the natural sciences and in technology. Moravia Proper, as well as the district of Maramoroš, were now busily lumbering much of the old-growth stands of oak in their oak-hornbeam forests, for the production, in their new ally Britain especially, of war-galleons and other newfangled ships-of-the-line (ships which few Moravians had ever seen in person, owing to the landlocked nature of the kingdom). Neither merchants nor the nobles to whom these forests belonged in fee simple, objected overly much to this harvest or to this use of the wood. The only objections came from peasants and local parish priests, who relied on gleanings and harvests of herbs and truffles from these woods to supplement their livelihoods.

And not only were these old-growth forests under threat from the British thirst for naval hardwood, but new and suspect uses for Bohemian glass were also being uncovered. Spyglasses—glass lenses—were being experimented with in the name of opytovanie, and refracting telescopes many orders of magnitude more powerful than those used hitherto, as well as microscopes of even keener degree, had been constructed. The white clergy regarded these new instruments with understandable suspicion. The uses to which they could be put: in astrology, in hermeticism, in alchemy, in the quest to peer behind the divine veil… were almost too terrible to comprehend, and potentially of great evil power in the wrong hands. To use them was, at best, hubris. At worst, it was a kind of sorcery which arrogated to man the powers which rightly belonged in the sole hands of God.

This was the atmosphere within which Kráľ Mojmír prepared to face the Zbor. Little wonder he had a bad case of nerves going in. Mojmír was in one case right to worry, and in another case not.

As the Bishops convened in the Zbor—headed by the Archbishop of All Moravia Rafael (Schwarzenberg), and followed in distinction and in clerical prestige quite closely by Metropolitan Laurenty (Gaffron) of Vislania… and then by the physically-imposing, black-browed, bristle-bearded jeremiac Bishop Nykodém (Lepak) of Spiš—they all very courteously nodded to the king as was befitting his traditional priestly role among the people… and then Mojmír offered his cupped hands for a blessing and kissed each of their hands in turn, as was expected of members of the laity upon greeting members of the high clergy. So far, so good. They viewed him as a legitimate king. But…

‘We hear distressing rumours,’ said Metropolitan Laurenty, ‘of these new innovations in glasswork which aid the eye in piercing the heavens, or delving into the finest grains possible of matter. Both the physical danger of these devices, their potential for destruction, and their spiritual danger of the corruption of the soul, I should think, is evident. We also hear of forests, on which so many poor and landless depend, being uprooted, chopped up and shipped off to Britain to craft massive, bloody engines of war. Be assured that Our Lord is watching, and noting all that is done—as king, all that is publicly done ill within your realm shall be held to your charge.’

‘I hear you, and I understand,’ Mojmír answered Laurenty levelly. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘A Rychnovský king,’ glowered Bishop Nykodém, ‘would not have to ask. He would grant us the use of his diplomatic corps, the use of his presses. A king like Tomáš 2. would have lent us his support!’

(This was perhaps only a selective truth. It was true that when the nobility got too powerful, or the bourgeoisie too enthusiastic, Tomáš would empower the Church if for no other reason than to check them. But it was not quite as automatic an empowerment as Nykodém believed or bespoke.)

The new Kráľ wasn’t exactly happy to allow them this leeway. He valued his alliance with Britain too much to cut back oak shipments; and he was quite curious to see for himself what could be done with these new devices that had the Church so worried. ‘Allow me several weeks to consider your proposal,’ Mojmír stalled. ‘As yet I have little sway over my diplomatic corps. As to the presses, surely you have your own that you could use to such a purpose?’

‘We have, and we shall,’ answered Metropolitan Laurenty—not very happily. ‘I pray to Our Lord and His Ever-Blessed and Most Pure Mother that vaše Veličenstvo are rightly-guided and possessed of sound conscience in your decision.’

Although the tone of the Zbor was considerably cooler after that, there was no further objection to any of the King’s actions, and less to his legitimacy to rule. Mojmír picked up, in fact, that Archbishop Rafael and Metropolitan Laurenty were somewhat rival to each other for position… somewhat mirroring the Apostles in their eagerness to sit at the right hand of Christ. The Kráľ wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this fact just yet… and still less did he have the subtlety to understand that such a rivalry could be put to favourable political use.

~~~​

The Zbor concluded rather quietly. But in the first several months of the year 1630 on the civil calendar, several seismic political events happened in very quick succession.

Once again, there was a crisis within the military as new strategems and doctrines which had been pursued and cultivated by the high brass within the Pražská Armáda and the Kapitálová Armáda… turned out to be utterly worthless fads. The expense necessary for the rank-and-file as well as the unit commanders to unlearn these strategems was considerably greater than that which had been needed to put them in place. Any military man worth his salt could see that a drastic shake-up was needed in order to clear the Moravian ranks of their deadwood.

After that, word came from the west that the Ostfranken had begun openly competing with the British on the global market, and that they were using their mercantile assets and personnel to siphon wealth away from Pest and Wien, and steer it instead toward their capital at Ulm. This could not but be seen as yet another deeply hostile manœuvre against Moravia.

These three events, taken together—the military crisis, the political crisis and the economic crisis—placed a decision before the young king. He could either let the slow simmer of hostility on the East Frankish march continue, as the Rychnovských had. Or he could bring it to a head, and confront the East Franks openly in the field.

Mojmír chose his casus belli with care. He couldn’t confront the East Frankish kingdom directly over their trade interference… that would drag Emperor Konstantinos 7. Kaloēthēs into the war on the Eastern Frankish side, and Moravia would have to fight a two-front war in the west and in the south. Only a fool would choose to fight Ulm and Constantinople at the same time! Instead, Mojmír chose a tack that would embarrass the Eastern Roman Emperor if he chose to intervene… and perhaps buy him back some good feelings from the Church at the same time.

It had long been a sore sticking point and an embarrassment to the Orthodox world, that the Austrian followers of the Pope in Old Rome had taken control of the city of Pest… whose population had long been Orthodox, and which had been a jewel in the crown of the Carpathian Empire for centuries. It had once been a demand of the Church, even of the Œcumenical Patriarchate, that the Moravian king move to liberate Pest from the Austrian yoke! Emperor Konstantinos wouldn’t dare oppose such an action. But it would assuredly draw in König Ludwig 2. of the East Franks, as well as Kinnigin Audré of Luxembourg and Roi Helge of Bourgogne.

Thus (howbeit belatedly), Mojmír moved to make good on that demand.

‘Zdravomil! Call up the generals,’ called Mojmír to his chief military adviser. ‘Assemble them in the courtyard. We’re going to war with Austria—to return Pest to the Faith.’

 

[Idhrendur]

Not as much of a lead in men under arms as I like for a war, but mayhaps you'll fight better than I do.

 

[HistoryDude]

That's a blast from the past. It should help satisfy the Church, which will be good for Mojmir, given their current opinion of him.

Is the Church in correspondence with any of the remaining Rychnovský kings? Does Mojmir need to worry about another succession crisis?

 

[Revan86]

FORTY-NINE.
Belong to Us
1 July 1630 – 18 February 1634

I.
1 July 1630 – 25 October 1630

‘Father?’

Wojen 2. Rychnovský, who was busy strapping his saddlebags onto his steed for the road, turned up toward his 21-year-old elder son and heir. ‘Yes, Mnata?’

‘I still don’t understand. Why are you so intent upon answering this call? I know how much…’ Mnata dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I know how much you despise the new government. I know how much you hate their policy. I know how much you believe that Mojmír possesses wrongly what is our family’s by right. Some of our cousins, expelled by Kafenda’s daughter, are here in the courtyard with us, arming for the march! So how come we’re going off to fight for them?’

‘Because, Mnata,’ his mother, now on the other side of middle age from his father, said to him, laying a bracing hand on his shoulder, ‘your father believes in duty above all things—and service, and honour, and truth to one’s word before God.’

Wojen gave his consort a small, knowing smile. ‘You always insist, dear, on ascribing to me the virtues you know the better you possess.’

Anet strode up to him, took his face in her hands, and planted a firm, possessive kiss upon his lips. Wojen marvelled how deeply he loved his 50-year-old wife, whose walnut-brown temples were now solidly silver, and whose eyes were bordered by crows’-feet. There were things which went deeper and purer than mere worldly beauty. It had been Anet’s touching devotion and her selfless service that had drawn Wojen to her, and it was these things that had kept him bound to her. He wasn’t merely returning the compliment, she knew: duty had come before desire, desire had been there, and in its place now was a deeper sort of love.

Mnata stifled a noise of exasperation at seeing his parents make this very public display of affection. Anet broke off from it, her apple-wedge lips curving upwards apologetically. Wojen turned back to his son.

‘It’s true. I swore an oath,’ his father said simply, ‘to protect the King of Moravia. My… personal feelings about that King are secondary to that oath.’

‘Even though Drježdźany stands to be run over roughshod by the Franks, should Moravia lose this war?’

‘That is… not an option I am considering,’ the Wójwoda said grimly.

That was something of a conceit. True, Ruthenia stood behind them, and would bring to bear their considerable reserves of manpower. But the Germans were wealthier, better-fortified and better-equipped.

When viewed from Budyšín, this was very much so seen as a war between Germans and Slavs. And it did have something of that character. On one side were East Francia, Bourgogne, Austria and Luxembourg. And on the other side were Moravia, Ruthenia, Carpathia and Drježdźany.

But there was more to it than that, of course, as there always is. Moravia had been flexing its diplomatic muscles. Not only were they keeping the Greeks from joining the war on the German side with their choice of Pest as a war goal, but they had also managed to wrangle in Bayern on the ‘Slavic’ side, despite Bayern and Austria speaking the same language. Even more impressive: they had managed to get Great Britain—a Catholic power!—to join the war on the ‘Slavic’ side! The Wójwoda prayed to the Theotokos and to Christ Pantokratōr for aid, of course, but privately he also hoped that the addition of the great and mighty British fleets, in the far-off North Sea and Baltic coasts, would hold off the inevitable German counteroffensive that would come crashing through Drježdźany.

‘Still,’ said Mnata, clambering onto his mount, ‘it does seem rather a significant risk to take, this oath.’

‘That’s what it means to be a march lord,’ answered Wojen grimly.

He surveyed the cavalrymen who were rallying to the Sorbian banner—something of an inversion of the traditional Rychnovský device: a field sable, a lion rampant or. The Sorbian state coat of arms was a field or party per pale, dexter a lion rampant sable, sinister two pales sable. But there among them already he could see two Rychnovský cousins: Goran and Osvald, great-grandchildren of Prokop and Helene. There were also several elder members of the Komenskist party who had had the foresight to flee before they could be rounded up and executed by the late Regent: Petr Balaša (a former diplomat to Carpathia), Juraj Karganov (a half-Georgian former mint-master who had been a die-hard supporter of the zmenkizmus monetary reforms) and Markvart Prokšanov (a member of the minor gentry).

All of them were going to ride into battle, in support of a realm that had expelled them—and never invited them back. Wojen knew that all of these men harboured the same mixed feelings he did, to which his son now gave voice. Still, for all that, ride they would.

Wojen bade his Anetka a long and fond farewell as they set off, his eyes lingering upon her until she disappeared from view behind him. The Sorbian army made its westward path toward the town, long-lost to Sorbian rule, which had lent the border march its name: Dresden.

~~~​

In August 1630 war was beginning. The first action of the War of 1630 did take place on Sorbian territory, at Cvikov nad Muldou.

The Veľkou Armádou Moravy—all five of its armies, in fact—were under the command of the general of the Kapitálová Armáda (who, by tradition, was the highest in honour among Moravian general officers): a promising young Poľný maršál named Totil z Husi. Totil was already recognised in Moravia as a talent among the staff: a strategist of considerable acumen. Unfortunately, youth and acumen when combined in the same man could inculcate a weakness: a certain tendency toward brashness and overconfidence. It remained to be seen whether Generál Husi would turn out to be an Otradovic or a Parčowski.

At Husi’s right hand, however, was the Generál Pražskej Armády, Pravoslav Pilchramb; and at his left hand was the Generál Vraclavskej Armády, Zdravomil Velen. Between Pilchramb’s cool, analytical level head, and Velen’s redoubtable charisma and leadership, Husi was (whether he valued it or not) well-advised and well-supported.

At Cvikov, they met the advance forces of Ostfranken. These armies were led, rather surprisingly, by a woman: Generalin Wiltrud Schewe, a female soldier of north German descent who had received special dispensation from the Pope to dress in armour and lead armies in battle, and who had evidently seen a fair share of combat in her years.

Schewe’s Germans had brought to bear more infantry than cavalry—a sound decision in itself, given that they knew they would be fighting in hills and mountains. They also had the clear advantage of the terrain, having stationed themselves on the higher bank of the River Mulda. But evidently their intelligence was several years out of date. They hadn’t taken notice of the foundries and gunsmiths in Budějovice clocking double hours, forging the heavy wheeled guns that had been shamefully lacking in Moravia’s previous wars. Schewe had only a bit over half as many pieces—eleven thousand—as the twenty thousand that were arrayed on the Moravian side.

The hills echoed with the dark booming of cannon, and gunsmoke hung thickly in the air for miles. The Moravian cavalry foundered in the river, leading to a dangerous situation where Generalin Wiltrud was able to pin them down with concentrated fire in the midst of the Mulda. But the support from the low bank of the combined firepower of the Grand Army allowed most of them to make it across, and begin harrying the infantry lines in their turn.

Wiltrud Schewe was forced to beat a retreat with her forces in tow. They retreated downstream and northward toward Wittenberg, whence Totil z Husi gave chase. Schewe’s demoralised army was broken a second time, and she was forced to remove herself from East Francia’s chief town in the Wettin lands. It was there that Wójwoda Wojen 2. and his son Mnata met with the Moravian Grand Army.

‘How are you gentlemen !!’ Totil greeted the two Sorbs enthusiastically. ‘Please come inside. You are just in time—Velen, Pilchramb and I are refining plans for our offensive campaign into East Francia.’

Wojen and Mnata moved inside the generals’ tent and looked at the table the three of them had set up in the middle. There was a map of East Francia, Drježdźany and Bohemia in front of them, and several tokens upon the map representing the Moravian forces as well as the presumed placement of the East Frankish forces and their potential directions of incursion into Moravian and Sorbian territory.

Wojen was not the most brilliant of strategists, but he knew enough about planning a war campaign to be aghast at what he saw. The Grand Army had gathered together for a reason here, it seemed: they planned to go on a concerted, direct offensive into the heart of East Frankish territory, cutting a narrow swathe through Wettin, Anhalt, Ostfalen and Engern… evidently they weren’t planning to stop until they reached the Lower Elbe!

‘Bóže mój!’ exclaimed Wojen. ‘Do you plan to take the entirety of the Moravian forces on this mad march to the sea?’

‘The entirety,’ Totil told Wojen seriously. ‘This campaign would have little chance if we were to undertake it with anything less than the full power of the Moravian armed forces.’

‘You know what you doing?’ asked Mnata.

‘I know exactly what I’m doing,’ said Totil. Behind him, however, the more experienced commander, Pravoslav Pilchramb, looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I am going to bifurcate the East Frankish realm, dividing Ulm from the Pomeranian coast and leaving Brandenburg to fall to the Russians. If we can control merely…’ Totil traced his finger along a line leading from Potsdam to Stade, ‘these three key fortresses, then we stand a much better chance of knocking Braunschweig out of the war quickly. We can then turn our attention to the southern matter.’

‘But you’ll be leaving the Bavarians completely exposed!’ Wojen objected. ‘Not to mention the Sorbian lands! We’ll be completely defenceless—against Brandenburg and against Austria if they choose to come up from the south.’

Totil turned back toward the other two general officers. Pilchramb offered:

‘It’s a valid concern… and it’s one that I share. An operation of this size needs long supply lines that must extend from Bohemia and Budyšín. If those fall, I shudder to think what becomes of the Moravian Army, isolated so far behind enemy lines.’

‘But if we can make it to the Lower Elbe within ten months, we won’t have to rely on supplies from over the Ores. The British can ship food, fresh water and materiel into any of those towns along the coast.’

‘That’s a fairly significant “if”,’ Pilchramb noted. ‘Sieges are not won quickly.’

‘Please listen to him, Maršál,’ Wojen urged. ‘Trust me, sieges can drag on for years. You’re planning to win three key Frankish fortresses in less than ten months?!’

‘Velen?’ Totil turned to the third general. ‘What is your rede?’

Zdravomil Velen considered. ‘It is true that sieges have taken years to complete… when our artillery was lacking. But the Grand Army is not like any other we have assembled. We have seen at Cvikov and Wittenberg what our new artillery pieces can do.’

‘And we shall use them,’ said Totil. ‘No sense working all this iron and lugging it around otherwise.’

‘You are on the way to destruction,’ Wojen shook his head grimly.

‘What you say !!’ responded Totil angrily.

‘I don’t say this merely because I am a Sorb,’ Wojen confronted the hotheaded young general. ‘I have waged campaigns in defence of the Moravian realm since I was old enough to pick up a musket. Wars are won or lost based not only on territorial control and tactical posture, but on supply lines, materiel replacements, manpower reserves, and patience. You need to listen to your more experienced elders if you want to win this campaign of yours.’

Unfortunately, Wójwoda Wojen’s exhortations fell on deaf ears. Totil z Husi moved toward Potsdam with an army fifty thousand strong, leaving only the Bavarian and Sorbian forces not under his direct command to defend Moravia’s western marches. Wojen despaired. He hoped desperately that Moravia was not simply rolling the dice in this war. But if it was… the roll had already been made.