The Thin Wedge of Europe

[HistoryDude]

Let's hope that Wojen's fears don't prove prophetic...

I wonder if future members of the old dynasty will prove as loyal as Wojen and his peers. If not, a war of succession might be inevitable...

 

[Revan86]

II.
24 December 1630 – 5 July 1632
​

The relations between the Church and the Crown were about as frosty as the weather outside, during that Christmas feast that closed the civil year 1630. Archbishop Rafael (Schwarzenberg) of All Moravia delivered a Nativity homily, based upon the Lucan narrative, which dwelt strongly upon the self-satisfied indifference of the innkeeper and the people of the city of Bethlehem to the presence of Christ Incarnate, with no room among them, leaving Him to be born in a cave. Appealing also to the Matthean narrative of the Nativity, Archbishop Rafael intoned darkly of the spiritual dangers to the king, of oppressing Christ as did Herod Antipas, and forcing His family to flee from the place of His birth. The salvation of the Moravian nation, Archbishop Rafael thundered, would not be found in the force of arms, nor yet in the heavy purses of the notables and worthies of Moravia’s towns—but only in Christ Himself, who became weak and defenceless flesh as we are, that we might become godly as He is.

The political overtones of this homily were not hard to mistake. Kráľ Mojmír 2. had recently settled a case that had arisen between the townsmen of Praha and the Church, in favour of the townsmen. He had reasoned, to his own mind satisfactorily, that during wartime it was in everyone’s best interest that the laws be unified and applicable with equal effect to all under them. The Church, which was accustomed to enjoying the benefits of its own canon law as regarded its properties within Praha’s city limits, had baulked strongly at this decision.

The homily rankled, and very nearly spoiled the Kráľ’s appetite for flesh meats after a long Nativity fast. In fact, Mojmír had rather had just about enough of Churchly matters and the affairs of the religious sphere. The recent proclamation from the errant Bishop of Rome, regarding the assignation of the entirety of the Eastern half of the globe to the kingdom of Neustria, had left many in the Orthodox world speculating about the schismatic vicar’s mental health and fitness. Perhaps it was a certain weakness of faith on Mojmír’s part that he seemed to lump his own Orthodox bishop’s reticence to assist him in this war together with such an extravagant claim.

But Mojmír was able to gain some enjoyment out of his Christmas dinner, after some excellent news from the front. It was just as the gingerbread cakes and wassail were being broken out, that the Moravian king learned that Totil z Husi had taken the Schloß at Potsdam after a mere three months’ siege!

The delight of the Moravian king at receiving this news was matched by the dismay and even panic of the East Frankish one. Having grasped the basic outline of Poľný maršál Husi’s plan to cleave his kingdom in twain across Sachsen, König Ludwig 2. von Braunschweig threw everything he could muster at the Grand Army in an attempt to thwart and stymie its northwestern march. The Burgundian army that had come from the west met the Moravians outside of Wittenberg—and found themselves both outmatched and outgunned. The Luxemburgish general Jacques de Rougé followed suit. Unfortunately, the Luxembourgers made an error in the deployment of their troops, which allowed Totil z Husi to ambush and capture the small artillery detachment at Brandenburg before utterly routing the main bulk of Kinnigin Audré’s forces at Magdeburg.

Victory after victory bolstered the morale of the Moravian Grand Army as Totil z Husi continued his westward march to the North Sea. Discouraged, and faced with a sheer number of Budweiser guns hitherto unseen in the West, Altmark surrendered within a month. The troops that were on the southern side of the line waged a counteroffensive against Moravia and besieged Plzeň.

Totil z Husi reached the town of Stade on the estuary of the Elbe not long after the news reached him of East Frankish troops around Plzeň. But he would not be deterred from his course. If he could add Stade to his control, and provide the British ships with a friendly berth on the continental shore, his strategy would be proven effective. He would be able to strong-arm the Germans first on the northern side of his line of captured fortifications—and then take his time bringing down the south.

But the woman of war, Generalin Wiltrud Schewe of the East Frankish army, had long since recovered her gumption from the defeat she’d been handed at Cvikov. She had also examined Totil z Husi’s plan and discovered a possible means to circumvent it—by fighting fire with fire. If Totil z Husi could cut a swathe through Germany and connect Moravian supply lines to the British navy, then she could do the same thing: cutting a path through Moravia, behind the lines, between Plzeň and Brassel. If that could be done, then there was nothing to stop the thirty thousand men stuck on the Berlin side of the line, from joining the forty thousand men stationed at Ulm. Even the Grand Army would not be able to stand against seventy-six thousand East Frankish troops!

The news of Generalin Schewe’s movements within Moravia deeply alarmed Totil. After Plzeň fell, he met with Velen and Pilchramb in his siege camp outside of Stade, and pored over the map with them another time. Velen offered his thoughts first.

‘There is no way that they would be able to take Brassel in time,’ he said emphatically. ‘By then we will have British troops marching down the corridor to be able to take them easily.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ replied the somewhat more conservative, realistic Pravoslav Pilchramb. ‘The chance of an army of over seventy thousand Germans coming within spitting distance of Olomouc, is far too heavy for my liking.’

‘But we cannot give up our strategy—not when we are so close to achieving our goal!’ cried Totil in dismay.

‘Of course, I’m not suggesting we abandon our siege of Stade,’ Pravoslav Pilchramb advised, scowling at the map. ‘The gains from controlling it are well worth the expense, and then some. But… I would advise you to reconsider your plans after we take it. Instead of attacking the weaker northern part of East Francia, centred on Berlin—I’d advise you to turn southward. Cut through Westfalen and double back along the Main.’

‘That’s a mighty gamble,’ Velen countered, a bit unhappily. ‘The attrition we’re likely to take on a southward route… our numbers when we reach our borders will be…’

‘We’re not going to win this war with numbers alone,’ Pilchramb told Velen and Husi grimly. ‘Nor are we going to win this war by control of territory—not even of this long bisecting corridor. We’re far overextended. I have to admit… that Sorbian wójwoda of ours was not far off in his advice. Though I would put it this way: we’re facing a race against the clock. If Schewe takes Brassel before we can cut back across the German heartland and into Bohemia, she wins. The East Franks win. But if we can make it back there in speed before Schewe takes Brassel… we stand a good chance of capitalising on our gains thus far, regaining some manpower, and handing the East Franks a knockout blow.’

Velen shook his head.

‘It’s a risk,’ Pilchramb told his fellow-generals honestly. ‘And it’s a risk I’d rather not take, all told. But some of us seemed to think that this Stade corridor business was a risk worth taking. In for a parvus, in for a denár.’

Totil z Husi was appropriately chastened. He nodded.

‘It’s settled. We take Stade, and then we march southward and back to Bohemia by the Westfalen route.’

~~~​

Within the Church, there were some additional troubles. Archbishop Rafael (Schwarzenberg) and Metropolitan Laurenty (Gaffron) had come to loggerheads over the issue of the popular veneration of three people in Laurenty’s diocese. In Vislania—the lands of the so-called ‘Malopolska’ or Lesser Poland—people were drawn to the resting-places and relics which had not received official sanction from the broader Church. Kunhuta (also called Kunegunda in Frankish sources), an eleventh-century benefactress of the Church who sponsored numerous wayhouses in the western Slavic lands, was one of these. Another was Oleg of Sandomír—an eccentric twelfth-century nobleman by all accounts, who undertook heavy penances and ascetic labours, as well as patronising numerous temples in Vislania. And the third was Simeon of Lublin, a fifteenth-century Galician dynast of the Oskyldr line who famously made a barefoot pilgrimage to the City of Constantine.

Metropolitan Laurenty had published Vitæ, tropars and kontaks, and proclaimed feast-days for all three ‘saints’… without consulting his fellow-bishops. From Laurenty’s perspective, this was only good sense and a proper course, and well within his traditional prerogatives as the independent leader of a national diocæse, long having been outside of Moravian canonical territory. Kunhuta, Oleg and Simeon were already being venerated broadly by pilgrims throughout the Polish lands. These three mediævals, of blameless lives, had already accrued to themselves sufficient reputations for sanctity, as well as appearances and wondrous healings in Christ’s name at the sites of their relics. Why shouldn’t the Church in Malopolska simply make plain and public what was already being done at the grassroots?

But from the broader institutional Church’s perspective, this was at the very least a massive breach of protocol on the Metropolitan’s part—if not an open act of schism. It spoke to a certain lack of discipline and obedience on the part of Laurenty.

Archbishop Rafael and Metropolitan Laurenty sent back and forth a flurry of letters which attempted to address the issue canonically. Although the tone of the epistles was mostly cordial, it was clear that they occupied two very distinct positions from which neither could back down. The issue was left, for the moment, unresolved. This was the beginning of the Malopolskan Saints Controversy which would last over a century, and be resolved only with the Great All-Moravian Zbor of 1740.

~~~​

The march back from Stade—by way of Westfalen and the River Main—took a bit longer than anticipated. Totil z Husi couldn’t quite resist taking the opportunity of twisting the knife in and robbing East Francia of two more of its significant western fortifications: that in Osnabrück and that in Westfalen itself.

All this, of course, as ‘tá Nemka’ was besieging Brassel with an army of over forty thousand. But as long as the news did not come that Brassel had fallen, Totil z Husi felt he was well in the right to continue his campaign against East Francia’s fortresses.

Wojen 2. Rychnovský (and moreso Mnata) chafed as he heard of these delays. Wojen understood very well that he was fighting a losing campaign. But he continued fighting it, in the hopes that the main force of the Moravian Grand Army would soon return across the western march.

The East Franks were no longer the sole foe that he was facing. His Sorbs had joined up with the men of Kola sent by Lady Protectress Pošajka Jugrová—a band of Sámit, Karelians and Orthodox Fennoswedes roughly nine thousand strong—and with a handful of demoralised Bavarians fleeing the Austrian northward advance. This motley crew was presently the sole force preventing Bohemia from being completely overrun from the south. There was nothing he could do presently about Brassel, not while Wiltrud Schewe commanded a force nearly four times his strength!

Wojen found himself developing a firm appreciation for the Sámit. The reindeer herdsmen of the far north, who lived in one of the most inhospitable climes on earth, had developed survival skills in tracking and long-distance shooting that translated well to an irregular style of warfare.

On the other hand, he somewhat despaired of the Slovaks who had come across the lines. Two of the noble families in Trencín were constantly at each other’s throats, undermining discipline in their units. Not few were the camp brawls between high-born Nitrans that Wojen had to break up, and not few were the reprimands that he had to issue, on account of this noble feud. How was Moravia to survive these feudal relics, who could not put aside their petty squabbles while the nemci were even now well behind the gates?

The ending came unexpectedly.

Brassel fell, leaving the road to the Moravian capital open to a combined force of over seventy thousand East Franks. But on that very same day, König Ludwig 2. came to a parley in Ulm at which he agreed to several land concessions on the eastern border in exchange for peace. Wojen Rychnovsk‎ý was delighted and flabbergasted in equal measure, to receive into his hands the keys to the fortress and town of Drježdźany, and those of Zhorjelc. There would now be an uninterrupted and contiguous Sorbian realm which stretched across the northern foothills of the Ores.

 

[HistoryDude]

That ending to the war is... strange. Why did the East Franks surrender so quickly? Were they at war with anyone else? Did you offer a peace deal before they took more of your lands?

Also, the conflict between the Church and the State doesn't bode well for the new Moravian monarchs. I'm unsure if the schisms within the Church make the situation better or worse...

 

[Revan86]

That ending to the war is... strange. Why did the East Franks surrender so quickly? Were they at war with anyone else? Did you offer a peace deal before they took more of your lands?

So, yeah, this war was a bit weird.

In game terms: I took advantage of East Francia in two ways here. First: I knew that whatever territories they captured from me, they would transfer to Austria, as Austria was the war-leader. I chose Pest as the wargoal for a reason here. Second: I understood that I could drive up warscore against East Francia itself by taking their fortresses and by assisting the British blockade in the North Sea by giving them a safe harbour at Stade. (Blockade also adds to warscore.) Besides, I had all that brand-new artillery going for me, which helped shorten average siege time considerably. Thanks to that, I was taking German towns in two, three or four months that might have taken a year or more otherwise.

So even though Schewe managed to nab Plzen and Brassel off of me, she was giving them to Austria, which didn't do East Francia's warscore any good. And East Francia had lost nearly all of their fortresses in the north. So even though I was technically 'losing' the war against Austria, I was 'winning' against East Francia, and was able to force EF to a separate peace, giving up Goerlitz and Dresden.

Also, the conflict between the Church and the State doesn't bode well for the new Moravian monarchs. I'm unsure if the schisms within the Church make the situation better or worse...

Yeah, Mojmir isn't exactly the most pious of leaders... very much so a product of the times. The Church will have its day, though.

 

[Von Acturus]

So much blood for so little a prize. Though, I suppose, one must take in consideration the prestige that comes with the victory against the powerful german coalition here. Rivals to the Moravian throne, both internal and external will certainly think twice between attacking now that the King has firmly estabelished his power.

The Church has been dealt some serious blows. This can either drive it further into a submissive position or make it more belligerant and zealous in restoring it's grip in Moravian state affairs. We'll have to see...

 

[Revan86]

Here's a subchapter that ought to make @Bfc kfc happy!

III.
1 November 1632 – 18 February 1634​

The exeunt of the East Francians from the stage did come as a blow to Austria’s determination to hold onto Pest. But the war went on. Austria had made some clear gains: most of Bayern had fallen under their control, as had the southern Czech lands—even Jindřichův Hradec.

But the Moravians were driven by a renewed determination, as the Ruthenians had finally roused themselves and poured over the Carpathian border with armies forty-five thousand strong! The Slavic alliance was bolstered by the timely appearance of bearded boyar officers in long, fur-lined cloaks and tall hats; of streľtsy musketeers armed with guns and long, heavy-bladed berdyši; of desyatniki and sotniki with their long sabres and tassels distinguishing their ranks; and even of the feared, half-wild Cossack cavalry of the borderlands, with their fur caps and moustaches. These last were a mixed blessing: they had a tendency to get drunk and pick fights with their fellows, causing incidents between the allied units. But a blessing they were all the same: the Ruthenians quickly crossed the Carpathian lands and laid siege to the southern Austrian city of Warasdin.

At the siege camp in Warasdin, one of the Cossacks, with a broad grin plastered across his face, wheeled up one evening with a covered wagon in tow.

‘What do you have in the wagon, brother Andrei?’ asked one of the streľtsy.

‘And wouldn’t you like to know?’ Andrei the Cossack chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say I’ve got enough entertainment in here to last us the rest of the long weeks of the siege.’

That evening the Cossack rolled the wagon up to one of the big tents, where many of the Cossack cavalrymen and Ruthenian streľtsy were gathered. With a bit of theatrical exaggeration, Andrei lifted the rear flap of the tent, showing where the end of the wagon was. And out from the wagon issued…

Five Croatian dancing-girls, wearing nothing but smiles. Their pearly, smooth, shapely young-female flesh shone with subtle allure in the light of the candles as there was a great, indrawn breath of anticipation among the male Ruthenians assembled there… followed by a great raucous clamour of cheers and whistles. It was well-known that the Croatians had never exactly been shy of showing their bodies, having long held by the heretical Gnostic beliefs of the Adamites—the same vile heresy by which the Moravian Kráľ Želimír had once been seduced.

The girls began to dance, twirling their arms and lifting their shins high. It was clear to some of the older men there (to the younger men, sadly, it did not matter) that they weren’t simple prostitutes who had only that one talent—rather, they had been artistically trained in dance, tumbling and contortionism. They moved their bodies rhythmically and with expert timing and grace, arranging themselves into patterns hard for most women of any age to compass. When the Croatian girls began holding their bodies still and allowing only their navels to gyre in little wheels, they had all the male company firmly entranced.

But then there was a cry from the front of the tent.

‘Quick! Hide them!’ cried a young streľets. ‘Elisei is coming this way!’

There was great uproar and confusion. The boyar Elisei Anatoľevich Gorčakov—a scion of the same Rurikovič-derived princely family which had ruled in several towns along the Oka such as Kozeľsk and Peremyšľ—was known to be a strict officer, and one whose Orthodox Christian piety was as true and unquestioning as a peasant’s, renowned among the Ruthenian nobility. What would he do if he saw this lascivious display of bodies, exposed in this impious manner? Breaking men on the wheel for such a crime would not be out of his scope.

But they were too late. The five girls had officers’ cloaks thrown hastily over them and were not quite to the rear flap of the tent by the time the red-bearded Elisei stormed in through the front, flanked by two sotniki. Those piercing blue eyes roved over the company, and then settled briefly on the five shivering Croats, before moving onto the miscreant Cossack who had brought them—his mouth agape with dismay. Shaking his head slowly, Elisei Gorčakov approached the Croat dancers.

His hand went to his belt. There was a general flinch among the men present, as they thought he was going for his knout. But instead of the riding-whip, he drew out his purse, and counted out a handful of silver rubli, giving three to each girl.

‘That is for your labours and your trouble,’ said the boyar. ‘Take them back to your families. You!’

Elisei indicated Andrei with his hand. Andrei gulped and stepped forward.

‘Where did you come by them?’

‘Zagreb, sir,’ answered Andrei.

Elisei turned to one of his sotniki. ‘See these girls warmly dressed and taken safely back to Zagreb.’

The sotnik snapped a salute and saw the five girls ushered out between the men. There were stifled groans of disappointment among them—clearly younger ones who’d thought to seek them out for sport later. But they were silenced by a glare around from the boyar. Then Elisei turned to Andrei.

‘Who is your officer?’ the boyar demanded.

‘Esaul Vasilii,’ said Andrei meekly.

‘Report to the esaul at once,’ Elisei barked at him.

As it turned out, Elisei Anatoľevich Gorčakov demanded that Esaul Vasilii administer only a horse-whipping to the Cossack Andrei. No breakings on the wheel for this incident, God be thanked. In private, Elisei acknowledged that the men probably did need an outlet for their urges and shouldn’t be punished too harshly, but dancing-girls in the camp were indeed a bad influence.

The Ruthenians did, however, capture Warasdin and hand the keys over to the Moravians, and then proceeded to liberate Slavonia and Srem from Austrian control. They weren’t quick enough, however, to come to the aid of Bayern. The Austrians had already captured Landshut, and with the town, the person of Fürst Arnulf 2. himself, who was forced to come to terms.

Peace cost Bayern dearly—in fact, it cost Bayern all of its Tirolean Alpine holdings. Both Innsbruck and Meranum were handed over to Austria. In addition, Bayern was forced to pay heavy reparations to Austria in gold bullion. Thankfully the Fürstentum was not forced to break its treaties with Moravia and the Slavic nations east, and Bayern would be able to maintain its independent existence for another day.

That was the abrupt end, however, of Austria’s good fortune in the war.

Moravia, having joined its forces with the Ruthenians, had made a hard push southward into the Austrian holdings in the east. Bekesch fell in May of 1633, and the victorious Moravians sent the German garrison packing. The device of the noble Árpádok—the barry of eight gules and argent, which served doubly as the symbol of the Carpathian Birodalma—flew proudly once more from the parapets, and the church bells of the town pealed out joyfully as the Orthodox Divine Liturgy was again held there instead of the Roman Catholic Mass. It was clear from these things that Békés—as it would once again be called—was determined to stay in Carpathian hands.

Pest fell quickly after that. Then, too, did Torontál, Batsch, Schmodel and Weißenberg. Austria’s cultural grip on these provinces had been, at best, marginal—and it didn’t help that Austria had been in a long regency under an unpopular head of government, Regent Jozef von Unverzagt. But the religious belief of the people in these places was largely Orthodox Christian, and the language… varied from one valley to another. In the west, the language was indistinguishable from Serbian or Croatian. In the south, there was a distinct Vardarian dialect, which then diverged eastward into Bulgarian. And these were only the Slavs. In the middle of the country, particularly in the areas just east of Békés, the Magyar tongue had been preserved and kept as the prestige dialect. And in the east of the country, Greek and Romanian were still commonly spoken and written. Carpathia had long resisted easy classification, and so it would continue.

The two fronts converged on Wien. The western front, consisting of Bohemia and Drježdźany, was being readily mastered by the Germans. Wojen 2. was holding out valiantly in Budyšín, having rallied most of the Sorbs to the defence of the capital of long standing… but even that defence was failing. An army of twenty-five thousand Luxembourgers, led by Adrien de Rougé, was even now besieging the town. And they would soon be joined by about thirteen thousand men from Bourgogne.

Totil z Husi led a march northward through the Thaya into Moravia Proper. Using the old tried-and-true tactic of bait-and-switch, he sent Zdravomil Velen forward into Silesia in order to draw the Luxembourgers out, and then move his main force into position to crush them under a barrage of Budějovice-made artillery fire.

The tactic worked like a charm. Adrien de Rougé, taking Velen’s bait, marched his army right into the fusillade, within which they were hopelessly outgunned. Rougé himself fell in that battle, and it would later be said that not one Luxembourger was left alive to tell of that defeat, so thorough was the slaughter. This may have been exaggeration for propaganda purposes, but it was evidently convincing enough that Unverzagt ran up the flag of parley and sent out messengers to talk terms with Mojmír.

Carpathia, not Moravia, was the main beneficiary of the peace. Pest was returned to the friendly power of the Carpathian Empire. In addition, the Carpathian lands were again made contiguous (Slavonia and Srem having been disconnected from the main provinces by Austrian incursions over the decades) by the return of Békés and Torontál. The terms of the treaty were stark and unsparing: Austria was constrained to acknowledge Carpathia’s sole historical right to those territories, and promise to leave them in Carpathian hands in perpetuity. On paper, it looked as though Moravia gained little in the end save honour and prestige for her armies.

How wrong that impression would be! Moravian clergy of a traditional bent were beside themselves with joy, that the long-desired city of Pest was to be returned to a Carpathian Orthodox Általánosnő. And right behind them, were the Moravian merchant class. Pest was a major town of trade, and it was the veritable thoroughfare for goods in the Moravian market. Having Pest again in Detvansk‎ý hands meant that Moravian merchants would get preferential treatment there once again.

 

[Bfc kfc]

Here's a subchapter that ought to make @Bfc kfc happy!

III.
1 November 1632 – 18 February 1634​

The exeunt of the East Francians from the stage did come as a blow to Austria’s determination to hold onto Pest. But the war went on. Austria had made some clear gains: most of Bayern had fallen under their control, as had the southern Czech lands—even Jindřichův Hradec.

View attachment 1054006​

But the Moravians were driven by a renewed determination, as the Ruthenians had finally roused themselves and poured over the Carpathian border with armies forty-five thousand strong! The Slavic alliance was bolstered by the timely appearance of bearded boyar officers in long, fur-lined cloaks and tall hats; of streľtsy musketeers armed with guns and long, heavy-bladed berdyši; of desyatniki and sotniki with their long sabres and tassels distinguishing their ranks; and even of the feared, half-wild Cossack cavalry of the borderlands, with their fur caps and moustaches. These last were a mixed blessing: they had a tendency to get drunk and pick fights with their fellows, causing incidents between the allied units. But a blessing they were all the same: the Ruthenians quickly crossed the Carpathian lands and laid siege to the southern Austrian city of Warasdin.

At the siege camp in Warasdin, one of the Cossacks, with a broad grin plastered across his face, wheeled up one evening with a covered wagon in tow.

View attachment 1054007​

‘What do you have in the wagon, brother Andrei?’ asked one of the streľtsy.

‘And wouldn’t you like to know?’ Andrei the Cossack chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say I’ve got enough entertainment in here to last us the rest of the long weeks of the siege.’

That evening the Cossack rolled the wagon up to one of the big tents, where many of the Cossack cavalrymen and Ruthenian streľtsy were gathered. With a bit of theatrical exaggeration, Andrei lifted the rear flap of the tent, showing where the end of the wagon was. And out from the wagon issued…

Five Croatian dancing-girls, wearing nothing but smiles. Their pearly, smooth, shapely young-female flesh shone with subtle allure in the light of the candles as there was a great, indrawn breath of anticipation among the male Ruthenians assembled there… followed by a great raucous clamour of cheers and whistles. It was well-known that the Croatians had never exactly been shy of showing their bodies, having long held by the heretical Gnostic beliefs of the Adamites—the same vile heresy by which the Moravian Kráľ Želimír had once been seduced.

The girls began to dance, twirling their arms and lifting their shins high. It was clear to some of the older men there (to the younger men, sadly, it did not matter) that they weren’t simple prostitutes who had only that one talent—rather, they had been artistically trained in dance, tumbling and contortionism. They moved their bodies rhythmically and with expert timing and grace, arranging themselves into patterns hard for most women of any age to compass. When the Croatian girls began holding their bodies still and allowing only their navels to gyre in little wheels, they had all the male company firmly entranced.

But then there was a cry from the front of the tent.

‘Quick! Hide them!’ cried a young streľets. ‘Elisei is coming this way!’

There was great uproar and confusion. The boyar Elisei Anatoľevich Gorčakov—a scion of the same Rurikovič-derived princely family which had ruled in several towns along the Oka such as Kozeľsk and Peremyšľ—was known to be a strict officer, and one whose Orthodox Christian piety was as true and unquestioning as a peasant’s, renowned among the Ruthenian nobility. What would he do if he saw this lascivious display of bodies, exposed in this impious manner? Breaking men on the wheel for such a crime would not be out of his scope.

But they were too late. The five girls had officers’ cloaks thrown hastily over them and were not quite to the rear flap of the tent by the time the red-bearded Elisei stormed in through the front, flanked by two sotniki. Those piercing blue eyes roved over the company, and then settled briefly on the five shivering Croats, before moving onto the miscreant Cossack who had brought them—his mouth agape with dismay. Shaking his head slowly, Elisei Gorčakov approached the Croat dancers.

His hand went to his belt. There was a general flinch among the men present, as they thought he was going for his knout. But instead of the riding-whip, he drew out his purse, and counted out a handful of silver rubli, giving three to each girl.

‘That is for your labours and your trouble,’ said the boyar. ‘Take them back to your families. You!’

Elisei indicated Andrei with his hand. Andrei gulped and stepped forward.

‘Where did you come by them?’

‘Zagreb, sir,’ answered Andrei.

Elisei turned to one of his sotniki. ‘See these girls warmly dressed and taken safely back to Zagreb.’

The sotnik snapped a salute and saw the five girls ushered out between the men. There were stifled groans of disappointment among them—clearly younger ones who’d thought to seek them out for sport later. But they were silenced by a glare around from the boyar. Then Elisei turned to Andrei.

‘Who is your officer?’ the boyar demanded.

‘Esaul Vasilii,’ said Andrei meekly.

‘Report to the esaul at once,’ Elisei barked at him.

As it turned out, Elisei Anatoľevich Gorčakov demanded that Esaul Vasilii administer only a horse-whipping to the Cossack Andrei. No breakings on the wheel for this incident, God be thanked. In private, Elisei acknowledged that the men probably did need an outlet for their urges and shouldn’t be punished too harshly, but dancing-girls in the camp were indeed a bad influence.

The Ruthenians did, however, capture Warasdin and hand the keys over to the Moravians, and then proceeded to liberate Slavonia and Srem from Austrian control. They weren’t quick enough, however, to come to the aid of Bayern. The Austrians had already captured Landshut, and with the town, the person of Fürst Arnulf 2. himself, who was forced to come to terms.

View attachment 1054008​

Peace cost Bayern dearly—in fact, it cost Bayern all of its Tirolean Alpine holdings. Both Innsbruck and Meranum were handed over to Austria. In addition, Bayern was forced to pay heavy reparations to Austria in gold bullion. Thankfully the Fürstentum was not forced to break its treaties with Moravia and the Slavic nations east, and Bayern would be able to maintain its independent existence for another day.

That was the abrupt end, however, of Austria’s good fortune in the war.

Moravia, having joined its forces with the Ruthenians, had made a hard push southward into the Austrian holdings in the east. Bekesch fell in May of 1633, and the victorious Moravians sent the German garrison packing. The device of the noble Árpádok—the barry of eight gules and argent, which served doubly as the symbol of the Carpathian Birodalma—flew proudly once more from the parapets, and the church bells of the town pealed out joyfully as the Orthodox Divine Liturgy was again held there instead of the Roman Catholic Mass. It was clear from these things that Békés—as it would once again be called—was determined to stay in Carpathian hands.

View attachment 1054009​

Pest fell quickly after that. Then, too, did Torontál, Batsch, Schmodel and Weißenberg. Austria’s cultural grip on these provinces had been, at best, marginal—and it didn’t help that Austria had been in a long regency under an unpopular head of government, Regent Jozef von Unverzagt. But the religious belief of the people in these places was largely Orthodox Christian, and the language… varied from one valley to another. In the west, the language was indistinguishable from Serbian or Croatian. In the south, there was a distinct Vardarian dialect, which then diverged eastward into Bulgarian. And these were only the Slavs. In the middle of the country, particularly in the areas just east of Békés, the Magyar tongue had been preserved and kept as the prestige dialect. And in the east of the country, Greek and Romanian were still commonly spoken and written. Carpathia had long resisted easy classification, and so it would continue.

The two fronts converged on Wien. The western front, consisting of Bohemia and Drježdźany, was being readily mastered by the Germans. Wojen 2. was holding out valiantly in Budyšín, having rallied most of the Sorbs to the defence of the capital of long standing… but even that defence was failing. An army of twenty-five thousand Luxembourgers, led by Adrien de Rougé, was even now besieging the town. And they would soon be joined by about thirteen thousand men from Bourgogne.

View attachment 1054010​

Totil z Husi led a march northward through the Thaya into Moravia Proper. Using the old tried-and-true tactic of bait-and-switch, he sent Zdravomil Velen forward into Silesia in order to draw the Luxembourgers out, and then move his main force into position to crush them under a barrage of Budějovice-made artillery fire.

The tactic worked like a charm. Adrien de Rougé, taking Velen’s bait, marched his army right into the fusillade, within which they were hopelessly outgunned. Rougé himself fell in that battle, and it would later be said that not one Luxembourger was left alive to tell of that defeat, so thorough was the slaughter. This may have been exaggeration for propaganda purposes, but it was evidently convincing enough that Unverzagt ran up the flag of parley and sent out messengers to talk terms with Mojmír.

View attachment 1054011​

Carpathia, not Moravia, was the main beneficiary of the peace. Pest was returned to the friendly power of the Carpathian Empire. In addition, the Carpathian lands were again made contiguous (Slavonia and Srem having been disconnected from the main provinces by Austrian incursions over the decades) by the return of Békés and Torontál. The terms of the treaty were stark and unsparing: Austria was constrained to acknowledge Carpathia’s sole historical right to those territories, and promise to leave them in Carpathian hands in perpetuity. On paper, it looked as though Moravia gained little in the end save honour and prestige for her armies.

How wrong that impression would be! Moravian clergy of a traditional bent were beside themselves with joy, that the long-desired city of Pest was to be returned to a Carpathian Orthodox Általánosnő. And right behind them, were the Moravian merchant class. Pest was a major town of trade, and it was the veritable thoroughfare for goods in the Moravian market. Having Pest again in Detvansk‎ý hands meant that Moravian merchants would get preferential treatment there once again.

View attachment 1054012​

Oh indeed did I thoroughly enjoy this episode! Carpathia sets a good example of the Balkan nations of OTL, having all these differend people live under one Birodalom so peacefully. It would make sense if the Detvansky in VIC3 had the new "Enlightened Royalist" ideology in my opinion...

 

[HistoryDude]

Bavaria definitely got the short end of the stick here. The good news is that Austria was defeated - and the Church is happy.

The Cossacks exist here? I wonder if they will be relevant more later...

 

[Revan86]

Oh indeed did I thoroughly enjoy this episode! Carpathia sets a good example of the Balkan nations of OTL, having all these differend people live under one Birodalom so peacefully. It would make sense if the Detvansky in VIC3 had the new "Enlightened Royalist" ideology in my opinion...

Carpathia is an incredibly interesting country and neighbour in this AAR. And they are about to become a great deal more important...

Bavaria definitely got the short end of the stick here. The good news is that Austria was defeated - and the Church is happy.

The Cossacks exist here? I wonder if they will be relevant more later...

Yeah, Bayern was kind of fated to be a football between Moravia and the Germanic powers. At least they remained independent.

And yes, the Cossacks do exist in this timeline. They may have a certain role to play yet.

 

[Revan86]

FIFTY.
Moravians in Newfoundland
5 May 1634 – 15 May 1638​

The first person from the Moravian Crown Lands known to have set foot in the New World was a poručík of the Pražská Armáda named Efraim Kadlec. Kadlec, arriving with his command on the HMS Gwynedd at the port of St John’s on the island of Newfoundland on the twentieth of January in the year 1638, was there to take charge of the garrison in that town and hold it for the British for a little over four months. It was an odd assignment, as the Britons who had captured St John’s were not used to taking orders from a Slav who spoke only little and broken English, and no Welsh at all.

Efraim Kadlec, as a European from a landlocked continental power without colonial holdings, had some unique perspectives on the local culture. What follow are some excerpts from his journal, concerning his sojourn in the New World:

~~~

… Never before have I seen such a marvellous and strange landscape, with clear blue waters and limpid skies, shorelines stark with rocks and crags and high firths, with evergreens sprouting from every crevice even amidst the ice of winter. The seas teem with such wondrous plenitudes of cod, that one can hardly dip one’s hand into the water without brushing the flanks of three or four of these sought-after silver sea-dwellers altogether. Fishermen on this shore are thus felicitous and flourishing beyond measure. Inland, there are deer of a strange size, similar in appearance and behaviour to those I have heard described from the Kola Protectorate.

Most of the locals here in St John’s are Scots-severania, as is to be expected, though there are a few Neustrians and Francien among them as well. To us—Britons and Czechs and Moravians, I mean—they are rather closed and reserved; they regard us as hostile outsiders. But among themselves they are warm and cheery, and often regale each other with folk-songs and stories well into the night. There is little known of Orthodox Christianity here; instead the local churches conform to the doctrines of Rome. I find it is difficult to bear the deprivation of the Divine Liturgy and the Eucharist, but it is some comfort to discourse and debate on theological matters with my British compatriots, who can be knowledgeable…

A Beotuk woman​

I have noted two separate nations of domorodci here. One call themselves the Beotuk, and the other call themselves the Migmach. The Beotuk live on the northern side of Newfoundland. They are handsome, tall, stern-featured, with dark eyes and hair. A proud and aloof folk, they shun all customs that are not their own, and turn up their noses at most of our trade-goods. They live in a manner much like the Sámi: following the herds of deer in the inlands—but the few Beotukovia that I have seen have a pinched and hungry look about them. It is also the case that they have suffered years and decades of bitter warfare with the Scots. The cruel, fickle and vicious severán blood which runs in Scottish veins gives full vent to its barbarity in these fights, often with the Scots massacring entire encampments of Beotukovia with heathen abandon, to the great shame of their professed Christian faith. It is only right and proper that we are here, helping the British to control the reckless violence of the Scots…

The Migmachovia are rather different. They live on the southern side of the island, and are artisans and watermen by preference, who are most eager to do trade with men from Europe. Dark-haired and dark-eyed also, but rounder of face and fleshier of person, open, friendly, guileless, sweet-natured, but also drivers of hard bargains, the Migmach made a positive impression on me from the start. I took note of their expertly-woven reed wares—baskets, cradles and such—as well as their clothes, which are rich and beautiful hides with intricate designs in coloured beads and quills of spiny-pigs. They traded these readily for metalware, firearms, gunpowder and ammunition. They also spend much time in prayer to their Creator. Although they are heathen and thoroughly ignorant of Christ and His Good News of life and bliss everlasting, they nonetheless revere the Creator God under the local name of Gísuľg.

A Migmach woman weaving baskets​

As I was nearing the end of my sojourn, I noted that the Migmachovia began selling a peculiar confection: strongly-flavoured and with a mineral taste, but as sweet as honey or cane sugar, if not sweeter. This sweet is evidently distilled from the sap of the local maple trees, which are gently cut along one section of the bark in an inverted L-shape, while a vessel of birch bark is placed beneath. The cuts are so skilfully and cunningly made that they do no injury to the tree, and in this way the same tree might produce the sweet sap year over year. They are also made in a particular season of February and March, just before spring—although they seem to have some religious or superstitious reason for this, it may just be that the sap turns bitter as spring arrives in earnest…

I have noted that Migmach men prefer to take Beotuk wives. Small wonder: the handsome physiognomy of the Beotukovia clearly renders the fairer sex desirable! But there seem to be other reasons for this intercourse: the Beotukovia are dying from war, disease and hunger. Every year fewer and fewer remain. The survival of their nation seems to depend on the adoption of Beotuk members by Migmach families…

~~~​

Efraim Kadlec’s travel journals provided the Moravians with the first accounts in their own language of the Indigenous peoples of North America as well as the first ever account of the process of tapping sugar maples for sirup. (European settlers in the Canadas wouldn’t start harvesting maple sugar regularly for another forty-odd years.) Kadlec also sparked off a period of enthusiasm in Moravia for everything about the indiáni.

But how did Kadlec begin his sojourn? Well, for that we must return several years prior.

The early years of Hlinka dynastic rule in Moravia marked several reversals in policy, bringing it more in line with the reforms proposed by Augustin Kafenda. Under Mojmír 2. the state took a far less interventionist tack where commerce was concerned; centralisation of power was rolled back; and noblemen were given more of their traditional rights over their lands and over the administration of justice (prompting an unfortunate swing toward the entrenchment of serfdom).

Kafendism had a natural appeal to the landed gentry, to the lower nobility and to the merchant class. Kafenda’s ideas about traditional privilege appealed to the old landed families, many of whom were disgruntled by the centralising bent of successive Rychnovský kings going back to Kráľ Róbert. And Kafenda’s preference for free trade—a bit understated, perhaps, compared to his pro-noble stance—appealed to the merchants who stood to do cheap in places like Pest and Wien. Mojmír 2. Hlinka, coming as he did from an ancient gentry family from the Opolanie, was a natural constituent of the Kafendist agenda, and he conducted himself as such in the first years of his rule.

But Mojmír was also a pragmatist. And situations have a tendency to change.

The end of the war in Pest produced a boom in trade throughout Moravia. At first, this boom created an unprecedented flush of wealth in Silesia, particularly in Lehnice—which Mojmír was all too glad to see, and all too glad to let Lehnice keep. But speculation on commodities followed… and the demand for table salt boomed beyond the capacity of the Moravian state to furnish it. Despite having control over the rich halite mines at Velička and Bochnia in Malopolska, rumours began to spread of there being an impending salt shortage throughout the Moravian realm. Mojmír was forced to limit speculation on the commodity, and institute hard controls on export in order to keep the domestic price of salt in check.

An incident in Trenčín involving a nobleman bent on playing the tyrant among the bowers and townsfolk nearby, also caused Kráľ Mojmír some qualms about his policy of allowing noble autonomy within certain limits. He was forced to institute certain chastisements against this particular noble. And he also, controversially, instituted a broad sale of titles and landholdings of Crown land which were open to prominent members of town-dwelling and mercantile families.

These two abrupt changes in course, taken together, rather soured the attitude of the nobility toward him. But the townsfolk considered these acts the mark of an enlightened and worthy king.

Military-wise, the war in Pest saw a partial return to the old Neustrian tactics of divisions en tiers. Tighter formations of rectangular deployment were seen to be highly effective in focussing fire in enfilade, and the addition of smaller, mobile artillery pieces to each unit further increased their offensive effect. The new-old tactics made the army more manœuvrable, and gave it greater capacity to inflict damage, than it had ever had in its entire history.

Unfortunately, the policies that Moravian kings had pursued in filling the ranks of the military with commoners, had a deleterious effect on the army’s reputation… and unfortunately, reputation is not exactly nothing where the military is concerned. It was a matter of some embarrassment that Moravia’s armed forces were considered to be a motley assortment of brigands, hooligans, layabouts and ne’er-do-wells. Only after this same army was used to decisively crush the noble Nikolaevič revolt in northern Carpathia, were the tongues of the naysayers stilled, and the morale of the army restored.

It was in light of this military victory, and in light of these changes in policy, that the British Crown called upon Moravia in 1636 to assist in its attempt to wrest the Inner Hebrides from Scotland’s grasp—the last piece of the British Isles that was still outside the sway of the House of Caerhirfryn. For the most part, Great Britain was confident in her ability to master the seas with her navy. What she needed were land troops to man the garrisons of the outland holdings they captured.

And this is where Efraim Kadlec came in—the first Moravian ever to set foot on the North American continent. (General Zdravomil Velen would have been sent, but he had succumbed earlier in the year to an illness he contracted at Brassel.) Poručík Kadlec was in command of the first batch of Moravian auxiliaries hired by the British Crown to subdue and control the Scottish island holdings in the North Atlantic. In July of 1637 Poručík Kadlec was the commander of the Reekewick (that is to say, Reykjavík) garrison in Iceland; and by January of 1638, he had been transferred to the St John’s garrison in Scottish Newfoundland, where he wrote the reflections excerpted above.

~~~​

On the home front, Mojmír 2. was faced with the daunting task of keeping the nobles sweet. His public reprimand and punishment of that Cikker fellow in Trenčín had come hard. He wondered if a general sale of Crown lands might help in that area, with noble families being given preference based on prior rights and ancestral claims.

Perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with one stone, in the question of Bohumil Purkyně.

Preškapitán Purkyně had been hired on after the death of Zdravomil z Nostic. His accession had been quite controversial among the nobility, both on account of his common birth and on account of his Bohemian ancestry. The man leading the charge against his appointment was Vojtech Mansfeld—who was none other than the great-great-grandson of the mercantilist and arch-protectionist economic adviser Janek Mansfeld.

‘It’s a reasonable enough ask,’ Queen Svietlana Kotúľová informed her husband. ‘Purkyně isn’t so rare a talent that he can’t be replaced, and Mansfeld is more than his match as far as military affairs are concerned.’

‘That’s clear enough to anyone who can observe,’ Mojmír replied dryly. ‘But think of the implications. Can I really afford to alienate the Bohemians at this juncture by firing Purkyně?’

‘The nobles,’ Svietlana told him, ‘are already alienated. And appointing Mansfeld is a cheap enough way of buying yourself back into their good books.’

And so it was done. Mansfeld was instated as the King’s military adviser in the inner Zhromaždenie. And Svietlana was right: that gesture was enough to quell the mutinous mutterings among the nobility for the time being.

The British war over the Hebrides concluded in May of 1638, and Efraim Kadlec began his journey homeward. At present, the Kráľ had no way of knowing the impact Kadlec’s journals would have on the future of the country. But it was all but foreordained that the name of Efraim Kadlec would come to be remembered alongside those of Vulle Gáski and Bážá Ruigi in the history of the Sámi people.

​

 

[Von Acturus]

Independent Venezuela so early? How has that come to be?

The Admiral's account of the new world was fascinating. One wonders how the new world could have turned out had the Moravians been more involved in the colonising. Would they implant the Sami model? Or would they do as the Scots did?

 

[HistoryDude]

I'm seconding the inquiry about Venezuela.

Will Moravia attempt to colonize the New World themselves?

I wonder if this alienation of the Bohemians will become a problem later.

 

[Revan86]

Independent Venezuela so early? How has that come to be?

I'm seconding the inquiry about Venezuela.

Honestly, I'm not sure how that happened. Venezuela was colonised, strangely enough, by East Geatland, so culturally the rulers there are Swedish. But they must have had some sort of commonwealth event trigger really early.

The Admiral's account of the new world was fascinating. One wonders how the new world could have turned out had the Moravians been more involved in the colonising. Would they implant the Sami model? Or would they do as the Scots did?

Will Moravia attempt to colonize the New World themselves?

Moravia's involvement in the New World will come much later, and it will be primarily on account of a series of conflicts with Asturias. They won't have any actual colonies in the New World, though. (Also, the Sami did kind of get shafted early on as well, before the Kola Protectorate.)

I wonder if this alienation of the Bohemians will become a problem later.

Oh, there will always be problems later...

 

[Revan86]

FIFTY-ONE.
New Heresies, Old Rivalries
2 August 1639 – 18 March 1642​

It was in early August of 1639 that a ponderous and exhaustive religious document, written under a pseudonym in the style of the Scholastics, began circulating around central Neustria, West Francia and Bourgogne. Entitled Un traité pour la bonne direction des vrais chrétiens, this document emphasised the absolute sovereignty and omnipotence of God, the need for sole reliance upon the Holy Scriptures, the wholesale corruption and total depravity of human nature, the predestination of some elect souls to bliss and all others to eternal perdition, the particular corruption of the Church in Rome, the need for austere and God-fearing civil authorities, and the need for a thoroughgoing Reform of civil religion in correspondence with a clear and plain reading of the Bible.

Eventually, the author of this document was found to be a legal scholar in Aubusson in Neustria, named Hugues de Claravaux. At once, the Traité was denounced by the Papacy, and a bull was issued calling for the author to stand before an inquisition on suspicion of heresy. Claravaux fled into Luxembourg, where he continued printing religious pamphlets and gathering around himself a community of ‘true Christians’ or ‘Reformed Christians’, who believed themselves to be the Elect of God. Within Neustria and West Francia, the followers of Hugues de Claravaux were derisively called ‘Huguenots’.

When the news of this new teaching reached Olomouc, the reaction was essentially a collective shrug.

Moravia bore little love for Old Rome or the Papal State. There were, of course, the marked doctrinal differences and differences of theological style between Orthodox Christianity and Roman Catholicism. But there was also the living memory, not fifty years past, of the near-total conquest of Bohemia and Moravia Proper by the Papal armies—which still very much rankled the older military men. The diatribes in the Traité against Rome’s corruption and perversion of authority could be read in Moravia with some degree of sympathy.

But Claravaux’s understanding of Scripture in the Traité simply could not be stomached—not even by the most radical Johanites. For one thing: from the Orthodox Christian perspective, the divine inspiration of Scripture was a living reality, not a one-time event. Orthodox teaching held that there was a continuous tradition of Scriptural interpretation going back to Scripture’s authors, and it was dangerous for men to assume that they could interpret Holy Scripture for themselves in light of their own reasoning. It was the Church’s continuous interpretation of the Bible—not the Pope’s, not any one man’s, certainly not Hugues de Claravaux’s—that was infallible.

Orthodox churchmen also rejected the doctrine of double predestination as inconsistent with the personality of God as revealed in the Lord Jesus Christ, and with the reality of human free will. Christ did not force men to believe in Him, or to harden their hearts to Him. Rather, Christ bestowed grace freely, in the perfection of love, upon all who came to Him: grace that they could then do with what they willed. The Orthodox clergy did not make light of the potential for the abuse of that grace, or the possibility of damnation. But they emphatically denied that God was somehow the author of that damnation.

In addition, the Orthodox clergy of Moravia upheld anew the teaching of Saint James the Brother of the Lord, in regard to the need for works of mercy as the fruits of faith; the teaching of the proper use and veneration of images of Christ, the Theotokos and the Saints; and the need for an unbroken Apostolic succession to ‘rightly divide the Word of Truth’ for all mankind.

Such and similar were the answers that were made from the amvon in parishes across Moravia for the edification of the faithful, though little time was used to dwell on it. There were other more pressing questions to attend.

Mojmír 2.’s replacement of Bohumil Purkyně with Vojtech Mansfeld had made the Moravian high nobility happy. But it made all the more glaring, the fact that the chief diplomatic advisory post was held—not only by a commoner, but by a non-Christian: a Jew. Even though said Jew had changed his name to Drahoslav Jesenský, and was careful not to parade the fact of his faith, he was still a thorn in the side of the Church. Perhaps a bit surprisingly, it was Metropolitan Laurenty who fronted the complaints of the Church against Jesenský to the Kráľ.

‘It has been a meet and proper policy for the Moravian kingdom to allow that people to settle within the pale of Nový Sadec. After all, God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that he should turn from his ways and live. But we must be clear that the Jews are indeed wicked. The proofs of this are to be found throughout Scripture. It was the Jews who delivered Christ up to Pontius Pilate. It was the Jews who, making themselves partners with Satan, scorned Him, mocked Him, called for Him to be crucified. It was the Jews who demanded that His blood be upon them and their children.’

‘Well over sixteen hundred years ago,’ Mojmír 2. remarked dryly.

‘The current wickedness of the Jews is evident,’ Laurenty pursued viciously, ‘from their practices. Examine the templates of the Jew in Scripture: the Pharisee, the Chief Priest, and Judas Iscariot. The modern Jew is very much so a disputer and a complainer: just as the Pharisees questioned the Lord with the malicious intent of slander and murder in their hearts—so too do the current-day Jews dispute and gripe against His Church. And, consider that the Chief Priest in Scripture says that it is better that one man should die than that the whole nation should perish. Do not the Jews even today place their own benefit over the good of the innocent, when they come before our courts? And furthermore: Judas Iscariot was a lover of money, who betrayed Our Lord for thirty pieces of silver. The Jews today love money more than anything else! They lend at interest, on terms which sap the good people and innocents of our land of the blood of their veins and the sweat of their brows—something which their own Scriptures explicitly forbid!’

Mojmír shook his head in dismay at this antisemitic diatribe. The dark image that the Lesser Polish Metropolitan was conjuring up bore no resemblance at all to the Drahomír Jesenský he knew. He spoke thus:

‘It must be understood: we are considering one man only. We are not considering the Jewish gens as a whole, nor the rightness or wrongness of the Jewish creed. On the former point I defer to the policy of my predecessors; and on the latter point, naturally, I defer to you. As a point of clarity I will merely ask: would you consider Radomír 2. to be a Judas Iscariot? Or his mother, Queen Viera?’

‘I have nothing against a Jew who repents of his error,’ Metropolitan Laurenty thrust out his beard.

‘Good. Well, now that sedition is off the table—and I would hate to have to arrest a high clergyman on such a charge—’ Mojmír’s sweet and silky tone neatly hid the verbal touch that he’d clearly scored on the Metropolitan, who bridled silently but did not interject, ‘let us come to the matter of Jesenský. Have you proof that my chief diplomat has disputed or brought complaint against the Church?’

‘No,’ said the Metropolitan, with reluctance.

‘Or that he has in any legal sense, personally abused his office at the public expense?’

The Metropolitan’s jaw ground. ‘No.’

‘Or that he has embezzled money, or committed any crime regarding money, or has personally lent money at interest to any man?’

Metropolitan Laurenty shook his head grimly.

‘Then, I fear I must beg your pardon,’ the Kráľ informed the Metropolitan of Vislania. ‘Drahoslav Jesenský occupies a civil office, and to be dismissed from a civil office, said officer must have committed at least some civil offence. Thus far he is guilty of nothing more than simply being a Jew.’

‘Which is grievous enough,’ Laurenty growled.

‘From the Church’s perspective, perhaps,’ Mojmír allowed, ‘but not from the state’s. Church and state are to be helpmeets to each other, as Aaron the Priest and Moses the Lawgiver were. But just as it is not my place to speak on matters of the health of the soul after death—so it is not yours to administer the earthly sword of this life in my stead. I trust I have made myself clear?’

‘Perfectly clear, O Kráľ,’ Metropolitan Laurenty spoke icily. He bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, and strode from the room with his black cassock billowing about him.

~~~​

Drahoslav Jesenský was thus confirmed in his place in office—much to his own relief and that of his employer. It was also noteworthy that Archbishop Rafael (who never once spoke such antisemitic bile as his subordinate had) did not bring forward the same complaints. This indicated to Mojmír that Drahoslav was simply a political scapegoat of certain internal disputes within the Church. He’d made the right decision.

In the same way, soon he knew that he had also made the right decision to fire Purkyně in preference of Mansfeld. Two further crises rocked the military, and if it hadn’t been for Mansfeld’s advice, the kingdom might well have foundered.

The first crisis involved battlefield commissions. Now, the practice of elevating people of talent to rank in the midst of war had long been a contentious one; but Mojmír could not very well oppose the idea that had led to his father’s captaincy in the first place. Mansfeld understood this: but he also understood the pleas of his class, that an officer had to have a certain level of breeding, a certain style of upbringing, a certain cultivated spirit of družnosť. (Never mind that this last was ever as much a convention and a custom more often invoked than observed, but it was a spirit that could still sway the heart of a Moravian vojak.)

‘I don’t at all suggest that a change ought to be permanent,’ said Mansfeld, ‘but to be frank, the officer corps could use a bit of a shake-up. Let some of the middle ranks feel the fear of God for awhile.’

Mojmír thought long and hard about this. ‘Very well, let it be so. But not as a permanent policy, mind.’

The shock to the military ranks was still felt all the same, as men with battlefield commissions were suddenly taking crash courses in courtesy and the art of poetic extemporisation. Despite the general tenor of uncertainty that accompanied the shift, Mojmír did have to admit that he’d never seen his officer corps more brotherly and united, with a certain renewed thumos that boded well for Moravia’s victories, and ill for her enemies.

This led, imperceptibly at first but quite feelingly soon after, to the second crisis.

The high brass of the officer corps began issuing complaints against the commanders of garrisons, which had been well-stocked and supplied ever since the débâcle against the Papal State. The idea, of course, was that the garrison commanders lacked družnosť, lacked stomach and heart for battle, being content to sit behind their walls and do nothing while the true men bled and died. The garrison commanders, for their part, in answer merely had to rehearse the litany of failures of the old družnosť when it came to defending their lands against the Pope’s mercenaries. Mojmír was also forced to attend to the demands of these two factions within his army.

Thanks to Mansfeld’s careful management, he was able to thread a careful way between the two, keeping the garrison commanders happy while also providing further incentives for the new officer corps to display their manhood and valour.

Although Mojmír was an avowed champion of decentralising and representative reforms, and although he had willingly shared power with the Stavovské Zhromaždenie, it was in this period that the first tentative reformers began calling for a revaluation of the virtues of the absolute form of monarchy under the Rychnovských. The political bickering between different factions of the military, between the Church and the civil service, and even between different bishoprics within the Church, was tiresome to several of these, who desired that Mojmír (or—it was not spoken aloud—a Rychnovský claimant) would more effectively take the reins on some of these questions.

Elsewhere the political fortunes of the Rychnovský family continued to decline. True, Rychnovských continued to rule in Drježdźany and Great Ruthenia. But the Principality of Biela Rus’, which had managed to maintain its independence under a Rychnovský ruler for centuries, was quickly being carved up between Livonia and Galicia, who had both been quick to scent blood in the water after the break between White Rus’ and its neighbours. Sadly, it seemed that White Rus’ would meet the same fate at the hands of the Baltic powers, that the Greek Despotate of Pomerania had at the hands of their Swedish neighbours.

But despite these political quibbles, the economic state of the Moravian kingdom flourished. A new mill was opened on the Labe (the Czech Elbe) at Ústí nad Labem. This mill added significantly to the value and importance of that town—as well as to the satisfaction of the townsfolk.

Another innovation which significantly brightened Moravia’s economic future was the first appearance, from the north of West Francia, of wine corks. Hitherto, vintners had used oiled rags to stopper bottles of wine: a technique which worked well for local production and local drinking, but which rendered transportation and long-term storage of wine in bottles a problem. The cork—in fact a sheet of the cambium of a certain type of oak, rolled and processed into a watertight and airtight bung—significantly lengthened the shelf-life of a glass bottle of wine. Not only the landowners and vintners of Moravia Proper, but also Bohemian glassblowers, stood to benefit handsomely from this new technique!

Unfortunately, it seemed, Galicia was not content merely to extend its territorial ambitions eastward against its White Ruthenian neighbours. They wanted pieces of Moravia, too, while they were at it. And the diplomatic posture of the Galicians in Olomouc left no doubt that the rulers of Galicia were still hostile and still intent on taking Moravia down a peg.

 

[HistoryDude]

Well, Galicia could be a problem in the future.

Will Moravia end up allying with these new Reformed Christians out of convenience if the Catholics threaten them too much? After all, their doctrines might be wrong... but doctrine has a way of taking a backseat to politics sometimes.

 

[Revan86]

FIFTY-TWO.
The Lady of the Volga
19 October 1642 – 12 July 1646

It was on the march to Džuketau that Elisei Anatoľevich Gorčakov, boyar of Ryazan, encountered Damira Abouzarova. It was a fateful meeting—one that was to shape the entire course of Russian history.

Elisei was crossing his troops at the Great River Volga near the town of Saratau, which the Ruthenians had established some decades earlier as a means of establishing both their economic and military predominance in the Volga valley—against both Byzantium to the south and Garderike to the north. The residents of the area, however, were still very much so a mixture of Bolghar Muslims and Christian Ruthenians.

The Volga is shallow at that crossing, with many small islands and sandbars dotting the river between the left and right banks. It was on one of the nearer islets that Elisei first caught a glimpse of a strange, pale shape half-submerged in the water among the sedges and mallows. Thinking that it might be a dead river-animal of some sort, Elisei dismounted and waded into the shallows to get a closer look at it.

However, the pathetic outline of a slender young girl soon suggested itself to him, seemingly drowned. With her hair as wet and as dirty with river-weeds and such as it was, there was no way to tell its original colour. But the face of the girl was young, unblemished, and fair indeed to look on. Elisei crossed himself and moved toward her—whoever she was, Musulman or Christian, she deserved better than to be left exposed to the elements on a riverbank like this.

She was petite and light—almost fey in her proportions. Elisei lifted her easily over his shoulder, and again sloshed his way across to the solid mainland right bank with her. But he very nearly slipped and fell into the Volga himself when he felt a bubbling cough erupt from her, and felt her dislodge some of the water in her windpipe across his back.

‘Get a tent up!’ Elisei called to his men when he’d regained his senses. ‘And get a fire going! And for the love of God find me a clean, dry set of clothes!’

~~~​

The half-drowned waif recovered under Elisei’s care, as his unit stood for the next few days on the Volga’s right bank. As her hair dried, Elisei took note that it was in fact a very attractive oaken-brown. His physician managed to get most of the water out of her lungs, and then prescribed that some cleaner sample of the same stuff be gotten down her throat the correct way. What was death in the windpipe might prove a harbinger of life within the gullet.

She drank. And then she stirred.

It quickly became clear from her reaction, finding herself newly awakened among strangers, which side of the religious divide she was on. As she opened her eyes and found herself staring at a bunch of fair-bearded Rus’ men around her, she very quickly cast about for something to cover her head and face with, and withdrew herself into a corner as far as she dared.

‘What is your name?’ asked Elisei gently.

The girl shook her head. It was unclear if she didn’t understand, or if she was too frightened to answer.

‘I am Elisei,’ the Rus’ boyar spoke to her—as one might to a small frightened bird or squirrel. ‘Who are you?’

‘D—Damira,’ the girl stammered.

‘You are Bolghar?’ asked the boyar.

The girl merely stared at him reproachfully.

‘Well. We’ll keep you here long enough to recover your strength, but after that you will be free to return home,’ said Elisei. ‘You are neither prisoner nor slave here, and you need fear nothing from me.’

‘N—no!’ cried Damira, in broken Slavic. ‘P—pl—please no send home! I’s run! I’s run away!’

‘You’re running away?’ Elisei asked her gently.

Damira was clearly wrestling with herself, how far to trust this stranger whom she didn’t know at all. It took great effort and concentration even to collect her thoughts. But Elisei was patient, and gentle, and did not press her in any way. Eventually the story came tumbling out of her, and her Slavic became more fluent with her renewed wakefulness.

‘I am Damira, daughter of Abouzar. I am Bolghar. My uncles want me to marry. But I do not like the man they chose—he is cruel and wicked, a robber. I would either marry, or I would be killed for honour. I chose neither. I sought out the river. Better I should drown, than disgrace myself and my father!’

‘Is there no other way? No recourse you might take with your father?’

‘My father trades,’ Damira muttered. ‘He is upriver now, with the Swedes. My uncles rule me, while he is gone.’

Elisei examined Damira carefully. Of long and bitter experience, he had little reason to trust the Bolghars—but then, he’d rarely encountered their womenfolk before. The fair girl with the oaken-brown hair had deep, soulful brown eyes, and a certain shy, retiring dignity that he couldn’t help but respect.

‘We shall stay here a few days longer,’ he told her, ‘before we must march on Džuketau. If you wish it, I can speak with your uncles on your behalf… or bring you along with us.’

Perhaps it was bound to happen sooner or later. But Damira was a very pretty girl, in addition to being sweet and modest and high-minded. And Elisei, a bachelor boyar of means and power among the Rus’, was also kind and gentle and patient—everything a man ought to be to a woman. Wariness yielded to respect, and respect to liking, and liking to still tenderer emotions of the heart. It was very little surprise to his men, when the boyar Elisei brought Damira Abouzarova before the unit chaplain and asked him to bind them together in matrimony—thus solving her dilemma. Damira Abouzarova additionally agreed to undergo baptism into the One, Holy, Sobornyi and Apostolic Orthodox Church, for the love of a husband who had done her such good turns.

And by the time the main bulk of the Great Rus’ Army showed up under the command of Ivan Ogloblin, Damira was already pregnant with Elisei’s child.

The Moravians, too—redoubtable Orthodox brothers ever of the Ruthenian people—had shown up in force in this campaign against the Muslim Tatars of Džuketau, who were allied with the Bashkirs and with the Uzbeks of Gurgânj. Ogloblin engaged the Bashkirs near the town of Balakovo on the left bank of the Volga; while the Moravians under the command of Totil z Husi engaged the Uzbeks at Penza.

Totil utterly trounced the Uzbeks, and sent them fleeing back over the border into Garderike. Taking advantage of the opportunity provided him, the typically-bold Totil made a beeline across the old Bolghar lands to take Džuketau directly from the west, instead of through Ruthenian-held territory. Unfortunately, the Ruthenians did not fare as well on that southward route. The Prussian general Butvydas von Buxhövden, who served as a Baltic mercenary for Černigov, was caught at Yaik with an inferior force composed mostly of cavalry, and confronted with a Bashkir force nearly twice his size under the Bashkir Tarkhan Rateg 3. He was forced to beat a hasty retreat back across the Volga.

As usual, the more conservative Wojen 2. Rychnovský of Drježdźany took up the rearguard, and committed himself to the far less glamourous task of re-establishing Ruthenian control over the Volga’s right bank. Wojen quickly joined up with Butvydas von Buxhövden and the unit from Ryazan under Elisei Gorčakov.

The Sorbian wójwoda was charmed to see the boyar of Ryazan together with his Bolghar bride; a very pretty picture the two of them made! Hand-in-hand, decorous, trusting and sweet with each other—and she over twice as big around at the abdomen with the fruit of their love, as she would have been otherwise!

‘When are you due?’ Wojen Rychnovský asked Damira.

‘Less than a month hence, God willing,’ Damira answered demurely, laying her thoughtful free hand over her enormous belly, ‘will my lord have an heir.’

Elisei squeezed her other hand. ‘I’ll find you a safe, clean place to deliver—away from all this warlike nonsense.’

‘Not if it will hinder you. You have your duty,’ Damira Abouzarova assured her husband. ‘I know what you owe to your people and to your Knyaz’, and you won’t give them of anything less than your best. I wouldn’t have you be any other way.’

Wojen grinned. Seeing Elisei and Damira together like this, reminded him strongly of himself and Anetka when they were younger, and brought back reminiscences of her Regency with him, when together they were responsible for administering justice for a long swathe of (at that time) disconnected Sorbian lands. Shared duty—and with it mutual respect, trust, affection, desire… The Rus’ boyar and his Bolghar wife were almost a bit too adorable in that sense, but Wojen still wished them well with all his heart.

‘Ej, Wojen—’ Elisei Gorčakov motioned to the Sorbian lord, ‘Slovo na uho. The Rychnovských in Sorbia… are they loyal to the current king of Moravia?’

‘As loyal to ours, I trust, as you are to yours.’ Wojen found himself having sudden pricks of misgiving.

‘As it should be, as it should be,’ Elisei nodded emphatically. His searching blue eyes reached into Wojen’s dark ones. ‘I give these cautions into your ear alone among the Moravians, because I understand your loyalty. You are a Rychnovský: the same as our Veliky Knyaz’ Vseslav the Sixth. You will not betray him, anymore than you would betray your king.’

‘What is this about?’ asked Wojen warily.

‘This is about the brotherhood of the Orthodox Slavic peoples,’ Elisei told him firmly, ‘and the dangers to that brotherhood! Listen. Vseslav believes in the Moravian-Ruthenian alliance. It is written in him as deep as blood, as deep as faith. Yet his daughter, Dobroslava… have you met her?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t yet met cousin Dobroslava.’

‘For that, give thanks to God! She is, I fear, a vain, fickle and pampered creature… and an unwise one,’ Elisei shook his head grimly. ‘It grieves me to say this as a boyar. But I fear this comes of her living in Kiev, with both its splendid glories and its worldly corruptions. In her mind, the crown of Moravia belongs on her head; and not upon the head of some upstart army captain of paltry birth.’

‘That is… not an uncommon sentiment among our kin,’ Wojen ventured.

‘Pravda, pravda,’ Elisei waved an impatient hand, ‘but you have both the wisdom and the righteousness not to act on such vainglorious thoughts! Dobroslava knows no such restraint, but wags her tongue freely. It is a shame to her father. He and Knyaginya Angelina have been trying like mad for a son, but sadly her womb bears only girl-fruit.’

‘Why are you telling me all of this?’ asked Wojen Rychnovský.

‘Kto predosterežjon, tot vooružjon,’ Elisei Gorčakov tapped the side of his nose. ‘The better you know, the better you can prepare. Speaking for myself, I will stand always behind my Knyaz’. But let’s see to it now that we don’t end up on opposing sides.’

~~~

Džuketau itself fell to Husi’s armies on the eighteenth of September, 1643.

From there, Husi divided his men and swept southward into Buzuluk and eastward into the Tatar tribe of Belebej. There was little by way of resistance, and the Ruthenians soon came to terms with the Tatars of Belebej—peace in exchange for tribute.

On the home front, from the mines of Moravia, there came both good news and bad. The good news was: a massive deposit of gold was found beneath the Veselý vrch in central Bohemia—one large enough to keep the treasury of the state in liquidity for decades. The bad news: the veins of tin and iron ores that had been surveyed beneath Jáchymov and Horní Blatná in the Ore Mountains had been tapped out, and the new veins that were being explored there were of markedly lower quality. Equipping new military units became subsequently more expensive.

Nonetheless, Husi pushed further and further forward with the resources and men he had. Moving past Belebej, he attacked the Bashkir horde at Ufa, and laid siege to their main camp. The siege lasted over two hundred days, but he eventually forced the Bashkirs to parley.

In the camp at Balakovo, on the left bank of the Volga, Damira Abouzarova gave birth to a son. The thin tuft of hair on the baby’s head was brown, like his mother’s; but his eyes were blue, like his father’s. He did not cry out or have tantrums, having inherited the mild disposition of his mother. Being a November child, he was christened Ivan Eliseevič, under the patronage of St John Chrysostom.

The Moravian Army managed to adopt some significant tactical advantages as they advanced the line into Gurganj. The high steppes, with their sparse dry gullies, made some adjustments to field tactics necessary. Combat on the steppes was a matter of mobility and flexibility, though enemy manoeuvres could be seen literally miles away. Moravian artillery commanders responded by going for range and mobility over depth. The resulting flexibility made it easier for the Moravians to herd the Uzbeks into directed crossfires for greater killing effect.

Totil z Husi’s advance toward Gurganj, however, was a slow and grinding one. Totil hadn’t quite put behind him his youthful exuberance and his preference for the decisive engagement, the grand gesture. But—as the war for Pest hadn’t quite yet managed to teach him—decisive battles don’t exist, and grand gestures don’t win wars.

The Uzbeks did put up a valiant resistance to the Moravian-Ruthenian incursion, costing them nearly two years of advance time. That was enough time for the Galicians to begin working against Moravia on the homefront. Discontent with the government of Mojmír 2. was still, unfortunately, not that hard to drum up. Mojmír had managed to wrong-foot both the Church and the high nobles of late, and this created an atmosphere where dissatisfaction with recent policy choices could grow unchecked. In the end, Mojmír was forced to capitulate to some of the conservative faction’s demands in order that his rule should continue easily in the absence of his armies.

After the fall of the Uzbek camps along the Torģai River, a long and drawn-out process that involved hit-and-run engagements along the silver snake’s entire meandering length through the steppes, Gurganj finally came to terms. Once Gurganj had made peace with Ruthenia, it was all over for Džuketau. That town, along with the Tatar settlements south, were incorporated as a client-state of Ruthenia.

When the campaign was over, it did indeed come as something of a surprise, when the boyar of Ryazan showed up in his town with a svelte young Bolghar bride, and their healthy brown-haired toddler with them. The townsfolk of Ryazan wished the new family well, though. As yet, none of them had any inkling of the fateful destiny that was to await Ivan Eliseevič Gorčakov.

 

[HistoryDude]

Wait a minute. Did they marry immediately?

I knew that overthrowing the Rychnovsky dynasty would lead to problems with Moravia's allies! Let's hope that this assassination succeeds. Horrible things can be justified in the name of peace.

 

[Von Acturus]

Moravia's proving to be a key ally for any kingdom which wishes to attain hegemony in Russia. Hopefully it's foreign involvement doesn't end up strengthening a future enemy.

Dynastic struggles continue to be a bane to the new regime. Maybe it would be better if there was a pretender revolt, so the king could win a decisive victory and make an example out of the revolters. That ought to bring stability.

 

[Revan86]

FIFTY-THREE.
A Mill on the Kama
21 January 1647 – 3 January 1650​

The tour of Veliky Knyaz’ Vseslav 6. to the border outpost of Kazan took place in January of 1650. Kazan, of course, had been the most important city to the Tatars in bygone times, but now it was of invaluable importance to the Ruthenians for strategic reasons. As the aging Vseslav inspected the wooden ramparts, his eldest daughter approached him.

‘Father, it’s filthy here,’ she pouted. ‘Must we stay much longer?’

Vseslav Rychnovský sighed. There was, in fact, good reason for this tour. He needed to know more about these recent developments among the Bashkirs on his eastern flank. The rumours he had heard about the new mills in Bashkiria were… troubling.

The Tarkhan of the Bashkirs, Rateg 3., had not taken his defeat at Džuketau lying down. He had assigned his top men to construct wooden mills along the river Kama. He had somehow obtained, whether by purchase or by raid, the latest mechanical devices for spinning wool. And the Tarkhan had conscripted the local peasantry—particularly unwed girls of the local Komi stock—into manning these mechanical devices on long shifts in order to bolster production. Bashkir cloth was now remarkably plentiful and cheap, and unfortunately the prices were undercutting the domestic cloth made by the Russian peasantry. The Musulmen of the northeast looked set to win through economic clout, what they had lost in warfare against the Russians.

Vseslav liked this new development not one bit. He was already consulting with his boyary how best to put a stop to it.

But Vseslav was actually happy to visit Kazan in any event. Any excuse to get out of Kiev and go into the countryside was welcome. The Tatars and the local Russian mužiki, he found, had manners which were quaint and charming. In truth, Vseslav was not unlike many Russian aristocrats of this time, who wanted to be more in touch with the common people, and who sought wisdom among the peasantry. The simple, guileless, truthful religious customs in particular: it seemed to him that even the simplest rural peasant girl with her stumbling prayers, was closer to God than any metropolitan or monk in Kiev.

But just try and get his daughter to see that!

‘It will be a matter of days, dear one. I must consult with my boyary on certain… military affairs here, and matters of intelligence. We should not be much longer in Kazan.’

‘When I am the Knyaginya,’ Dobroslava spoke confidently, ‘I shall split my time evenly between Kiev and Olomouc. The boyary shall come to me—not I to them!’

Vseslav winced inwardly. His daughter could be stunningly callous sometimes. Not to mention overly free with her tongue, as though there were no consequences to letting it wag at every stray thought.

‘And who says you shall rule from Olomouc at all?’ he queried her.

‘Oh, it’s no secret that that big-headed Hlinka bumpkin is ripe for a fall!’ Dobroslava crowed. ‘Wasn’t it only just put out that his great-grandmother was a mere clodhopper, little better than a serf, in the Morava Valley? I tell you, father—few are the Moravian nobles who are likely to keep fealty to that.’

‘Do not underestimate Mojmír.’ Vseslav fought to keep the despair out of his voice. His daughter might be insensitive, but she wasn’t—God willing!—yet past mending. ‘He may not be the most hathel-blooded of men. But he is a solid commander and a fine administrator. Lately, too, he’s demonstrated a certain knack for diplomacy! Or—I should say—Drahoslav Jesenský has well and truly earned his keep.’

‘Diplomacy?’

Vseslav 6. Rychnovský explained: ‘Eastern Rome can be an… unpleasant neighbor, especially when she feels her privileges are being trodden on. Put simply: Moravia’s influence with Carpathia has kept the Basileus at loggerheads with the Kráľ since the reign of Tomáš 2. Mojmír has managed to make Constantinople—maybe not a friend, but at least no longer an enemy. And he did it on the cheap.’

Dobroslava crossed her arms disbelievingly. ‘And how’s that?’

‘By catering to the Church. It’s long been a desire of certain bishops within the Moravian Orthodox hierarchy, to bring the Liturgy into closer conformity with the established practice in the other Patriarchates. Archbishop Rafael is one of these reformist bishops. Mojmír sent the good Archbishop to Constantinople with the purpose of studying contemporary Greek Liturgical practice and adapting it to Moravian Church settings.’

‘So… flattery, then.’

‘Very much so. And quite effective flattery, at that,’ Vseslav answered his daughter. ‘If Constantinople has one weakness, it is pride… they consider themselves the centre of the world, the aim and desire of all humanity’s universal aspirations. For Moravia’s primate to come in person to Constantinople, to study and to imitate the Constantinopolitan practice, was sure to come as a touching gesture. And it was also quite cost-effective. The Church bore the whole of the expense, as well as whatever fallout might have resulted thereafter. No strain was placed on the diplomatic corps. No money was drained from the state’s coffers. Apart from a handful of peasants and zealous die-hards, the move made the state no new enemies, and removed one bitter enemy of long standing. I doubt that our Church could ever have made good such a reform, not without provoking a massive schism.’

‘A lucky stroke, and no more,’ Dobroslava scoffed.

Vseslav shook his head. ‘I wish you would come to understand that the rulers of states make a good portion of their own luck.’

Which was, of course, why Vseslav was out here in Kazan in the first place. Bashkiria’s embrace of these new techniques of manufacture could not be ignored without cost. It was a lesson that Dobroslava needed to learn, and quickly, if she wanted her future hold on power to be as secure as she was wont to boast.

~~~​

The Western Church, in the meanwhile, was weighing the situation in the New World with concern. There was now a mad headlong land rush between the colonising Catholic and Muslim powers all along the eastern coastline of the New World, and the Pope was desirous of expanding Catholic influence there at all costs, lest the Moors lead even more souls to perdition than they already had.

As a result, Pope Soterius 2. sent a legate across the sea to the far austral port town of Fairwind at the mouth of the River Plate. From the front steps of the residence of the colonial Governor-General of Argentine A. Ransom Button, it was proclaimed in Latin, English and Welsh that the new King Siôr ap Prawst o Gaerhirfryn had sole right and responsibility to explore, claim and convert all heathen territories of the Southern Cone, east of the seventieth meridian of longitude.

This proclamation was met, of course, with immediate derision and outrage in Muslim Iberia—and particularly in the Ṭâ‘ifa of Balansiyya, whose Moorish ruler ‘Abd al-Ḥasan 2. ibn al-Qays laid credible claim to vast swathes of the pampas south of Tuyû. It was difficult to escape the conclusion that the Papal proclamation, far from being an epistle of peace, seemed to be rather a harbinger of religious war and even crusade between Catholics and Muslims on the far side of the world.

~~~​

In Moravia, the untimely death of Zásobovateľ Vojtech Mansfeld, on the very forefeast of Theophany of the Year 1650 (civil calendar) was met with great mourning. He was forty-five years old. He had succumbed—so the court physician would claim—to a blood-clot in the brain, possibly the result of overwork and mental strain.

(Possibly the only military family which didn’t actively mourn Mansfeld’s death was the Bohemian Purkyně family… whose scion he had stepped over to become the chief military adviser to Mojmír 2. in the first place.)

Mansfeld had accomplished a great deal in his short life. And what he had accomplished would become much more impressive to later historians in the wake of the dynastic changing-of-the-guard that had accompanied the Regent’s Rebellion of 1623. He had taken charge of a military that had been poorly equipped, that had been subject to surface-level ‘enthusiast’ reorganisations which had done little to address more deep-seated problems, that had been split along lines of familial loyalty, and that had been fractured by disputes over strategic doctrine. Out of these fragments and squabbling factions, Mansfeld had delivered a force which was not only cohesive and disciplined, but even dynamic.

One of the Zásobovateľ’s final gifts in life to the Veľka Armáda Moravy (and it was a precious gift indeed!) was a short series of revised manuals for field commanders. These manuals described numerous formations of deployment of mixed infantry and artillery units, from the traditional pike block to the revised divisions-en-tiers, and further described how each form could be adapted for different kinds of terrain in combination with cavalry charges. One of the advantages of these field manuals was that they allowed much greater latitude to commanders to make prudential decisions based on changing circumstances. The military doctrine that resulted from Mansfeld’s manuals was one which strongly privileged manoeuvre.

The Orthodox funerary procession for Vojtech Mansfeld, conducted on the third day after Theophany and headed by Archbishop Rafael himself, was long and ceremonious, and accompanied by a state guard in full regalia. Vojtech Mansfeld (despite his pride in the Slovak side of his family) was buried together with his paternal kinfolk in the village of Opočno in eastern Bohemia, of whom the most noteworthy was the ‘protectionist’ political economist Janek Mansfeld. Whoever would inherit the leadership of the Moravian military would have some large boots indeed to fill.

 

[HistoryDude]

That War of the Moravian Succession is looking increasingly inevitable. Maybe the Hlinka should deal with that by sending an unofficial embassy (to assassinate Dobroslava)?

The better relationship with the ERE is good.

The Pope's decrees about the Americas mean even less in this timeline than in OTL...